The beginning.

I wrote this several nights ago when I stayed awake until two a.m., strung out on caffeine and an unresolved never-ending to-do list and the knowledge that soon a progression of events would lead me to the border of Mexico with nothing but a pack on my back, a few friends, and a very long walk ahead of me.

Today if all goes well I begin walking from Mexico to Canada! 2,600 miles and some change. I won't be posting every day because unlike the vast majority of hikers, I do not have a smart phone. But when I have time I'll stop in libraries and hostels and I'll be sure to share my photos and stories then. One of the easiest ways to find out when I've posted is to "follow" my blog by using that option at the top of the blog. (Mom & Dad, if that's too complicated just bookmark this page!)

Thanks to all my friends and family; I feel so lucky to have you spread throughout my life. To everyone who shared with me small bits of kindness this winter; it was an extraordinarily lonely season but it taught me that the people I know are wonderful. Thank you for the letters and meals and visits and emails and gifts and offers of couches to crash on. You might not have realized it, but all of you got me through a really tough time. I may not always be around, but know that I think of all of you far more often than you might think.

Love,

Moss

“You're off to Great Places!
Today is your day!
Your mountain is waiting,
So... get on your way!”

YES.

For me there is only the traveling on paths that have heart, on any path that may have heart. There I travel, and the only worthwhile challenge is to traverse its full length. And there I travel, looking, looking, breathlessly. 

don Juan

Art by Cath McMurray

Andrew Wyeth

The color palette of Andrew Wyeth's work is subdued, as is his imagery... and his work has been dismissed by critics as sentimental, provincial and illustrative.

But what I see is a man whose translation of the everyday imbues a sort of magic realism to the ordinary. “By means of art we are sometimes sent dimly, briefly, revelations unattainable by reason, like that little mirror in fairy tales. Look into it and you will see not yourself but for a moment, that which passes understanding, a realm to which no man can ride or fly and for which the soul begins to ache.” 

Occasionally I feel a slight tug deep inside of me, as if my heart is being squeezed, and there's a flash of gratitude and love for something so much bigger than me. It can be triggered by almost anything outside: a puddle, mountains, clouds, a raven hanging above me on a summit, a circle of lichen on a tree, the scent of sun-warmed dirt and pine needles, a silhouette of weeds; I don't even need to be hiking for this to happen, sometimes it's just while driving and catching a brief glimpse of the surrounding environment as it flashes past. It's something profoundly simple, beautiful and evocative. Something that makes my soul ache.

In other words, what I am trying to tell you is that while by society's standards I may be hopelessly single... I realized recently that I am in the best goddamn relationship of my life and it's with dirt and rocks and trees and sky. Thank you Andrew Wyeth, for your visual reminder of the visceral reaction that even ordinary surroundings can evoke... if you love them enough.

  
Trodden Weed, The Carry and Ice Pool by Andrew Wyeth. Images sourced here and here. Solzhenitsyn quote sourced from an excellent blog post about Wyeth found here.

I hoped for nothing. And yet I lived in expectation...

- Stanisław Lem

The surfaces of things.

I inherited my dad's old rock collection. And by inherited, I mean that I unearthed it from a closet and promptly installed it among my own belongings without asking permission. When I was little I used to spend hours sifting through rocks, collecting ones that interested me... I still collect rocks and pebbles to this very day.

Rocks embody this quiet sort of pantheism that I follow without much of a doctrine. Edward Abbey sort of sums it up here:

“I am pleased enough with the surfaces - in fact they alone seem to me to be of much importance. Such things for example as the grasp of a child's hand in your own, the flavor of an apple, the embrace of a friend or lover, the silk of a girl's thigh, the sunlight on the rock and leaves, the feel of music, the bark of a tree, the abrasion of granite and sand, the plunge of clear water into a pool, the face of the wind - what else is there? What else do we need?”

Sometimes it's easy to forget just how lucky I am to have tactile and visual appreciation of the world around me. The small pebbles I stash in corners of my desk and shelves are a tangible reminder.

I Wanted

I wanted the past to go away, I wanted

to leave it, like another country; I wanted

my life to close, and open
like a hinge, like a wing, like the part of the song
where it falls
down over the rocks: an explosion, a discovery;
I wanted
to hurry into the work of my life; I wanted to know,
whoever I was, I was
alive
for a little while.

Mary Oliver

Sunrise at Guyot Tentsite, White Mountains, NH.