OTHER SMOKE
There will not be much opportunity to dwell on all the wealth of
information that comes to the real camper. The life of the woods is not
only a lively one, but one teeming with intelligences and the kind of
information which one can get no place else. My years of camping have
stored my mind full of pictures and full of memories about which I could
write indefinitely. In the practical activities of camp life we mustn’t
forget that the silent wonderful life of the wilderness is ours to study
if we but bring keen eyes to it, quick hearing and receptive minds.
Let me tell you of one experience which I had some four years ago on the
edge of a solitary little pond in the forest wilderness. Our way lay
over a narrow trail, now through birches full of light, then through
maples, past spruce and other trees, down, down, down toward the little
pond which lay like a jewel at the bottom of a hollow. It was a favorite
spot for beavers and we were going to watch them work. Their rising time
is sundown, so we should be there before they were up. It was growing
quieter and quieter in the ever-quiet woods, and when we hid ourselves
behind some bushes near the edge of the pond on the opposite side from
the beaver houses, there was scarcely a sound, and the drip of the water
from a heron’s wings as the bird mounted in flight, seemed astonishingly
loud.
Soon the beavers, unaware of us, came out of their houses and began to
work, steadily and silently. We knew them for what they were, builders
of dams, of bridges, of houses, mighty in battle so that a single stroke
from their broad flat tails kills a dog instantly, wood cutters,
carriers of mud and stone--animals endowed with almost human
intelligence and with an industry greater than human. And I never saw
work done more quietly, efficiently and silently than I did that night
by the edge of Beaver Pond.
As we sat there peering through the bushes I thought instinctively of
the silent work which we do within ourselves or which is done for us.
Deep down within us so much is going on of which “we,” as we speak of
the conscious outer self, are not aware. Take, for example, the frequent
and common experience of forgetting a word or a name. Despite the
greatest effort we cannot recall it, and finding ourselves helpless we
dismiss the matter from our minds and go on to other things. Suddenly,
without any seeming effort on our part the word has come to us. Now this
reveals a great truth about a great silent power: _all we have to do is
to set the right forces to work and frequently the work is done for us_.
With this serviceable power within us, why not make use of it
habitually? It renews itself constantly and waits for us to call upon it
for protection, for comfort, for correction and strength. It insists
only that we think as nearly rightly as we can. Beavers of silence are
busy within us.
Much of the work of this silent power is done in our sleep-time. It is
important, therefore, that our last thoughts at night and our first in
the morning should be the best of which we are capable. Prayer is a
profound acknowledgment of this power within us. We have all heard the
expression, “the night brings counsel.” And probably most of us have
said, “Oh, well, we’ll just sleep on that!” Why “sleep on it”? Because
we have confidence in this silent power whose processes, whether we
sleep or wake, are constantly at work within us, even as night and day,
a natural power, directs the growth of tree and flower. Again we have
counted upon the work of industrious beavers of silence--the silent
workers within each one of us.
The woods are full of lessons never to be learned any place else.
Insensibly are we, in this vast big intelligent life of the forest, led
on to meditate about the things we see. I often wish not only that I
could place myself at certain times in those solitary places by edge of
pond, deep in forest, on the hillside, following the trail, but also
that I might send a friend or two to the healing which can be found in
the wilderness. For example, the girls who find nothing but troubles and
vexations in life, who groan if the conversation languishes, are likely
to have some of their troubles slip away from them and their talk become
more cheerful. Who can be in the woods, who can live in the great out of
doors and not feel optimistic, at least hopeful and interested? To
every girl inclined to be moody, often to suffer from the conviction
that living is difficult and perhaps not worth while, I commend camp
life. Activity, distraction are its powerful and wholesome remedies for
melancholy. In that life one is obliged to work mind and body much as
the beavers work, one’s attention is held to something every minute. The
whole current of our thoughts has been changed and for the time being we
are distracted from the old bruised ways of thinking. The very
alteration that comes with wood life gives us a chance to think rightly.
Who can be troubled or bored or bad tempered and follow the trail? Who
can be indifferent and be conscious of the energy and intelligence of
beaver and squirrel, of rabbit and bird, of deer and moose? Soon the
whole misery-breeding brood of cares, of doubts, of perplexities that
existed before we left our home drop away from us. We can use the
influence of this vast sane life of the wilderness for ourselves and by
its strength make good.