I am in the midst of planning a week long backpacking trip into the Olympic National Park with some friends. I spent a fair amount of time over the weekend examining which trek we should take. I read reviews of those who have hiked the trails before, and made notes for what each trail has to offer. The best campsites, the fewest people, and most importantly in my book, which trails offer rewards that are worth the challenges to receive them.
So when I received the Writer's Almanac in my inbox this morning, it seemed appropriate that the daily poem be Sam Walter Foss' "The Calf-Path." In contrast to Robert Frost's "The Road Not Taken," which examines why we choose the paths we take, "The Calf-Path" questions why there the path is there to begin with.
It made me realize that, for as independent and free thinking as the race of humans claims to be, we really are creatures of habit. We follow the same paths that our forefathers followed generations before us, and are plagued by the same successes and failures; if we're not careful, our grandchild's grandchildren will follow that very same path.
This is the reason inspiration and creativity are so important. We can't simply continue to head in one direction because it is easy. Most people will never blaze a new trail because they lack inertia. So we must rely on people who have the insight and courage to forge their own path, and hope they have the determination to lead us from our current path. The path that was scorched with oil by our forefathers. And our new path will be blazed by creativity.
2 comments:
Promise me, dear brother, that should you forge your own path in the Olympics, you will take a well-charged cell phone and a compass. While your disappearance would inspire in me horrible pulp visions of what's befallen you (I'm imagining a campy knock-off of "Deliverance" and "The X-Files", with maybe a wacky Benny Hill gag thrown in for comic relief) I'd be ever so distressed to never see you again.
Fear not, dear sister, Ms Malaprop.
The course I've planned's been tread.
I'd rather follow a crooked calf,
than let you find me dead.
Day one we trek to boulder creek
where hot springs lie in wait.
There we'll be stewed and boiled and brewed
(but not left to macerate).
From there we scale Olympic pass
and climb four thousand feet.
We'll be drained and beat and pained
but the worst will be complete.
And then we trek around Sol Duc
and Ho for twenty five.
We'll be sore and tired and more.
but we will be alive.
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