February 8, 2015 – Barton Creek Greenbelt
The air is crisp and warm; a cool breeze passes through momentarily as I wade through the slow-flowing current of the Greenbelt. It’s around 75 degrees – the water is numbing, but I revel in the juxtaposition that the water and the breeze offers. The trail is more deserted than usual; save for the 4 or 5 rock climbers rappelling down the limestone cliffs and a couple walking their dog, it is just me, my two friends, and Mother Nature. Once we made it to the other side of the river, we made our way through the winding, brush-covered trail. Juniper berries and sweet gum pods marked the pathway – in a minuscule cave above, there were animal droppings and graffiti. Near the edge of the water, reeds, alligator weed and wild ginger (?) grew rampant. Towards the end of the trail, we came upon a fallen oak tree. Feeling adventurous, we decided to walk across it. Bad idea – we ended up getting stuck and after considering the idea of just jumping into the water, we decided that the best option was to just shimmy back towards land on our stomachs. Naturally, this resulted in painful, red scrapes gracing the insides of our legs and arms. However, besides that slight blemish on our journey, our hike ended on a rather successful note. Stress levels were significantly reduced (perhaps around a 2) – any smidgen of anxiety I had previously possessed was erased simply by being amongst the trees and water. Driving home, my inner feelings were a fondue pot of serenity, regret and gratitude. In that moment, I was at peace with myself, but the feeling of regret after leaving paradise is a universally human experience that I had learned to expect. In a rapid succession of stages, I finally reached “metamorphosis”, so to speak – undying gratitude was the best and last emotion I felt as I replayed the day’s memories.
February 21, 2015, – Barton Creek Greenbelt
Armed with packages of dried fruit, inflatable floating tubes, and speakers for playing music, I made the trek down the Greenbelt again. It was hot and dry; the perfect weather to attach my tube to a nearby tree, float, listen to music, and snack on dehydrated apples. Stress was nonexistent – I made the smart decision to finish homework before heading out to relax and the only thing on my mind was deciding where I should station myself. My friends and I found a perfect, deserted spot towards the end of the trail. Every now and then hikers and their dogs would pass through, but for the most part, it was a quiet, peaceful setting. Laying on our backs, floating in the slightly frigid water, listening to Mac Demarco: it was a dream. The water was rather high, although this was no surprise since it was still technically winter and there were recent rain storms. Reeds and bramble-like bushes grew near the water’s edge and aspens (?) and live oaks made up most of the forest. Surrounded by the natural beauty, I thought of humans’ tendency to praise yet destroy the beautiful. Leopold begs us to consider how we treat the Earth: “…do we not already sing our love for and obligation to the land of the free and the home of the brave? Yes, but just what and whom do we love? Certainly not the soil, which we are sending helter-skelter downriver Certainly not the waters, which we assume have no function except to turn 13 turbines, float barges, and carry off sewage. Certainly not the plants, of which we exterminate whole communities without batting an eye.”
