No shit, there I was…
…bopping down a forest trail on my motorcycle.
I was happy as a clam. There was no thought in my head except laughing about how I used to menace my Doctor with a hat. I had nowhere to go, no reason to be there, and nobody to bitch at me about anything. One must savor these moments!
I had two “ideas”. The first is an old abandoned church I know about. The second is grouse season.
I decided to start by visiting a church that outlasted the town that built it.
I’m not sure what’s going on with the church. It’s somewhat in ill repair, as befits a structure left amid “ghost town” remnants. Did I mention it’s in the middle of nowhere?
The good news is it seems “stabilized”. Decay hasn’t been reversed but it has been arrested. I don’t know if they actually have services. It sure feels like the most blessed place ever; but it’s also an absolute bear to get to.
Locals know more than I. They probably have family ties to those old ghost towns. They might have ancestors buried out there. There’s a few “main” graveyards to which I never pay much attention. There are also little spots where one or two people are buried. Those, I tiptoe around like the hallowed ground it is. Stuff is maintained, though not like a regular cemetery; more like the brush is removed annually and so forth.
Unlike cities, which can lose their soul, everyone out there seems to have a basic level of morality. The graves and other things are carefully left undisturbed. There’s other practical reasons to be careful around the old buildings. The cellar holes are tiger traps and I’m sure there’s an unmarked well or three. Step carefully.
The little plots with a handful of graves are touching. Sometimes there’s kids, sometimes several died around the same time. Sometimes it’s just a couple. (A husband and wife?) Sometimes I can’t read what’s written. Sometimes nothing is written. Disease, starvation, brutal winters? I don’t know. It’s a hard world. Modern people would do well to reflect on their life of relative ease and safety.
Back to my point, I don’t know shit about anything for sure, but like to go to the pretty church. It feels… special. I step inside and think about stuff. (It’s never locked, because why would a church be locked?) Something about the pews and the old uneven floor reminds me I ought to be a better man.
If I weren’t faffing about with my CPAP and health, I’d just camp there. There are “dispersed” campsites within walking distance of the church. These are absolutely “primitive”. There’s no power. There’s no water. There’s no fee. There’s no numbers. There’s no reservations. There is no overt bureaucracy at all.
I like that there’s no big sign with oodles of rules and regulations. No bitching about alcohol in glass bottles, or dog leashes, or recycling. Just a couple flat spots with the brush mostly cleared. If you’re a jackass out there, that’s between you and God, and it really does have the feel of hallowed ground. (It goes without saying that I leave my campsite spotless when I depart. I always leave a little firewood for whomever comes next. Etc…)
I’ve camped there a few times and it’s usually abandoned. I hope my presence isn’t a faux pas. I like the silence. There’s a hand pump and the water is delicious. (I don’t know if it’s “officially” potable but I lived when I drank it. I’m sure percolated coffee is “boiled big time” anyway.)
There are a few picnic tables, which seem to be a million years old. There’s an outhouse and someone takes good care of it. I can’t remember if that’s the place where there’s a coffee can to donate or I’m remembering somewhere else; but if there’s a coffee can I’ll donate.
You could do a lot worse than appreciate a well maintained outhouse in the deep forest with the Lord’s house not far away.
That was my plan; not to camp but to visit. I’m probably due for a mid-year performance evaluation with the big guy. If I’m fucking up, sitting in that little church will remind me to stop.
But as I rode I saw a trail I hadn’t noticed before. The bike zoomed off. Who am I to argue with my trusty steed?
There was a fork in the road. Then another. Then another. Then I wasn’t on a road at all.
It was a skid trail. I kept going because why not? The skid trail wound through a seedtree cut and stopped abruptly at a slash pile. I stopped and rested.
A grouse drummed somewhere in the distance. I had my shotgun. I originally intended to hike a bit and see if I could find a bird for dinner.
My motorcycle disagreed. It wanted to ride. Feeling lazy, I decided to forgo hiking.
I followed another trail which dropped into a small ravine. The trail did twisty turns for a long time and then petered out in a swamp. Probably a winter road for logging equipment.
I suspected I wasn’t far from the church as the crow flies. I dug out my phone and checked my position on mapping software. Yah… not far.
I thought about cutting through. But the brush was almost malevolently tangled. Trees shaded everything making it dark and gloomy but paradoxically not dark enough to cut back on the vegetation. It’s a maze out there. Regardless of what’s allowed or not, it would be absurdly stupid to “shortcut” out there. An ATV would be mired in seconds. My nimble motorcycle in yards. Even on foot, you need to watch your ass. “Bushwacking” (going utterly off trail) is fun in lots of places, but other places aren’t so nice. You only venture into them when you’ve got a damn good reason.
While backtracking, I thought about the last time I saw the church. It’s surrounded by very dark and foreboding forest. Somewhere between Tolkien’s Mirkwood and where Disney sent Snow White.
Thinking about the dark patch of land where the church lives, I guessed I’d bumped into the other side of it. Frankly, the forest ain’t super healthy. Everything is piled and half rotten. Even Yoda couldn’t manage to traverse it easily. The trees are in geezerhood. It’s wet and overgrown with a forest floor that’s a soggy mess of fallen logs covered with briars and ferns. If it ever dries out it’ll be a nightmare. That worries me. If that damp sock of a forest ever dried enough to catch fire, it’d nuke the little church.
Last time I camped there, years ago, I hiked straight out into that mess. I said I was grouse hunting but I was more likely to find a moose (or Sasquatch) than a bird. What I really was doing was toying with the very firmament of nature. It was a nice hike, but also strenuous; a place a squirrel would get tangled in knots.
After a few miles I turned from a trail to the appropriate forest road. It looked different. There’d been some logging. It was much more open than I remembered. Young trees were springing up. I saw deer in the distance. It was a place of renewal. So much change! Had I been absent that long?
Buzzing along in my lawnmower sounding bike, I spied three plain white trucks ahead. Contractors? Maybe the logging was still going? Then I realized it was the church itself. They hadn’t logged around the church proper, which is good. There was a bunch of trucks and SUVs scattered about. One of the old picnic tables was brand new…
Holy shit! A wedding cake!
I didn’t see that coming! Someone was getting married in the “ghost town church”! I idled down to make my bike as silent as possible, turned, and left. Everyone was inside. I caught a glimpse of the church and maybe(?) the siding had been updated, or at least painted.
Wow!
You know all that shit the media is shoving at you? How this politician is the biggest douchebag ever and that guy is on your team so yay him. You know it’s all an endless battle of horseshit but it’s everywhere and it sinks in.
Shake that off! I saw hope in real physical literal existence. A tiny old church in the middle of nowhere has fresh saplings growing up on the approach road. Within it a bride and groom are tying the knot.
All this goodness. In a place cell phones don’t reach. Where there’s no lightbulbs and the roads are dirt. A wedding cake on a brand new picnic table (which will surely become part of the church’s grounds).
While they were doing that good stuff, a bearded dipshit rolled in. He had nothing but good intentions too; expecting to commune with the eternal. He quietly dashed away. Glad to see the church was thriving.
All that happened! You couldn’t have known. Social media won’t mention it. Were you letting politicians and media do an amygdala hijack on you at that moment? Wouldn’t it have been nice to know that something good, and nice, and spiritually uplifting was going on? Well I’m telling ya’!
The church is thriving. Ain’t that great?
