The VIM and are fortunate to live close to several state parks, as well as a national historic site that has hiking trails, too. This past Sunday, we took advantage of the incredible January weather and set out for a short hike.
As compatible as the VIM and I are in other areas, we don’t mesh perfectly when we go for our walks. He tends to look at it as exercise, and will push himself to go farther, faster. I look around a lot – up at trees, down at flowers at the side of the path – pretty much anywhere except where I’m walking. I walk through a lot of mud.
On Sunday, I requested that we walk on one of my favorite trails. Although you can never be TOO far from civilization on that trail, it feels like a different world to me. The beginning of the trail heads down a hill into an area that is like a big bowl. Once you get down in, there are pretty steep hills all around. In the bowl the trees seem bigger and gnarlier, and the water in the little brook that flows through it seems clearer. I can only describe it as primeval. It always strikes a chord deep within me. I love that area so much that I always forget about the second part of the hike – the climbing back out.
The beginning of the trail twists and turns, then suddenly becomes perfectly straight. And perfectly uphill. That area used to be part of an inclined plane system that pulled canal boats over the mountain. The system hasn’t been used since the mid 1800s, and some of it has been taken over by the national park service, which maintains at least part of it as hiking trails. So. To get out of the bowl, we started walking up the incline. It’s not impossible, but it’s long. And I’m out of shape. The second part of the hike isn’t nearly as fun as the first half.
Anyhow. Because I wanted to not think about how long the incline was, I kept my eyes focused on the ground right in front of my feet. About halfway up, I almost stepped on something that looked like a peeled potato with roots growing out of the side of it. At first I stepped over it and kept walking. Then I realized that it wasn’t computing. A peeled potato? On this trail? Why would it still have roots attached if it was peeled? Do potatoes even HAVE roots like that?
I went back and stooped down. At first, it still looked like a potato. Then I turned it over and saw this:
Did that creep you out as much as it did me?
I still can’t really figure it out. I guess it’s been buried for awhile – it was filled with soil, and some of that stuff on it’s head is grass growing out of the holes. I’m not sure why the back of the head is clean – maybe it was not completely buried, and the back was kept clean by rain.
I showed the picture to a friend, and he said I should have picked it up and brought it home. He collects antiques and said it could be an old doll head. I guess it could be, but I said I didn’t think I’d be able to find it again even if I DID go back out. I didn’t tell him that the first thing I thought of when I saw that face was the Brady Bunch episode where Bobby picks up the Tiki Idol and becomes cursed, and that I knew from the moment I saw it that there was NO WAY IN THE WORLD I was going to pick it up. I’m not superstitious, but, well, it doesn’t belong to me. But I’m not superstitious.
Nope. Not me.
