Why is it that a place, a mere location on a map, a patch of land that is traveled to by familiar roads, can make ones stomach all tied up in knots? How can a smell of a lost scent reawaken memories that were hidden deep in you mind and lost in your heart? Even the feel of a breeze against your skin can stimulate memories of a touch.
Memories… some good and some bad. Some stay and some run from them. The question is are you actually running away completely, will “it” reemerge in a different form, years down the road? I question this because of conversations with two close friends, both contemplating running or hiding, contemplating not going, or going far away, all in attempts to remove any pain, suppress any memory of times lived in the past.
I think it is very “human” to do this. Self perseverance- a state of emotional homeostasis is what we seek. I too have struggled with this all my life, however have decided not to let this reaction to life, rule my life. I plan to face head on what ever my body is telling me to avoid.
My River, is this. A place that was thought to bring so much happiness in my past; but come to find is also tied to a lot of “heart ache”. I did not even realize it until I was doing the drive to the Ocoee River that is nestled in the Cherokee National forest, http://www.fs.fed.us/r8/ocoee/
that Friday night a couple of months ago. Stomach in knots for no present reason….well until I started to ponder why my body would react this way. I realize I came that weekend and many other weekends after that, to face my past, create new memories and return to a place that stole my heart that summer of my sophomore year of college when I was a young woman only 19 years old.
Ironically, I found this place because I was running. I wanted to start fresh, go where no one knew me, start over. I decided to pack my little ford escort with camping equipment, summer clothes, and a bathing suit. Not knowing what was ahead of me, not knowing much about the out doors, what it was like to live in a tent outside, never knowing the pain of chiggers and mosquitoes bites, poison ivy, and river rot all at the same time, and having no clue about whitewater and how to steer a raft down the river. A river guide is what I became, I lived in a tent behind a outpost that housed a dozen of others. People from all walks of life, who for some reason kept finding themselves back here at this place every summer.
As I drove up the Gorge, I smelled the pine mixed with fumes from chop busses hauling rafters to the put in.
My mind wanders back to that moment when I remember that day, a hazy day, in the evening, cool breeze, with the view of canyon on all sides of me. Forest and river is all that I saw. I felt as if I was the only one there, my river. A warmth, a genuine love of nature put its mark on me. This was the moment, the distinct point in time that I can find that changed me. Made that city girl into this country girl that likes the simple life; that needs to be outside. A women that prefers a dirt trail, a raging river, or open field, wildflowers; not the mall, a museum, a fancy restaurant, a dozen roses. This woman can now be found riding her mountain bike on miles of trails at the White Water Center that was once the location of the 96 Olympics for white water events.
I can also be found riding up the 7-mile climb of Chilhowee mountain pass on my road bike, a place the Cherokee Indians named as the “Place for King Fisher” and was also the high look out point for the confederate army during the civil war.
I can be found in my kayak, hiking trails to trout fed streams, and snoozing on a blanket under a tree as good as I would in my own bed. I make new friends and run into old ones. I pass the place where I kissed my first love. I sit at the picnic table where my ex-husband and I had a picnic lunch after a bike race. I returned and sleep at the place where I thought I found my sole mate.
So over the past couple months each time I returned, I have created new memories, remember old ones, some good and some bad…but what matter most is- I did not let the bad ones stop me from finding my River again.
Memories… some good and some bad. Some stay and some run from them. The question is are you actually running away completely, will “it” reemerge in a different form, years down the road? I question this because of conversations with two close friends, both contemplating running or hiding, contemplating not going, or going far away, all in attempts to remove any pain, suppress any memory of times lived in the past.
I think it is very “human” to do this. Self perseverance- a state of emotional homeostasis is what we seek. I too have struggled with this all my life, however have decided not to let this reaction to life, rule my life. I plan to face head on what ever my body is telling me to avoid.
My River, is this. A place that was thought to bring so much happiness in my past; but come to find is also tied to a lot of “heart ache”. I did not even realize it until I was doing the drive to the Ocoee River that is nestled in the Cherokee National forest, http://www.fs.fed.us/r8/ocoee/
that Friday night a couple of months ago. Stomach in knots for no present reason….well until I started to ponder why my body would react this way. I realize I came that weekend and many other weekends after that, to face my past, create new memories and return to a place that stole my heart that summer of my sophomore year of college when I was a young woman only 19 years old.Ironically, I found this place because I was running. I wanted to start fresh, go where no one knew me, start over. I decided to pack my little ford escort with camping equipment, summer clothes, and a bathing suit. Not knowing what was ahead of me, not knowing much about the out doors, what it was like to live in a tent outside, never knowing the pain of chiggers and mosquitoes bites, poison ivy, and river rot all at the same time, and having no clue about whitewater and how to steer a raft down the river. A river guide is what I became, I lived in a tent behind a outpost that housed a dozen of others. People from all walks of life, who for some reason kept finding themselves back here at this place every summer.
As I drove up the Gorge, I smelled the pine mixed with fumes from chop busses hauling rafters to the put in.
My mind wanders back to that moment when I remember that day, a hazy day, in the evening, cool breeze, with the view of canyon on all sides of me. Forest and river is all that I saw. I felt as if I was the only one there, my river. A warmth, a genuine love of nature put its mark on me. This was the moment, the distinct point in time that I can find that changed me. Made that city girl into this country girl that likes the simple life; that needs to be outside. A women that prefers a dirt trail, a raging river, or open field, wildflowers; not the mall, a museum, a fancy restaurant, a dozen roses. This woman can now be found riding her mountain bike on miles of trails at the White Water Center that was once the location of the 96 Olympics for white water events.
I can also be found riding up the 7-mile climb of Chilhowee mountain pass on my road bike, a place the Cherokee Indians named as the “Place for King Fisher” and was also the high look out point for the confederate army during the civil war.
I can be found in my kayak, hiking trails to trout fed streams, and snoozing on a blanket under a tree as good as I would in my own bed. I make new friends and run into old ones. I pass the place where I kissed my first love. I sit at the picnic table where my ex-husband and I had a picnic lunch after a bike race. I returned and sleep at the place where I thought I found my sole mate.
So over the past couple months each time I returned, I have created new memories, remember old ones, some good and some bad…but what matter most is- I did not let the bad ones stop me from finding my River again.
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