Navigating an Unmarked Trail @UUCM 11/29/2020

Navigating an Unmarked Trail: Video here

Navigating an Unmarked Trail ?

Navigating this last year has been pretty tricky hasn’t it?  We have been in uncharted territory, a map-less reality where we have been wandering in a forest of uncertainty.   For many of us it has been a journey through a very lonesome valley, one we have had to walk by ourselves, isolated from family and friends.  

I have been hiking a lot during the pandemic, something that has kept me at least relatively sane.  Being out in nature has been good for both my body and my soul.  I have pushed some of my physical limits as I tackled longer trails and steeper terrain.  It has been hard at times, and the challenge isn’t always simply physical.  As I tried new trails, I realized that I carried with me not only memories from my past, but my fears for the future.  My backpack was very full.  Some things helped, but others just added extra weight that slowed me down.  It is always good to carry extra food and water, but do you really need that winter jacket when the sun is shining?

I have learned a lot from the hiking I have done this year, and most of it is not about actual trails at all.  The insights I have gained feel more like metaphors for other truths. Maybe some of them will be helpful for you, no matter where your journey is taking you. 

So first, if you want to hit the trail, you need to prepare.  For me, I needed to improve my health first. That was a journey in itself.  Those of you that have known me awhile, may know that I once weighed over 300 pounds.  Over the course of two years, with the help of Kaiser’s medical weight management program, 

I lost 185 pounds.  My health improved dramatically, I no longer had diabetes and got off all the prescription medications I was taking for a host of concerning medical conditions. I was healed, and it felt like a miracle. I was then able to have knee replacement surgery last year.  Without that preparation, none of which was easy, I would never have been able to do the three or four 6-9 miles hikes I do each week nowadays.  I am not even sure I would be alive today.  AND I need to say here, that I was a very fat woman for many years and I know how judgmental our culture can be about different body types.  Not everyone who society considers to be overweight can or needs to lose weight.  I needed to, but that is my story, don’t take it on for yourself and please don’t put it on anyone else.

So most of you don’t need to lose any physical weight, but although the task will be different for each of us, we all need to prepare for the challenges we will face in life.  Maybe it is losing weight, but maybe it is getting rid of old grudges or fears, finally dealing with an addiction, maybe it is study, or maybe it is prayer.  We’re going to walk that lonesome valley by ourselves, and only we know what we need to make it through.  

Something from my past I always carry with me on my hikes is my memory of being lost in the Mendocino national forest woods for 4 days when I was in my early twenties.  I wasn’t alone, there were 5 of us, but that terrifying experiences means I NEVER go off trail and ALWAYS remember exactly the way I have come in case I need to retrace my steps and go back the way I came.  It is good to learn from your mistakes.  Too many times we walk right into the same traps in life and make the same mistakes over and over again.  

Sometimes it is better to make a big mistake so you actually remember it.   It’s tricky though, because you don’t want to become so fearful that you never take another risk.  I still hike, but I stay on the trails.  I like to have a map and for the trail turnings to be well-marked. I am NOT going to get lost in the woods again, but I sure wish that were true in the rest of my life, especially this year, when the path has not always been very clear. 

I love the line from Blue Boat Home, one of the hymns in our teal hymnal, “drifting here with my ships companions, all we kindred pilgrim souls.”  Maybe we have to walk that lonesome valley by ourselves, but it is so much better not to have to hike alone.  Religious community offers companionship on our journeys, even if for now, it is only via the internet.  Together we are searching for truth and meaning, in our own unique and responsible ways. 

I do both “loop” hikes and “out and backs.” Both have advantages and disadvantages, I think. On a loop hike you see more variety in the same number of miles and I totally love loop hikes if I have done them before. The first time I do them, is a lot less fun, however as I worry that we might be doing the trail in the wrong direction. I have done that, gone up the gentler slope and been faced with a steeper and sometimes treacherous descent near the end of the hike, when it is too late to turn around. With a loop hike, you really don’t know what is coming and if you are forced to turn around because the trail becomes too hard, you can add miles and hours to your day. Continuing on a too hard trail can be miserable. 

Once, the last mile of a loop trail was so steep with so much loose gravel, I had to do much of it sliding down on my rear end. If we had done the trail in the opposite direction it would have been hard, but I could have at least stayed upright. Some trails are also best avoided completely. They can be worse than falling down the proverbial rabbit hole.

On an “out and back,” if the trail is too hard, you can just turn around. That can be disappointing, but is much safer. How often do we stay on a path that is too challenging, when it really would be better to stop and regroup, to turn around and try a different way up the metaphorical mountain? When you are going back down a trail you came up, you at least know what is coming. At least you think you do. The direction matters, and a slope easy to climb can be harder going down. I also worry if I remember parts of the trail that were hard, and dread doing them again. The “back” is always somewhat different from the “out,” however. Sometimes it is harder, sometimes easier; you don’t really know until you have done it. Your body is tired on the way back too, which is something else to consider. One thing that always surprises me is how different things look from the opposite direction; the views are from a different perspective, you see things you didn’t on the way out.   

Not to mention the wildlife that can surprise you at any time.  Around Marin, we see a lot of coyotes, deer, wild turkeys, snakes and an occasional bobcat. Only the rattlesnakes pose a real threat.  I have gotten used to the black bears in the Sierras and I am cautious around them, but they don’t really frighten me.  

When we saw a mountain lion cross the trail before us in Yosemite Valley,  I was thrilled by the sight, but also very glad he kept moving away from us.

Sometimes there is a trail you have hiked many times. You know the twists and turns, the hard parts and the easy downhills. You know the spots where there will be shade and the good places to stop for lunch. A familiar trail is like an old friend. There can be small surprises, a hawk circling overhead, a butterfly perched on the trail, or a snake sliding across in front of you. All of these small surprises are familiar, expected in a way. They keep you interested, but it is still the same trail and you know how to keep going and you are confident that you will make it back home. You believe that whatever happens the trail will still be your friend.

But sometimes conditions change. It is much hotter than usual, which makes the uphill climbs so much harder. You twist your ankle on a loose rock. The snake you see looks like a rattler and it coils to block your path. Your friend has moved ahead and you feel so very alone. How will you ever make it home? Your faith in the trail and your ability to hike it is shaken.

2020 has been like that in many ways. Democracy has taken a strange and dangerous turn. The trail is washed out, eroded next to a steep drop off. We have been sick at heart and unsure who the virus snake will bite first. There is no map, because suddenly the familiar trail is lost, and we will need to bushwhack our way across a thicket of poison oak and endless fears. 

There is a LOT of poison oak along the trails.  It is easier to identify in the fall when the leaves turn dry and reddish. Earlier in the year, you need to look to see at suspicious foliage to if there are thorns (if so, it is a berry of some sort and safe to touch unless you fall into it) or if, instead, the leaves are “shiny.” The “leaves of 3, let it be” jingle helps a little, but I am much more confident in the fall when that rusty color is a very clear warning sign. 

Our country has cleared a path through poison oak this month, a trail that may lead us to a more promising future, one with more justice and liberty for all. But racism like poison oak, is native to this country, as is greed and xenophobia, and the roots run deep. We can clear a path and even plant a garden, but poison oak is very tenacious and it will take generations of serious attention to eradicate the evil of racism once and for all. I doubt it will  happen in my lifetime, but I will keep trying to make it so. 

Those shiny leaves unfortunately still hold appeal for way too many people. They see only the thorns on the berry bushes, not realizing that we need the nourishment of those sweet berries, and maybe not caring that the bears and birds need the berries too. It is “socialism,” after all, if you share your bounty with the hungry. 

I have been sleeping better since the election. I’ll sleep even better after the inauguration, but the loser will still be around even then, along with all those who voted for him. We’ll have to tend our new garden with great care. Evil is endemic and persistent in this land, but at least now we will have some room to plant a few veggies and maybe even some flowers.

Sometimes, if you have hiked a trail too many times, you just don’t want to do it again. Especially if the trail is hard, the very thought of being on it again can bring on panic and, dare I say it, some PTSD. 

This last election felt like a trail that I have walked too many times. Proposition 6 in California, the Briggs Initiative, was the first time I remember my life being on the ballot. Although I didn’t work for the public schools I had friends who did and would have lost their jobs if it had passed. That one didn’t pass, but it still felt horrible that my neighbors and fellow citizens could decide that I was less than fully human simply because of the gender of who I loved. 

That was the first time that my life was on the ballot, but it certainly wasn’t the last. There is no point in listing all the times, but I thought it was almost done when the Supreme Court on June 26, 2013 allowed me to legally marry the woman I have loved since 1975 and to have it recognized by the federal government. It took 2 more years and another court ruling to make my marriage legal in all 50 states, and I thought it was finally over.

It was like being on a long hard trail, it was tough going at times and took way too long, and I thought I wouldn’t make it to the end. But then I suddenly found myself on a sunlit mountain, with gentle grades, good footing, and amazing views. There was a sweet stream running alongside the trail, and lots of places to stop in the shade. I thought I had arrived at a place almost like paradise

But the trail turned again, and the downslope was too steep. I was afraid of falling. The hillside was eroding, the water was rising, and there were maniac bikers racing toward me and they weren’t wearing masks. 

The court has changed, it is no longer friendly to me or other humans who aren’t rich, white, straight and male. I don’t mind real bikers if they wear masks and slow down when approaching, but the crazy ones scare me. We need some sanity, friendliness, and consideration on the trails and in the world.

This election was about so much more than what might happen to me personally. I am white, have decent health care and some financial resources. I am a citizen, a couple of generations away from my immigrant grandparents. I am old enough that I probably won’t live to see the planet become unable to sustain human life. But I am SO glad we elected someone this time who will at least try to make things better. 

Sometimes the trail you are hiking is so terrible that you have to turn around. Sometimes turning around is really going forward. I hope we are turning around from the trail we have been on for the last 4 years.

It is always good to be heading back toward home after a long and arduous hike. 

So we bless the trail repair crews who slow down the erosion, the hikers and bikers who mask up as they approach, the pet owners that keep their dogs on leash and also pick up after them.  

We bless the parents who hike with their children and the old people (like me) who aren’t quite ready to quit the trails.  We bless the coyotes, the deer and bobcat, and yes, the bears and mountain lions and rattlesnakes too.

We’ll hang onto our hiking poles through it all, wear clean socks if we have them and cover our blisters with moleskin. We’ll keep a map in our pocket and try to follow the trail, where ever it might lead. Be careful out there. Amen and blessed be.