There ain’t no fuckin’ around at Mohonk when the weather gets good. If you are arriving at 10am on a Sunday you may be too late. Lucy and I were too late for Trapps Trailhead, but lucky for us we were heading for Coxing and that was still open.
Today was the kind of day no one can fault. Flawless. Magnificent. 60 degrees and clear sun all around. I got out of the car and took off my jacket, took off my fleece (the layering habit of what seemed an interminable winter), and unbuttoned the flannel shirt I intended to keep. Donned my safari hat to keep the sun out ‘ma eyes, and we headed over to the map, where, I see, there are other dogs freely wandering. This is always problematic because Lucy, my kooky, loving dog, does not get along well with others of the canine persuasion. She loves or is indifferent to humans by turns, but other dogs are near always trouble. When we encounter them she goes on short leash, and if we can avoid the dogs we do, even if it means bushwhacking off trail a bit.
Oncet I had a Golden Retriever–sweet and mellow. I could let her off leash in the woods and she’d never go more than 100 feet or so from me, and although she had been attacked in the woods by a couple of German Shepherds when she was a pup, and sometimes drew a growl from other dogs on trail, we mostly just passed on by other hikers and other dogs without incident. So I understand the attitude of people with mellow, off-leash dogs. “Oh, my dog would never hurt another dog.” “My dog never causes trouble.” Thing is, when we get your dog and another, unknown dog in proximity, there are now two, and that means unpredicability.
Lucy (on short leash) and I get up to the map so I can figure where we are going–never having hiked here before. I’m looking at the map when something makes me turn to the left. One of the loose dogs has come up to Lucy, and Lucy is quietly straining on her leash to smell him while the other dog’s head is cocked to the side and his eyes are rolling, like a horse shying. Then Lucy lunges at him. I have a good grip on her and back slowly and calmly away. The dog immediately follows our retreat, and I say calmly to the general crowd, would you please put your dog on leash? A man steps forward and calls his dog, which turns and goes to him, but he does not put him on leash. I apologize to the man for Lucy (because that’s what you do) and turn back to the map. A moment later I hear another man say sweetly to the dog, “Were you causing trouble Bentley? That doesn’t sound like you!”
Now, I am surrounded by a bunch of people who appear to be serious hikers with lots of gear, lacing up and shouldering big packs. A bunch of type-A, weekend-warrior hikers (the two men with Bentley are lawyers by the sounds of their conversation) and two loose dogs. I’m just a hippie woman in jeans and flannel looking to get alone in the woods, and am feeling pretty prickly by now. I turn around to look in the direction of the man who spoke to Bentley, but a kind of calm runs over me and I decide not to engage. I turn back to the map and decide to cross the road, in the opposite direction from where all these people are going.
On my way across the parking lot I see the other loose dog following its human toward the bathrooms, right in our path. This man bends down to his dog and tells it to go back over there (pointing away from where Lucy and I are headed), which it obediently does. Then he stands up and looks right at me and gives me a big, beautiful smile. A conspiratory smile that tells me we both get what just happened with Bentley. Then he turns and jogs toward the bathroom, his own flannel shirt flapping behind him. His smile–his beautiful, understanding smile–made me spend the next few minutes blessing this man and his family forever and ever. Thank God for smiles from strangers. Thank God people still see and hear and love and care for strangers.
(The leash rule is there for a reason–and it isn’t because your dog isn’t sweet and mellow. It’s because not all dogs are sweet and mellow in all circumstances. It’s also because dogs can be unpredictable in the woods, and for one to run off here, in the wilderness, is asking for heartache.)
Lucy and I cross the road, and I’m talking to her, saying, “Do the other dogs not like you, Lucy? I’m sorry, baby. I like you. I think you’re the best.” Poor girl. She just doesn’t know how to be with other dogs. For the first two years of her life she was with an elderly man who did not have the strength to take her out. When I first started taking her out, she was attacked by dogs we met on three occasions, and since then she has been on the offense. And always on leash.
A little ways in on the other side of the road, I see a placard on a stand. Here is the stone foundation of the Enderly barn. The placard has an artist’s rendering of how the barn may have looked back in the day, and it reminds me of the Laura Ingalls-Wilder books. It puts me in a mood, standing there, knowing that this place used to be a homestead. We walk further on, another 300 feet or so, and come upon another placard. Here is the foundation of the Enderly house. Another artist’s rendering reminds me again of times gone by, when people were largely self-sufficient. A hard life in many ways, but at its best steady, slow, mostly peaceful, balanced. Before crossing the bridge, we came upon a map of the entire homestead, which included a large garden, a sawmill next to the stream, a root cellar, and a burial ground. The kid in me sings. My imagination is fired up with the notion of living there, in cooperation with and at the mercy of Nature.
The woods are shining with light. We walk along a large stream and cross over into the Minnewaska State Park for a bit, finally coming upon a restored cabin–the Van Leuven Cabin. Panels say that when there was an illness or emergency, the residents would light a lamp and put it in the window to call for help from their distant neighbors. It reminds me of my favorite scene in The Lord of the Rings–the lighting of the beacons to call for Rohan’s help. Such a system depends, overall, on an agreement to come to one another’s aid, and trust that those in the distance are both watching and willing to come to the rescue. A trust that despite their differences and their individual rights, all parties are better off when they work in cooperation, pooling their strengths. A very different world than we live in now, where the seeming norm is to watch out for one’s own and leave the rest to whatever befalls them.
These strong, resilient mountain people lived a hard life and understood that they needed others to help them at times, and others needed them. They understood that sometimes one is up and the other is down, and sometimes one is down while the other is up. This is the essence of community. This is why people agree to give up some of their freedom in order to ensure that they and everyone else has a better chance to do well and live in peace in this world that is full enough of danger without all humans add to it.
∞ ∞ ∞
This way of life is long gone. We have, most of us, lost the knowledge of how to be self-sufficient–let alone the opportunity try it out, because the land and resources have all been taken and sold back to us, rented back to us–and now we must depend upon earning money to buy the things we need. But like the dogs I have written about here, not every person is born and raised in an environment that supports their successful entry into the system. And all of us–I don’t care who you are–all of us are directly affected by the systemic violence that oppresses certain groups and privileges others. Our ancestry, our membership in one (or a few) of these groups makes it much harder to fit in, to convince others to give us the money everyone needs. It becomes a popularity contest. A struggle to fit in rather than a question of the value you can add to the community as an individual.
Right now, in our world community, millions are desperate. Perpetual war, based on greed, decimates families and rich cultural histories. Our relatives, the animals of the sea and air, cry out to us, dying with stomachs full of plastic. Everywhere fires are burning, water is polluted, food is contaminated with poison. Here in the United States we can still turn away, not see, not feel. We can still watch our favorite shows and go out and buy more stuff and follow the next trend, but the future is on our back stoop.
The beacons are lit. Your assistance is requested. Are you watching? Will you accept the call?