Walking Through My Mind (NJ2)

The following passage describes the start of a journey I had several months ago that remains one of the most magnificent outdoor experiences I have had to date.  Originally, I was not going to write about it considering the landscape I traveled may not be as fresh in my head as the plants, animals, or other natural features described in my other nature journals that describe the present. Despite this, a conversation we had in class a few weeks ago made me reconsider.  In particular, the question that caused me to revise my thinking was a question posed by Dr. Williams: Is Walden fiction?  Initially, I felt inclined to think it certainly was not. Thoreau described the land and environment of his surroundings. Even if he did revise his writing several times, perhaps he was trying to reach an objective depiction of his surroundings. On second thought, however, I consider how Thoreau, just like any other human, perceives the world from his own experiences and biases.  Maybe each reworking reflected changing frameworks through which Thoreau operates?  These considerations make me believe that Thoreau’s work, and my passage that follows, largely do not encompass an objective worldview but maybe not quite fiction either.  The best position for this type of writing, perhaps, would be on a spectrum between the worlds of objectivity and subjectivity...

In silence, I bobbed up and down in an old charter bus as the bumps on the road were translated through the seat. Peering out the window, I saw shades of blue creep up from the eastern horizon and climb towards the stars still present in the western sky.  Squinting toward the east, I made out the silhouette of the volcanic terrain we would be traveling over. The flat landscape we passed was filled with three-foot grasses and other plants scattered along the ground. After some time, the bus pulled into a paved entrance with other cars. Stopping the bus and turning the interior lights on, our driver announced we had arrived.  He said he would see us on the other side. I snatched my backpack, threw it across my shoulder, and shuffled out down the center aisle.

My eyes had adjusted to the bright lights inside the bus, so I could not see anything except darkness after stepping off.  Following the shapes of people ahead of me, I carefully walked away from the bus and allowed my eyes to adjust to the morning darkness.  My hoodie protected my trunk and ears, but my khaki shorts left my bare skin between my knees and long socks exposed.  I felt the crisp morning air glide across my unprotected legs awakening the hair on them to stand at attention.  The slight give in the ground beneath my hiking boots told me the surface was covered in that morning glaze of dew that quickly abandons its nightly residence by the coaxing of an awakening sun.  I could not see well, but the ground looked and felt like a mixture of compacted dirt with tiny pebbles and dense stones interspersed.

My group gathered at the trailhead. I checked I had my belongings, or at least the things I needed.  As we got settled, I began to wonder which direction we would head.  Other bus riders had found several paths to follow.  Naturally, we followed what felt right.  I had no objections and it “felt” like the correct direction at my core.  Thoreau, after all, states, “I believe there is a subtle magnetism in Nature, which if we unconsciously yield to it, will direct us aright” (Walking, p. 187). Maybe I was ill-prepared since I did not research anything about the upcoming journey, but I typically take Thoreau’s perspective that nature will lead me appropriately if only I listen to what it tells me.  We began our journey, and the world around began to stir as that mild shade of blue now spanned the morning sky hiding the once-present shimmering stars behind the light.