Of 100 Acres
“Shut your mouth!” I tell myself sternly. I don’t want another swallow of a spiderweb. It makes me fearful and tingly and excited all at once. Fearful because where is the spider, tingly because who can get used to the feel of web? Excited because it means I am the first person to pass that way for a bit. But I can’t get spider webs to show up in pictures.
I walk around the lake and feel that it is insipid today. Insipid in italics, as I am looking down my nose at the still water. It feels dead in a beautiful way, with the reflection perfect and no clouds in the sky. I speed up to get to where I can see the insipid lake on one side and the moving river on the other. Not the rushing river- this one is never in a hurry, but it does have some life in movement. The delights around me overwhelm my senses and leave me in a daze. I take the smaller winding trails, that weave closer and closer to the river. It looks like drops of rain, which puzzles me until I laugh disgustedly as I realize it is just congregations of bugs making small ripples. I startle visibly at the back of a man with AirPods in his ears, feel my face frown, lean back into the trees and let him walk further ahead, gifting him his solitude. More of a gift to myself. “He will break all my spiderwebs.” I think bitterly.
About halfway round the lake there’s cut steps into the fresh earth and I bound down to the rocks to the bend in the river. My bend in the river. I’ve been here in all seasons now. I know it cold and I know it hot. I’ve thought many thoughts here with just as many emotions. Surely it is partially mine by now. I’ve seen my heron here more often than not, today I see his wingspan as he rounds the corner. The water skimmers are putting up a show, or a fight today- you decide. Whatever made that splash was bigger than a water skimmer. The squirrel is chattering at me until he loses interest.
I looked for houses on Zillow in this area, just at the idea of being closer to this place. An 18 minute drive is longer than I’d like it to be. Should I have woken my daughters to come see this beauty, after letting them stay up too late last night? Is it selfish to want it all for myself? Could it be even more beautiful if shared?
There are a couple of spots I must visit religiously. They will get upset if I don’t. One has new graffiti on it. I am not mad, just annoyed I have to share. There are enough little detours to always take a new one, if I have the mind for it, and today I do. Here is where I find my spiderwebs. So many that I almost turn back. Here is the place, I tell myself, where I would go if I were homeless and needed to sleep outside.
A moment later I’m out by the highway and shaking myself down for the spider I know is somewhere on me still. Shoot- this is the jogging path. With joggers. Veer off and find the secret bathroom. It’s always locked when I come, as it opens at 11, but there’s a bird feeder and you can sit and enjoy them eating their breakfast.
Scratch that- the secret bathroom is open, and it is 8:16am. There is an outside entrance I never knew about. As I slide the door closed, I remember when my daughter got stuck because the door is heavy and solid and slides when we kept trying to push or pull it open normally. After a bit of hysterics, we slid the door open and embraced all the drama on both sides. I think I will always remember that when I use the secret bathroom. I had my 40th birthday party here- not at the secret bathroom, but at 100 Acres. Or Virginia B. Fairbanks. Whatever you want to call it.
This is my Saturday morning runaway spot. It calls me out of a cozy bed, my yearnings for nature pull me. My shoes damp with dew I can just detect in my socks. I come here when I need whimsy. It fills my cup enough to go home and give my kids adventures- and get them off their screens. That takes a special kind of energy, you know. It doesn’t just grow on trees. I could live a happy life in this secret bathroom.