Higher, Colder, Wilder

Peter and I headed into the Adirondacks for a hike up Azure Mountain. It was our first time there and we were greeted by the breathtaking site full of snow. It was a winter wonderland; the mountain was alive and in transition. From fall into winter. The sound of melting snow dropping onto papered leaves activated the trail on our way up. Tiny rivulets of running water were trapped beneath ice, and the streams formed dark shadows of slipper movement on rock face. The bursts of water swam with hurried ambition, like eager sperm. On top of the mountain the sun sparkled over the tinseled birch tips.

In Wandering Home, Bill McKibben talks about the Adirondacks with neighborly familiarity and respect. Comparing the area to his other home in Vermont he notes that "the Adirondacks are higher, colder, and wilder - people have lived here for fewer centuries in fewer numbers, and have never been able to make farming work for long. And so, over time, huge chunks have been left to rewild themselves, till in places it approaches the primeval."

While driving home, we noticed a sign on a diner door within park limits. It read "This is no park. This is where we work, this is where we live." Surely we - the recreational visitors - were the clueless patrons they meant to inform. Yet weren't we - the recreational visitors - the customers who sustained their small business? The irony reminded me that the Adirondacks are a great wilderness preservation experiment unfolding right in our backyard. Once, the Adirondacks were heavily logged, but those very areas are rewilding now. It may not be pure, virgin, unspoiled forest, but its recycled wildness speaks the language of redemption.