Beneath My Hiking Shoes

Those of you who have done some hiking in the Pacific Northwest or who consider themselves naturalists in any capacity may be wondering why on earth I would highlight a picture of poison oak for this particular blog. Poison oak, like its east-coast cousin poison ivy, is a much hated plant for the oil it contains. This oil, called urushiol, inflicts nasty, itchy, painful rashes on its sufferers. Well, the reasoning for the picture begins with a different story: the story of a hiking excursion.

I took a mid-week solo trip to the Washington side of the Columbia River Gorge on Wednesday. I had visited this particular area hiking once before (in winter) with a friend and found myself so impressed with the majesty of the ecosystem that I knew a spring return was warranted. After all, it is currently wildflower season in the Pacific Northwest. I still only know a few species of wildflower by sight. So, there was indeed much to observe and to learn.

This particular area boasts vast open grasslands with boulders that seemingly have been dropped from the sky, mixed with small patches of oak forest that pop up anywhere water flows. In winter, the grasses die and the wind paints golden brush strokes over the near empty landscape. On a clear day, trees stand solitary and silhouetted against ocean blue skies. The eastern part of the gorge is known to locals as an oasis of sun from the gloomy clouds of Portland metro. The Labyrinth, as it is known, called my name for many months before I took the trip. I found myself often scanning the weather forecasts around Cascade Locks and Hood River, Oregon for signs of ideal conditions that coincide with my off days. Thus is the life and heart of a hiker.

On this particular Wednesday, the conditions were just right and I had a juicy new audiobook to devour on the three hour round-trip car ride: My Stroke of Insight by Dr. Jill Bolte Taylor. The books I select for my solo hiking trips are often chosen for the themes they may weave into my subconscious. In this way, I gift myself notions to ponder during the hike. I choose them and my hikes carefully. The entire experience is one that I craft for self care, growth, and reflection. I then take my notebook with me and find an ideal place to write. In this case, the reprieve of sun (and freshness, inspiration) from the extended darkness of winter felt necessary and so I was off.

For those of you who have not yet had the pleasure of reading My Stroke of Insight, I will not give away too much. But, I will explain a little about the premise of the book and what it meant to me. The book is written by a neuroscientist who had a stroke in her mid-thirties and who was able to study the deterioration of her brain from the inside out. The book also details her long recovery and the process of relearning to process information through the left hemisphere of her brain. Much of the book focuses on the revelations she experienced as a result of experiencing the world almost exclusively through right brain consciousness and the feeling of connection and oneness that resulted.

For much of my hike, I was fixed on this idea of acknowledging the multitudes that exist within and around our bodies. I let my right brain take over my experience of the hike, noticing thoughts as they came, as if in a walking meditation. At one point, I happened across some poison oak as I took a trail cutoff toward the base of a waterfall. My bare legs grazed the plant before I had the notion to even notice where I walked.

Now, I am immune to the oils of poison ivy and have been since I was a young child. However, I did not know yet with certainty if that same immunity applied to poison oak. Even if it did, I knew better than to be nonchalant about the oils, which could transfer to my loved ones who are not immune.

Deep in a state of observation, this encounter with poison oak got me thinking about the plant in new ways. As my steps became more and more mindful, as I carefully placed each foot for the rest of the walk, I realized the power of this plant to force us humans to consider how we steward the land. What does stewardship look like when every step we take compacts the soil? We are often unconsciously crushing life forms beneath our feet as we walk, plants and insects and the like. How might this plant, poison oak, be a teacher for a more mindful approach to life and to what lies beneath our hiking shoes?

On this hike, I developed a new appreciation for poison oak. Perhaps aided by my immunity, but more likely aided by the wonderful insights of Dr. Jill Bolte Taylor and her enlightening book. I stopped at one point to admire the plant and took the photograph I featured in this blog post. I hope reading this helped you to consider the world a little differently too.