It was a beautiful fall day. Everywhere we looked, the colors were mesmerizing: red, green and golden. The floor of the woods was carpeted in Technicolor that made the ground seem softer and the miles shorter. I could not stop moving forward, breathless to see what wonders lie ahead. My partners on this expedition seemed less enthusiastic:
“How much longer dad?”
“How much further?”
“Are we there yet?”
I heard them on the edges of my reverie. “Don’t worry kids. I know this place like the back of my hand.” This was technically true. I never lie to children. Still, the beauty of the season and the brilliance of the day had hypnotized me with a siren song that I just could not resist. As if on cue, a family of wild turkeys crossed our path not ten feet away. We watched silently as the mother’s scratchy clucks kept the three babies in line. I wondered if they were lost. Then I wondered if the poults complained? For a few moments we were transfixed, connected to this place and absorbed in its perfect beauty. Then the children’s chorus brought me back to reality.
“Where are we dad? “ they sang. We were well off the beaten path. Briefly I thought about climbing a tree to scout our position from above. Instead, I settled on another tact, practical but mundane.
“This way” I waved confidently. The trees got thicker. Brambles appeared to multiply.
“No. This way.” I turned in circles.
Sean moaned. “Dad’s lost again.”
“Not really. Just a little turned around. Don’t worry. We’ll be back on track in no time at all.” Before I could take another step, they sang: “I know this place like the back of my hand.”
These taunts rang familiar. I have been lost in some of the best places: the green mountains near Bennington, Vermont, the hills of County Mayo, Ireland, and even on the confusing back roads near Ellicotville. There is something about the scenery that distracts me. I get turned around and forget where I’m headed.
Did you ever notice how often times being lost is a way of really finding something? That day in the woods we found ourselves connected to life in a more elemental way. Those wayward turkeys paid no attention to us, yet we paid careful attention to them and everything else in our surroundings. Being lost sharpens the senses and whets the appetite for adventure. In Homer’s Odyssey, Odysseus spends ten years being lost and yet his finds included a Cyclopes, a beautiful siren song and countless stories to be told and retold at firesides down the centuries. Odysseus was such a wanderer that his name has come to describe the wandering spirit in us all.
Of course it is good to know where we are going. It is fine to have direction and purpose. And so we load ourselves down with the instruments of efficient travel: compass, GPS devices and even the old fashion road map. Ours is the age of no nonsense travel. No room for adventure and the sure pleasure of the unexpected.
We finally reached home after a labyrinthine journey of twists and turns. Our senses with filled to the max. The kids kept chanting “Like the back of my hand,” as we stepped out of the woods and arrived in the yard. But I didn’t mind. Like Odysseus, being lost wasn’t just a waste of time. It teaches lessons in patience and endurance. And best of all, it whets the appetite for home.
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