Healing hike

Friday, May. 20, 2016

Saturday I sought solace in nature and found it in a bee’s hum.

The past few weeks have been extremely stressful, and when it gets to the point where I'm annoyed simply by another person’s breathing in the same room as me, it’s time to remove myself until I’m once again fit to be in the company of humankind. 

By God’s grace – either to me or to those I’m in contact with – work required that I travel to Kanab over the weekend. A special event resulted in no vacancies at any of the motels, so I decided to stay in Panguitch.

That meant I’d have to get up 90 minutes early on Sunday to drive the 75 miles between the two towns, but it wasn’t as inconvenient as it sounds because it gave me the chance to go  to Kodachrome Basin State Park. I’ve never been there, but a friend recently posted photos online of his visit, which made me want to go.

I still haven’t gone. On the way, I took a wrong turn and ended up in Bryce Canyon National Park. By the time I realized my mistake, all I wanted to do was get out of the car, so I walked to the Bristlecone Loop lookout, where I settled on a bench with a book, intending to read the afternoon away in the stillness of nature.

The incessant wind, however, blew away every chance of relaxation. 

Muttering unkind words to Mother Nature, I replaced the book with a camera and headed toward Riggs Spring, but the mid-day light was too harsh for decent photos.

So there I was: not where I wanted to be, wind-blown, unable to find a comfortable spot to read, no photos to be seen. 

I walked on. Eventually I noticed that the manzanita was in bloom, the threatening thunderstorm made for a dramatic sky, and I was alone on the trail. Along about the three-mile mark, I realized that the sweat and solitude had seeped the irritation out of me.

Just then I stepped over a fallen log that lay across the trail and heard a loud humming coming from it. I turned back and saw in the log a hole about the size of my thumb.

Not wanting to put my face too close, I focused my camera lens, and saw a bumblebee, legs laden with pollen, in the hole. She retreated deeper into the wood, and the sound stopped.

I laughed out of sheer surprise. Who knew that a hollow log could amplify a single bee’s wingbeat so that it sounded like a whole hive?

Moving on, I couldn’t help but hum “The Bear Necessities” song, because the bee buzzing in the fallen tree reminded me that, indeed, all I need has come to me. 

The next day, I went to Coral Pink Sand Dunes State Park, telling God I was open to more instruction. I sought, but saw only dunes and a beetle and birds and yucca plants ready to bloom. I took off my shoes and walked barefoot in the warm sand. I felt the wind in my face and heard a child laugh, but none of these contained a lesson, at least none I could discern.

Maybe that in itself was what I needed to learn. Perhaps some days we do not need to be taught; instead, at times we are meant to pause in our journey and simply enjoy the goodness of God’s gift of creation.