Journey in Place: When Your Place Stops Feeling Safe

Hawk perched deep in the woods

My little city of Athens, Georgia is in a state of shock and mourning today. Yesterday afternoon a young woman was found dead in the woods behind Lake Herrick—my “place”. The story has been reported statewide and even appeared in the New York Times. The death is being considered suspicious, but few details have been released. At this point the police have not identified a suspect. I don’t know for certain, but from the aerial photos I’ve seen on the news, it appears that she died very near the trail that I have been claiming as my own for this year of exploring place— “Tranquility Trail”. My heart aches for the young woman and her family and friends. Together we mourn for this person whose young life was senselessly cut short. And the community mourns our loss of innocence. We have lost our sense of safety in nature. What before was considered a quiet place to exercise, walk your dog, bird watch, explore nature, and gain peace of mind has changed in  character forever because now it is the scene of a terrible act of violence. The area is currently closed to the public while the police continue to investigate. Lake Herrick will open again, and I will go back, but I doubt that I will go there alone for a long time, if ever. And even if they catch the person who did this, my confidence has been shattered. Maybe the space never really was safe. Maybe it was always an assault waiting to happen. But for years, I, and others, walked the trails with no fear. All during the pandemic I walked alone, almost every day. For years I have woken up early to count birds by myself in the quiet morning hours for the Christmas Bird Count. I have visited at dusk to watch fireflies and search for owls. Just last week I followed a hawk off of a main trail and into the woods, and watched it sit on a branch for half an hour or more, far away from any other people. I love those times of silence, contemplation and freedom. I won’t be doing that any more. From now on there will always be that voice telling me to be suspicious and not to dare to venture too far into the quiet trees, and that I should not be alone. Now I will not have the freedom to enjoy the solitude. Now I am angry at what this violent act has stolen from this young woman and from us all. As I listen to the constant drone of helicopters circling as they wait for breaking news I feel a tremendous sense of sadness and weariness. I feel like I have lost my place because I’m not sure I can experience it the same way ever again. I am in mourning. 

My Myth--"The Dancers"

For our 4th Journey in Place exploration with Janisse Ray, we were asked to write a myth about something we encountered in our place. Last week I came across this huge oak tree with three trunks. Somehow, in the years that I have been walking these trails, I had never noticed it before. I guess it was waiting for  the right time to reveal its story. Here's my myth--"The Dancers":

Long ago, when humans were very new and just learning, and the earth and its living things were already old, people still understood the language of nature. The people lived in harmony with the earth and its creatures. They shared food and warmth and knowledge. When the people were cold the weaver birds taught them to form fiber into clothing and baskets to hold their food. When the people were hungry the birds and other forest animals showed them where to find seeds and roots to eat. The wasps taught them to build clay pots to cook and carry water. The ants taught them to farm so they could grow their own food. Humans and the other living things shared news of coming storms and dry seasons, when to expect the fruits and migrations and the changing tides. And every month under the light of the full moon, they danced together, sharing their gratitude and friendship. 

Over the years, as they learned more, the humans became enamored with their own skills and tools, and in time they forgot how to listen to the earth. No longer could they hear the signs of the changing seasons and weather. The people became separate from the other living things. They thought they no longer needed to share with the earth and they built vast cities where they once danced together in the moonlight. All that is, but three women, who chose to keep to the old ways. They lived lightly on the earth, and joined the forest creatures to dance on a hilltop every month, loving and thanking their earthly companions. And when the women finally became too old to dance any longer, they grew roots from the soles of their feet and their arms reached for the stars and the moon and they became three trunks of a tall oak tree, growing leaves and acorns to shelter and feed the forest, and dancing together through time.