My Trails

People walk past one another hundreds of times each day. We pass in stores, in shopping malls, on the street, in neighborhoods on bicycles, and – it seems to me – usually without a glance or a smile of recognition, content in our isolated world of comfortable individualism. But take a hike, deep into the forest, anywhere in the country, and notice the change when people meet. Almost everyone I pass on the trail will smile and say a pleasant greeting, sometimes exchange comments or questions about the geography, or offer up words of encouragement.  The hiking trail seems to bond people like few other activities do.  It’s really nice, I can put it no other way

Today, as I hiked the Heart Of Rocks Loop in Chiricahua, I met two young ladies hiking the same trail I was on. They would pass me with youthful energy, disappear up the trail out of sight, and then as they stopped to rest, I would overtake them with my steady plodding stride. This continued for most of the morning, and each time we would meet, we exchanged greetings and talked for a few minutes. I learned that they were from Switzerland, here on vacation and seeing the sites in the Southwest. There next stop was White Sands National Monument.  

All this got me to thinking about something. Everywhere I’ve traveled across the country – all the parks and forests and attractions, on the trails and at vistas, at campgrounds in rental RV’s – are mobs of foreigners from all over the world. Tour busses unload droves of eager, camera clickers at each pull-out.  It seems that they can’t get enough of our country. 

A while ago I was caught up in the notion that it would be a great adventure – even enlightening – to be a world traveler. Let’s go to New Zealand! Let’s go to Australia!  How about some exotic local in the Caribbean? How I longed to tell everyone I had been there. How I wished I could fly away to distant land; cruise the oceans to adventure and beyond. 

There are over 390 National Parks in the United States and somewhere in the neighborhood of 100 National Monuments. Combine that with hundreds of State Parks, National Forests, and Historical Monuments – literally thousands of square miles of awesome beauty and wilderness – and there’s enough to keep a traveler busy for a lifetime. The average American has seen only a fraction of the beauty of this country.  A lot of people visit a National Park and never walk more than a few feet from their car, others may hike a hundred yards into the forest and then return to their cars, promising never to do anything that strenuous again. 

Is it just that we want to see everything on the run?  Do we want to enjoy this vast and beautiful world at the speed of a metal capsule. Do we want to say we’ve been there and saw it all?  Do we enjoy the thought of traveler to a distant country?

  Now, I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with traveling to other countries and enjoying there beauty.  Sometimes there are relatives or history to be gleaned. I would love to see the Great Wall in China and the Pyramids in Egypt  Just that I hear stories of people that retire and travel around the world for a few months, come back home, sit in their easy chair, and then say, “now what?”  Take a look at what is in your own back yard.  The grass is not always greener on the other side of the ocean. 

There was a time very early in my life when I had a good healthy head of natural hair. It seems almost preposterous that I would even think about this now, but it all came back to me when I recently came across a photograph of myself taken shortly before graduation from high school. There I was – young, handsome, clear skin, innocent, and yes – hairy. It’s almost hard to believe that in the 60’s, I was considered a rebel sporting my “surfer hair.”

In the late 1960’s, I grew curly locks down over my ears to celebrate the hippie craze, but it wasn’t long after that that I started noticing a reckless thinning across the summit region of my forehead. For a while I did the comb-over method, involving displacing strands of hair in a futile attempt of homemade transplant therapy. If it wasn’t windy or I didn’t make any sudden moves, I could camouflage the balding area quite well. Eventually, however, most of my hair just gave up the will to live.

I never liked the way I looked when I lost my hair. Some men with small noses and round little faces look good bald, but I have prominent German features that don’t compliment baldness very well. I even tried to shave my head – the accepted fad today – but everyone said I looked like one of the Munsters. I guess I should have been OK with the fact that I was bald, but I just couldn’t shake the feeling that I looked goofy.

For a few years I always wore a hat. My work was mostly outside – farming, logging, and carpentry – so it fit right in with my occupation. Even danger had its rewards with the addition of a hard hat to my apparel. I felt comfortable with a hat on; it became a part of me and I a part of it. My hat protected my delicate head from sunburn and shaded my eyes. It would keep pesky insects from biting and add a bit of warmth on a cold day. I would sooner leave the house without my pants on (I don’t think I ever did that!) than without my hat.

And then I entered a period of my life where I knew I needed a change. The kids were getting involved in school and I would be attending concerts, plays and all kinds of parent activities. I wanted to take some classes at the local college, and I was training for an office job at work. All these activities suggested that I carry a code of conduct and dress that conformed to something normal. I either had to get over my self-consciousness about my baldness, or go to the dark side of deception.

There’s nothing wrong with a little deceit and deception – we all do it. We color our hair, paint our faces, replace glasses with contacts, shave our heads, wear uncomfortable shoes and clothes for style, drive pretty vehicles, wear wigs, and get implants. Please don’t tell me you don’t care what you look like. We all want a little admiration.

I hadn’t worn my hairpiece for many months and decided to put it on for Daryl’s birthday dinner. It was more of a joke than anything, and I was interested in how everyone would react. The wig was made many years ago and it really doesn’t go with my face anymore, but someone that didn’t know me, wouldn’t realize it’s not real. The reaction I got from everyone was all over the place. I guess the point I’m trying to make is this: We perceive ourselves a lot different than other people do and appearance is a mystical thing.

These are the reactions I got from everyone. See if you can figure out who you are: One person was shocked. One person had a sarcastic smile. One person was surprised. One person said, “What do you want to wear THAT thing for.” One person said, “Wow, it makes you look younger!” One person was disappointed because I didn’t look as much like Dad.