alone SUNDAY, APRIL 4, 2010
Spring is the season that finds me most longing for the forest. And I dream about going there alone. I love the solitude of the woods, especially in this season of rebirth. But when was the last time I was alone in the woods? When was the last time I was alone anywhere? Living with two small children, I find it nearly impossible to be alone. Even when I am alone, I just don’t feel alone. Little people need me. And I love that, of course. Living in an urban environment, even when I do go out ‘alone’ for a walk or sit ‘alone’ in our window seat to write, I find myself distracted. A car rushes past. Someone walks in front of our house, down the sidewalk. The dog across the street barks. A child calls out. Alone in the woods seems little more than a memory. Alone in the woods feels far, far away. And, yet, I can still go there. I can still go there because I spent so much time there with my Airedale, Maude. Maude has been on my mind recently. I’m not sure why, exactly. Maybe because a year ago we said farewell to Alice, the puppy who spent seven months with us. Maybe because we’ve been talking about the possibility of a new dog for my parents. Maybe just because it is spring. Maude loved spring. Maude came to live with our family when I was 10. She and I grew up together, exploring the hills of Gousty Knowe. Maude was my walking companion and my trusty friend during a series of moves, new schools, and unpredictable friendships. Maude and I walked together nearly every day during my middle- and high-school years. During college breaks at home, I treasured our walks even more. When Jeffrey and I were married, Maude was our flower girl. And although Maude never particularly liked babies or small children, she loved Amabel. Maude was 16 when she passed on two years ago. Occasionally, she will still speak out, in the raspy voice we created for her. And she lives on in the stories Amabel likes to hear us tell over and over again. I miss my old girl. I miss the way she would frolic about in the spring, taking in the air and the earth with her whole furry being. I miss her quiet, trusty companionship. And I miss the time we spent together, alone, walking in wild places. I am grateful that I can still go there, in my mind, even in the midst of this lively chapter of mothering. I hope, with all my heart, that I can pass this place onto my daughters. I hope that they will discover, for themselves someday, the joy of being alone in the woods.
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