A Day at Tinker Creek | Travelogue

Time finally seemed to really slow down.  Today was a good day. It was cloudy in the morning but most of the clouds rolled away by about 10am, making way for some sunshine. I walked up and down the banks of the creek at the back of the house. The water seemed to be clearer than the first day I saw it, where it was an opaque, faded green. I tried to see what was in the water, but I couldn’t see any living thing; they must be hiding. Or covered still by the opacity of the water. It must have been clearer then, back in ’74. I touched the water, as if to perform a ritual, or in celebration of finally having arrived. It has been a kind of pilgrimage to get here, to this creek. I guess I am kind of a pilgrim, I thought—a pilgrim at Tinker creek.

              By the creek, I read the penultimate chapter of Pilgrim titled Northing. Reading those pages again felt like conjuring a long-forgotten dream — a dream so real it becomes a part of you. Rereading some of the lines, I was surprised to find out how much I have subconsciously internalized and copied some of her words. They say that for young writers, it is natural to start off copying or imitating the voice of your literary heroes. But you can’t stop there. You need to find your own unique voice. When the sun came out, I decided to drive to Carvins Cove.

              I walked a short trail skirting the banks of the cove. In the Northing chapter of Pilgrim, It was October and there she describes the animals and trees and the general surroundings here being possessed by a kind of restlessness during the Fall season. Yet I walked into the woods and everything was still. It is October. Where was everybody? Nothing seemed to be moving, not a breath of wind. Did I miss the party? It felt like everything was already dead and downed, or dying. On the ground were dead trees, branches and twigs, dead leaves, mushrooms squashed, torn, or decomposing. Some trees were already bare branches, some with only a few leaves left that seemed to be just waiting for their turn to fall to the ground, ready to let go with the slightest puff of air. It was all so silent, except for the solitary tune of crickets. But even the crickets didn’t show themselves. There was also a lone crow, cawing, although before I even got to my turn around point it already flew away and never returned. Where was everybody going? Everything was still and silent. Even the running waters of shallow streams in the area made no sound. They glided smoothly over polished rocks and soil, stealthy as the dead leaves surrounding them. The only signs of life I saw were solitary spiders on the webs of bare branches of trees, and the ants on the ground. But later, on my walk back, I did notice young shoots of plants surrounding some trees. But even they seemed to be already dying. It felt to me as if the woods were going into hibernation. But instead of putting on fat and fur, It shed everything off.

              Would you call it bravery, meeting the cold of the coming winter with bare skin and bones? Or would you see it as surrendering, dropping everything and bowing down to the most unforgiving of seasons? At any rate, It seems to know not to waste any energy fighting the cold of winter. It knows that spring is just around the corner. And it’s just waiting, saving its energies, for that time when it can ride the swing of the season, and burst forth with life again.

          I went to a coffee shop after and published a post on my site. It’s the first (of many, hopefully) travelogue I have posted there. Although it is not new. Then I went back to my temporary home hoping to get a good walk around the neighborhood.

It was that time of day late in the afternoon. That slant of the light, which means good walking. I walked along the street where Annie Dillard used to live, hoping to catch Mr. Dillard walk out the door so I could talk to him. No luck. The place where I’m staying at is opposite to the side of the creek where they lived. Just down the street from this house is the bridge she often describes in her book (I think); where they gathered during the flood, where she watched a monarch climb up a hill by falling still, and the bridge where she looked over to observe the water below, trying to stalk muskrats.

              Most of the area of the creek she walked along is behind someone else’s property. So it wasn’t easy to trace her path before. I roamed the streets that lined the creek. There were not much people around to ask for permission. They must be at work or just inside their homes. When I got to the end one street, I saw a man driving home, and parked at the house a few steps from where I was standing. I mustered up the courage to ask him—politely—if it would be possible for him to let me walk around and behind his house, on his property, that was by the creek. He was very nice and allowed me to do so. I mentioned Annie Dillard’s book but he didn’t seem to know about it. And so I walked alongside the creek. It was part of the creek upstream to the “island” where she kept coming back to. That island is where I wanted to go. But I couldn’t find it, didn’t know how to get to it. I had a nice walk, still. Even though it was partly cloudy, the light was just right. Sunlight hit the sides of trees, the stream, rocks and fallen leaves, casting a golden glow to them, while long, slanted shadows cut across here and there. I mostly saw squirrels running about, carrying acorns in their mouths and pausing to look around suspiciously, or with guilt, as if they have stolen it from another. Birds are abundant here. Although I suppose most of them have started heading south for warmer climate. There are blue jays and sparrows (or crows?), hummingbirds and others whose names I don’t know. No muskrats though; no snakes. A few monarchs still wander around the place, as if they have all the time in the world, and not needing to go south before winter comes.

              On my way back as I crossed the bridge, I saw a pair of deer, feeding and drinking water by the creek. The bigger one (the mother, I supposed) eyed me suspiciously. But I waited and watched; I’ve played this game before. They went on about their business until finally they crossed the creek, taking their time, and disappeared behind the bushes. I walked home.

October 15, 2018. Day 55 of road trip. Tinker Creek.

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