The Naming of a Bird

I drift in and out of sleep. I have been for over an hour. My mind telling me to get an early start. My soul reminding me you are alone; there is nothing to do but be here. Rest until you are rested. My eyes open slowly to the glowy, greenish light that exists inside my tent. I smile gently as I experience the feeling of having deeply rested.

I exit my tent and look at the forest around me. Absent of any human interference besides myself. I set up my tiny camp chair and prepare my oatmeal and coffee. I hold the warm containers in my hands as I eat and drink, enjoying the warmth on my fingers and hands on this chilly morning. I listen to the birds and smile again. There's no one who needs me right now. Even if there is, I will never know. I have no phone service, so being a helper is impossible for three whole days. I feel like I'm doing something wrong… something sneaky. It feels like I'm getting away with something, and I laugh a little with the trees and the squirrels.

I pack up my things and start to hike towards a small stream near my campsite. The importance of having enough water out here is something I can feel deep in my bones.
Primal knowings.
Water has been important to me my whole life. I feel like I was born swimming. I swam almost every day of every summer growing up. Even my name, Lynne, means waterfall. I begin the ritual of scooping the ice-cold water from the stream and filtering it into my hydration pack. A ritual I do ever so carefully to ensure the water I will drink is clean. I taste the filtered water. It is ice cold and delicious. It's that mineral taste that you can smell when you're near a fresh, freezing stream. It delights me every time, again feeling like a secret the Earth has whispered to only me because I was quiet enough to listen to her.

As I step out of the stream, I see a frog sitting in the path. He is green, and the pattern on his skin is intricate. He's beautiful. I say hello, and he looks at me. He doesn't move, and I approach him and pick him up. He sits quietly in my hand, and I pet him. Scott? I ask if he's my cousin who died a few years ago. I think of Scott in the woods because he loved being in nature. I've been seeing frogs like this since he died. They just kind of chill with me. I pet him for a while longer as I think of Scott. I thank him and set him gently down on the side of the path. I feel the grief of losing someone too soon and the gratitude of feeling his presence every time I'm in the forest.

Now I begin my planned hike, understanding my plan is only a suggestion and will probably be different from what I expect. I hike slowly and intentionally, wanting to take in all that Mother Nature is going to show me today. I feel the rocks and roots beneath my feet. The only sounds I hear are the breeze, an occasional bird, and my footsteps on the land. I look around at the trees and see a tiny white mushroom peeking out from the leaves near the path. So bright, taking advantage of the morning moisture to bloom… do mushrooms bloom? I'm not sure.

As I continue walking, the weather warms and the sun rises higher in the sky. I begin to notice the ground transitioning into a soft coating of pine needles, which becomes progressively thicker beneath my boots. I look around and notice that the trees are almost all pines now. I inhale deeply and smell the crisp, clean, delicious aroma of pine all around me. I can smell nothing else but pine. I could stay here forever. I smile, I touch a tree, and I say thank you. As I continue on, moss and ferns become more prevalent. They glow this bright green color that you can never quite capture in a photo…I have tried. I pass a boulder and pause to pet some of the soft-looking moss that’s growing on it and tell the moss how cute it is.

The moss is not just carpeting the side of the trail now; it's carpeting the trail itself. Over the rocks and the roots, to the point that I almost feel guilty walking over it with my boots because I don't want to harm the moss. I'm smiling a pretty big smile at this point, thinking about how this is what The Shire must be like in the Lord of the Rings books. I think of my friend Jennifer, who died and loved these books, and my eyes well up with tears as I tell her I wish she were with me, but maybe she is. Yes, she is with me. I know that.

Then I see forget-me-nots growing from a crack in a rock, and it's confirmed. She is here. She is everywhere. All the time.

I can hear a faint sound now, and I wonder if it's the breeze. I stop hiking, and I look up to the treetops, but don't see much movement. I hike a little further and pause again. Is it the sound of water? I think it is. It's faint… hard to tell. As I continue walking, I come over a small ridge, and now the sound of water is unmistakable. It's summer, and so the water is not flowing heavily. It almost sounds like the tinkling of bells to me. Delicate and gentle… also magical. I continue down the path, and the water sounds get a little louder until I can see the waterfall. All of her streams and drips delicately fall into a shallow, small pool of water at her base. There is no one but me here, so I smile and thank the water three times. Somehow that holds more weight than just once.

I sit on a rock on the side of the shallow pool the waterfall is falling into and remove my boots. I tuck my socks into the boots and set them aside where I won't get them wet. Then I put my tired feet into the ice-cold water until they get too cold.

I remove them, I wait for them to warm, and then I put them back into the freezing relief. I repeat this a few more times and then put my feet onto a rock. Now I take my hands and submerge them both in the shallow pool of water. I close my eyes, and I breathe deeply, listening to the sound of the waterfall, which is still like bells to me. I gently smile, and warm tears fill my eyes and a few spill over my cheeks. I open my eyes and silently let more tears fall, holding my freezing cold hands to the back of my neck.

Thank you, water. Thank you land. Thank you trees. Thank you rocks. Thank you, earth. Thank you animals. Thank you sun. Thank you moon. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

I hold my hands to my heart and close my eyes, feeling deep gratitude for this time alone with Mother Earth. I feel held and safe and healed. I allow myself to sit for a time. There are beams of sunlight shining down into the forest, and I see two butterflies fluttering in the sunbeams above the stream. Thank you, butterflies. Thank you, air. Thank you, sun.

When I feel rested and peaceful, I dry off my feet with my socks, put on my socks, and put on my boots. I hike back the way I came, enjoying taking it slow and noticing all that I might have missed noticing because I was excited to see a waterfall. When I return to camp, it's time for my favorite ritual of all. I set up my tiny camp chair and my little camp stove. I cook myself dinner. I eat my dinner, and then I make myself a cup of instant coffee. This isn't any coffee; it is the most delicious cup of coffee that exists on the face of this Earth. I sip the coffee in silence as I enjoy the feeling of the warm cup in my hands and on my fingers and in my belly.

There's this type of bird I always hear when I'm drinking coffee after a long day of hiking. Her song is otherworldly… echoey and almost alien. It doesn't seem like a living being should be able to make this sound. Every time I hear her, I think I will Google this bird when I have cell service so that I can know her name. Every time I think, no, I will not try to find her human-given name.

Instead, I will call her by what she is… the creatress of the most beautiful song that my human ears have ever had the honor of hearing. I whisper thank you. My eyes well up with tears. I am not alone. I am nature. Nature is me. I forget sometimes, and I need to be reminded.

I think I have to be out here, in the middle of nowhere, to remember.

But it's happening more. It takes less for me to remember now. The sunset in the rearview mirror of my car. The way the clouds look when I look up in the sky from my backyard. The clicking, flittering bats that I can hear and then see when I walk down a city street at night in one of those rare moments when the city is quiet except for the bats.

If only I would stop. If only I would notice. If only I would listen… not with my ears, but with my soul.

Perhaps I too do not need to take on the names and roles that humans have given to me. Perhaps, like the bird, I too can sing the song that only I was put here to sing for the pure enjoyment of the singing.