Spirit In Nature Trail

Spirit In Nature Trail: Head up Route 125 through Ripton, as if you were going the Snow Bowl. About a mile east of Ripton, turn right onto Goshen-Ripton Road (gravel). Parking area and information kiosk for Spirit In Nature is just a short ways south on this road, and the trails--several of them, each dedicated to a different religious tradition--are on both sides of the road.

I am walking along a shoulder-width trail marked by red and white striped ribbons, tied to branches of small beech and birch trees every twenty feet along the path. The trail is part of the Spirit in Nature paths, located on Goshen Road, off of Route 125, a few miles west of the Robert Frost Trail and the Breadloaf Campus. The property, on loan from Middlebury College, has largely natural boundaries: the Goshen Brook runs north-south along the western border, the South Branch River provides the northern border running east-west, and US Forest Service Land provides the southern border to the property. In the midst of this regenerate forest and marsh and river ecosystem, one is continually and explicitly invited to meditate upon how the spirit­-notably upon one's own spirit­-interacts with the landscape. There are nine separate (and at times overlapping) trails, each devoted to a distinct religious tradition.

An access path begins at the head of the parking lot, beside welcome signs where one might learn about Spirit in Nature, and borrow a map of the trails. The path is wide enough for two or three to walk abreast, through tall evergreens whose fallen needles offer the walker a softened step. A hundred yards from the parking lot is a clearing, in which one finds the Sacred Circle; a number of wooden benches are positioned in a circle, a pervasive image in numerous religious traditions. The Interfaith Path, the Buddhist Path, and the Unitarian Universalist Path all lead from this spot, which functions as a symbolic center.

Though designated as the Sacred Circle on the map, there are no informative signs about the site, nor description of its uses or significance for the various traditions. I walk about it once, slowly­-even reverently-­then continue on. I choose the Interfaith Path, established in November 1999, as it is the most recent trail completed and is also the longest, stretching for four miles about the perimeter.

The trail is narrow and winding leading away from the Sacred Circle, rising up and over and then traversing diagonally down a hillside; the cuttings and clearings of the volunteer trail crews are still quite evident. The trail takes me through bent beech saplings, tumbles of encrusted brambles, shattered evergreen limbs frozen in their steady work of decomposition. Walking upon an inch of packed snow, I am grateful for the prints of other walkers; I follow in their footsteps in all manner of faithfulness. I am forced to pay close attention to the rough-hewn path itself, with its curls and bends through the underbrush. The small waving trail markers, like striped prayer flags, are at times difficult to discern in the thick growth of evergreen and sapling deciduous trees.

Every hundred feet or so along the path one comes to a waist-high yellow plaque with black writing upon it, which offers a quotation for meditation. These quotations are a hallmark of all of the trails here, and the Interfaith Path quotations are drawn from a variety of religious and spiritual backgrounds and from a variety of figures. Frank Lloyd Wright offers, "I believe in God. I spell it N-A-T-U-R-E." Quotations such as this invite reflection upon topics such as God, spirit, nature, and one's own spiritual journey. Though moved by many of the quotations, I find it difficult to allow my mind and my spirit to wander into meditative waters while walking here, due to my acute concern with losing the trail.

I halt my diagonal descent to gain a glimpse of a small marsh, with slender reeds arcing skyward from beneath the snow and ice and frozen mud of their roots. I am forced to bend over to get a clear view through the brush, holding back a stiff maple sapling from my face. The marsh is flat, the hillside slowly sagging towards the water's edge; on the far side, the forest begins again immediately, in a tumble of enormous fallen trees and scrub brush and young shoots. I do not see any signs of the trail below.  I am reminded of the spacious meandering swaths of the Robert Frost Interpretive trail­-just up the road­-and wonder whether these two trails might be switched. This Interfaith Path curls and bends and doubles back on itself, much like the course of the Goshen Brook, which borders its western perimeter. My walk through these particular woods feels like one that Frost himself might have taken, unobtrusive and observant. In contrast, the Frost Interpretive Trail is similar to the wide girth of the South Branch River, which lazes and carries the traveler along with little or no effort at finding nor following the path. I wonder aloud if Frost might be more satisfied if this were his remembrance trail, rather than the broad promenade established by the Forest Service. No one answers.

At the base of the hillside beyond the Sacred Circle, I cross the marsh via a beaver land bridge; the trail curls about the boundaries of this marsh, leading me steadily east and north. The marsh yields to a more explicit tributary, which-­eventually, the trail map assures­-will become the South Branch River. As I walk, I focus upon the associative interaction of the concepts of spirit and nature in conjunction with my immediate surroundings, to which I am paying close and sustained attention. At this point in my walk, I am presented with water-­in all of its forms­-all about me. My feet crunch upon a crust of hard-packed snow; my arms and back brush against tree limbs and hollow reeds, bound by a sliver-layer of ice. My mouth exhales white exhaust; my eyes see marshes and encased waterfalls and sedentary streams. Water permeates all of my senses. I realize that Nature permeates all that I am and all that I do; in a comparable way, the Spirit permeates Nature, as the name of this area both suggests and upholds. I continue walking, now conscious of some osmosis occurring, some unforeseen seeping of this place into my being.

I stop at a steep bank leading to the South Branch, and look up to the find the red and white prayer flags hidden in the trees ahead. The map I carry in my pocket, crisp in the zero degree air, indicates that the trail will now bend west, along the South Branch River, leading me back to the Sacred Circle and to the entrance.

The great arching turn of the river lies below me, held fast in the bank's cool embrace, waiting for no one. There is no clearing, no benches, only a few trampled brush footsteps down to the water's edge. There are no tracks along the banks. There is little or no movement in the center of the river, which is still, open water; a silvery ice-line bends crookedly a few feet from the banks, which in turn are encased with layers of ice and blanched white in the week-old snow. This is the closest I have been to the water. My hand dips in, and the water envelops my thin skin. I look up, half-expecting someone to be there, some presence of the Spirit. I see the white and deep grays and blues of the open water. I hear the squeak and crunch as my boots dig in. I smell evergreen pines, and that particular freshness of clear winter afternoons.

I breathe in, and breathe out. All about me is silence, and stillness. Perhaps this is my meditation. Perhaps this is my permeation. I slowly rise, nearly alarmed by the quiet. I shiver, and begin looking for the trail again.

by Patrick Kelly