Of the Earth

1

"I am so afraid of being troubled and alone at this end of the world."

Leah Umansky, from "Edge of the Wild," published in Guernica

On the seven-day anniversary of running away from his problems, Harry celebrated by taking a swim in the river.

His clothes were sweat-drenched from the hike but he didn't remove them until after he pitched the tent and roped the bear bag to a high tree branch. Dipping his feet into the cool river water felt like the biggest relief after an arduous day of backpacking. With another twelve miles under his belt, he yanked his damp t-shirt over his head and removed his shorts as well.

To Harry, it felt completely natural to be bare-naked in the wilderness, but that didn't mean he was completely alone out there. If someone stumbled upon him bathing in the river tonight, it wouldn't be the first time.

He decided to take his chances. The water was too refreshing to resist. He left his clothes and shoes on the river bank and stepped calculatedly onto a few rocks, using them as a path to the deeper parts of the Red Creek. He waded in, letting the current lap at his knees, then his hips, up to his navel. It hadn't rained in a few days, luckily, so the water didn't get much deeper than that, and the current wasn't too strong.

He felt safe, not likely to be pulled away. But that didn't mean he wasn't careful, especially as he dunked his head underwater and began washing the sweat and mud off his body.

The mucky sand and pebbles beneath his feet felt like an organic massage—one of the many hidden gifts of the earth. He dragged his feet through the sand to release the tension in his lower body, letting the cold water relax and refresh him. Meanwhile, the unrefined beauty of the river and the forest and the mountains on either side took his breath away.

Seven days was the longest he's gone without social contact in his entire life. The only human-to-human interaction he had in the past week happened when he crossed paths with other backpackers on trail, though usually it was just a cheerful "Hello!" or "Beautiful day!" said in passing, never a real conversation.

He would be lying if he said he didn't feel at least a hint of loneliness. Yet, the solitude was good. Refreshing. It gave him the necessary time and space to clear his mind and finally think lucidly for the first time in ages.

Besides, there were ways to combat the minor isolation he felt. Singing was one of them. Over the course of the week he discovered a desire to sing quiet songs to himself as he completed mindless tasks. Right there in the river wasn't any different. He felt a bit like a mermaid as he sang to himself while washing his body in the water.

It would've been nice to have soap, to actually feel clean and smell nice afterwards, but soap contaminated the water and ruined the ecosystem. Harry didn't exactly value personal hygiene over the ecological health of the natural world around him. The water did enough on its own, washing away his sweat and the build-up of dirt on his skin from hiking for hours.

It was around seven o'clock now and the sun won't set for another hour or so, but it had fallen behind the horizon of the mountains, and the world was blanketed by a calming shadow that brought with it reprieve from the sun that had been beating down on the earth all day. Harry was lucky to have been mostly in the forest that day, seeing as he was really trying to avoid a sunburn.

It was July, and he spent the past month enjoying the summer weather, so his skin was pleasantly tan. He had the tendency to turn porcelain pale in the winter, and his mother always said sunkissed skin made him look healthier.

Harry swam around a little bit and then floated on his back to gaze up at the sky, the usual blue turning lighter and tinged with violet as the sun began to set. He stood up again but dipped his head underwater, running his fingers through the strands to untangle the knots. When he resurfaced he ran his hands over his skin again, from his toes all the way up to his face, to check if he forget any dirt or debris that might have stuck to him even through his swim.

Not wanting to cook dinner in the dark, he reluctantly waded out of the river and pulled himself onto a rock to dry off, lying down and letting the little droplets on his skin evaporate into the air.

In a little bit, he'd return to his campsite to start the burner and cook himself a burrito bowl of rice, peppers, and meat substitute made of soy. He'd stow all the leftover food away in the bear bag, reorganize his pack, wander through the woods to do his business, and slip into his tent just at the beginning of nightfall, falling asleep to the symphony of the rushing river and the sounds of the Allegheny mountain creatures at night.

For now, he relaxed back onto the rock and felt his body sink into its sturdiness, the feeling of the world swaying around him. Never in his life had he felt more grounded than he felt since coming to Dolly Sods.

His friends and family all warned against him completing a solo backpacking trip, listing off facts to prove its danger and scare Harry from following one of his more recent dreams. After spending a week entirely alone in the West Virginia wilderness, he was glad he hadn't listened to them.

They could be wrong about things, sometimes. They could be wrong about a lot of things.

Harry opened his eyes at the sound of a barred owl cooing in the distance, the gentle call that sounded like he or she was singing Who cooks for youu? Who cooks for youu-all?

A while later he sat up and retreated to his campsite, a warm bowl of food calling his name.