Norman, my dad, loved being in nature. Growing up during the Great Depression he and his brothers would regularly hike 3 or 4 miles to Lincoln Woods (a state park). During those hard scrabble years it would be the closest thing to a vacation he and his siblings would have. In nature Norman found wonder and joy all around him.
When he became a father he would take my brother and me for hikes in those same woods. He told us about Whiskey Point, where he and his brothers would set up a used canvas tent and camp for a week or so and fish for their dinner. No parents around just boys living off the land. It sounded like heaven to me. Years later, I would learn that Whiskey Point got its name from homeless veterans of WW 1 who made their own encampment in that same place.
Over the years dad would take me with him to Lincoln Woods. It was a place that held good memories. As we hiked famililar pathways, he would point out a glacial outcrop called Goat Rock and a cave he and his brothers called King Phillip Cave (after Metacomet, the Narraggansett Sachem who led indigenous tribes in a futile effort in 1676 to push out the colonists).
Hiking with my dad was a window into his boyhood and the stories he told, helped shape mine. Dad taught me the names of trees, flowers and birds. He taught me to get down on my belly to smell the earth and to smell the flowers. He taught me to make believe I was a raccoon by using only 4 fingers and not my thumb. Out in the woods we would make plaster casts of deer tracks. He taught me how to catch and clean a fish.
Dad invited me to savor the call of a bird and the smell of the woods after a rain. All these years later, I remember those lessons. In my own way, I shared those lessons with our daughters. Who now, as young women love being in nature too.
This afternoon I walked with Tricia, my wife, through a lovely forest called Osgood Hills. The forest serves as the watershed for Lake Cochichewick. The forest is a mix of northeastern hardwoods and softwoods, some pockets of old growth remain. I pointed out a shagbark hickory and a golden birch. I laughed, "I'm channeling my dad". She replied 'I know, and I'm glad'.
A few moments later a flash of vibrant red flitted through the trees. "Look!" I said, "A scarlet tanenger. I haven't seen one since I was a boy. My dad would love this!" And, he would.
Norman has been gone for more than 20 years. Yet, he remains close. Each time I walk through the forest, or slip my kayak in the water, I'm not alone. That sweet man who helped shape me remains close by. Thanks Dad. I'm forever in your debt. Happy Father's Day.
With you on the journey ~ Kent Harrop
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