Above the Otter Slide River

I had a miserable start to my Junior year of high school. I began each day with my general chemistry course, taught by one of the strictest teachers I’ve ever had. The class became a major stressor for me, both due to the workload and social environment; I had just broken up with a partner, and due to the assigned seating, we sat right next to each other in the class. Fortunately, I also got closer to two of my dearest friends, Trevor and Cos. The three of us banded together before our first big test, unaware that it’d lead to something far more enriching. 

The first study session was quite unsuccessful. My ex invited themself along to the group, and I spent the entire time stewing in misery. While I thought maybe the study group without my ex would be more productive, I was foolish to think so. Still, I gave it a try with Trevor and Cos. The following study sessions proved unfruitful academically, but I found myself laughing more than ever. The regular meetings were a much needed escape, and as we weren’t making much progress as a study group, we eventually evolved into a group of nomads for two hours every Thursday. 

For some background, I live in quite the rural town. Though we’re only a fifteen minute drive to Concord, which is a slightly bigger and certainly more well-known town, Carlisle, Massachusetts is secluded. According to my high school history teacher, Carlisle was founded by the people who were sick of being spied on during the Witch Trials. That, of course, led to the town policy that homes have to be four acres apart from one another. So while I do have neighbors across the street, it’s a bit of a hike to their front door. The plus side to being so rural, however, is that my house is practically sitting in the center of a web of forest trails. During our time together, Trevor, Cos, and I became so fond of meandering down the trails of Carlisle that we ritualized our walks. 

Every Thursday, the three of us would head down to Trevor’s car and drive over to my house. The car rides were something entirely different; sometimes, they were loud and mirthful, other times we sat in silence and watched the world pass by as The Doors played on the radio. When we reached my house, we’d drop off our school bags, have a bag of peanut butter M&M’s, and start walking.

I reflect particularly fondly on one spring Thursday. As we began to get more sunlight each day, the pressures of schoolwork seemed to lighten as well. We wandered between the pine trees and softly chattered away on the trail head, shedding our coats as we continued talking. When we reached the Otter Slide stream, the water was low, the murky river floor two inches below the surface. Over the river was a fallen tree, bent across the stream like a knobbly bridge. Though we’d passed by the tree many times before, we never paid much attention to it. It soon came to be that the three of us were sitting in the middle of the trunk, feet dangling over the water. I remember laughing as Trevor clambered onto the log, smiling his goofy smile as he wobbled his way across the tree trunk, making silly jokes. Whenever we were outdoors, he always seemed to loosen up. Even if we walked along the cranberry bog rather than the trails, he’d always swing his arms just a little bit more when he walked, he’d take bigger strides in his steps, and he’d laugh more. Trevor’s type of laughter always had a twinge of discomfort, like he was in a perpetual state of awkwardness, but whenever we were outdoors it was different. He laughed without fear, big and open and unapologetic. Cos would open up more too, but in more of an emotional sense rather than physically. Generally pretty quiet in class, unless about a subject she was particularly interested in, Cos opened up about hard situations and emotions. She became unafraid of asking for help, whereas at school she was stoic and unbothered. On our walks, she’d tell us what got under her skin, and talked about her childhood spent in Ethiopia. She’d show us her metaphorical scars, exposing her vulnerabilities in the seclusion of the forest. 

It was as though nature cradled us and diminished our fears, keeping us safe and sound from the rest of the world. Perhaps that’s why the Carlisle settlers chose to live so far apart from one another; feeling the serenity and peace after knowing the comfort of nature, it’s hard to go back to living away from it. The privacy and simultaneously the sense of community is abundant on walks in the forest. The echoes of our laughter, bouncing off the trees and ringing out in our little grotto remains to be one of the sweetest sounds I’ve ever heard. I doubt Trevor, Cos and I ever would’ve gotten so close without our weekly walks outside. Outside, we were away from the pressures of schoolwork, and the constant distractions of our phones and computers. While one could say nature provides an escape from modern day life, I believe it’s more a return to our first home; the way nature’s been taking care of us, feeding us and cradling us, sustaining us for centuries has left us with a sense of utter belonging in our returns to its embrace.