MST

 

December 27, 2025

Walked on the Mountains to the Sea Trail, my first foray there since the hurricane. The wild high woods are filled with debris and broken trees, but the area accessible to the road seems worse, as woodsmen cut down everything they perceived as too damaged, so it looks like the Ardennes in 1914. On the trail I met an old woman and a tall blind boy who led himself forward on two ski poles. I assumed grandma was taking her grandson for a jaunt in the woods. A Hispanic man walked with his wife (I assumed) trudging fifty feet behind him. He played a Spanish music station on a tiny device in his hand, the sound of which was dismaying in that otherwise holy silence. Three joggers hurled by wearing orange vests and each crying “happy holidays!” at me. A bulldog followed, also wearing an orange vest, but not crying “happy holidays!” As I walked I considered what a disaster a fall would be, even if I were uninjured. The woods might be better than the floor, though, as there’s plenty of stumps and trunks to haul oneself up on. Plus, I have no recollection of ever falling on the trail. The comparative emptiness of the woods reminds one that these are the tops of mountains, and all the resources and advantage lie below. 

It being a spring-like Saturday afternoon, the line of cars waiting to enter the Arboretum stretched for half a mile.