"I followed an old logging road leading to the lake, one of the thousands of tote roads that wind here and there through the cut-over country in the north. In many places the almost forgotten trail was obliterated by brush and hazel and even good-sized trees, but for most of the way it was plain. Seen from the air, these old roadways lie like a soft gray spider web over the land."
-Sigurd Olson - p.#104-105, Listening Point
Branches reach upward and across the country dirt road toward available sunlight as trees form a tunnel through the forest. From the vantage point beneath those branches, one is able to look deeper under the canopy of leaves - at the trunks and branches which act as the supporting posts, beams, and trusses of what we affectionately call the forest. Such synergistic words that typically described a community barn raising are probably best rephrased as a community forest raising, now as continually growing roots, trunks, and branches!
Features are abundant on and along the winding, meandering, dirt road. Sunlight filters through the green to splash down as a camouflage print, mixing with rough dark tree bases and withered brown leaves - now a composting reminder of last year's growth. Small banks exist on either side as a result of periodic grading. Paths and two tracks occasionally crisscross the country dirt road; some leading to a destination. Most simply become smaller and smaller until they peter out altogether in the middle of the wood - in a stand of trees and brush.
Deer tracks are imprinted along the softer sides of the road before disappearing over the bank and into the shadows. Sometimes these tracks tell a startled tale as deep impressions and sprayed sand reveal a once surprised creature who bounded stiff legged and sideways before finding safety and cover. Ravens croak and blue jays jeer like a squeaky gate; using the dirt road as their own personal fly zone and link to the internet of animal gossip.
The road itself has many variables. Occasionally dry and dusty. Once in a while rocky and bumpy. At times, and in certain places, it is as smooth as city concrete and just as hard. But the noises are much different. Birds chirp in chorus; each with their own dialect and purpose. Squirrels and chipmunks bark and scurry. The noiseless wind gives birth to a symphony of sounds as it gently creeps over the rustling tree tops or races in a blind rage through the woods and down the road itself. At these times branches clash and moan, bushes sway and whip, and old leaves tumble and twirl within the wind. It is the ingredients in the path of the wind that give it sound and make it visible.
Often trees or large branches fall onto the dirt road. Sometimes they are driven over. Sometimes they are cut up and tossed aside onto the bank or into the back of an old pickup truck to be used as fuel in a fireplace. And sometimes the road itself must change as those who drive around the fallen debris cause another contour to form upon the wildly rustic map.
Dirt roads themselves are a reflective tint of the soil’s chemistry. Sand gives way to bleached out colors. Clay produces either a chocolate, tawny, or red appearance depending on moisture content and geography. The roads traverse over hills, through valleys and swamps, and along ridges, lakes, and streams. With the latter, one must occasionally drive through these as a daring aspect of the roadway or as a result of an industrious beaver farther downstream.
Informational signage for direction or instruction rarely exists. The lack thereof is what keeps the roads wild; occasional name plates nailed to a tree to indicate someone's old hunting cabin turned shack the only print of civilization deemed moderately allowable. When deer flies and mosquitoes are gone, and the air is cool, hikers may wander the roadway in peaceful serenity. Mountain bikers take advantage of the dirt road’s meandering, and vehicles with sightseers may ramble along over the gravely surface. Sometimes drivers approach each other from opposite directions and both must give a little as they creep closer to the bank on their side of the road to let the other pass. Exchanged is a smile and a quick friendly raise of the hand in appreciation.
At various points along its travels the country road opens up to a meadow of fine wispy grasses, brightly colored flowers, and the old orchard apple tree - from a seeded core thrown out the window many years ago or the living remains of what was once a pioneer’s homestead.
The country road. The country dirt road. Many may no longer exist as a product of what some people label as progress. When you happen upon one, however, or simply close your eyes to envision one, its details will be eternally imprinted within your mind and inscribed upon your heart. Although its destination is often unknown - to those who appreciate the dirt road for what it’s worth, while focusing on the its vitals and surroundings, it is the unknown that ironically gives it purpose.
See you along The Way…
