Hiking In-Between

We are getting into my favorite time of hiking and backpacking - autumn. The heat is less, the bugs are starting to go away, and the crowds are diminishing (a bit). In the Northeast, the colors of the leaves are starting to change which adds to the wonder and beauty of the wilderness. This is a great time for hiking and backpacking. But there are some adaptations that I have to remember with fall hiking. It gets colder at night which means I need to remember to bring a warmer sleeping bag and warmer camp clothes. There are chances of ice and snow, so I need to be sure that I remember to bring traction for my boots (micro spikes) and maybe start hiking with poles to help navigate ice. And, I need to remember that the sun will set a little earlier and rise a little later and make the necessary adjustments so I am not hiking in the dark.

            Fall is also a reminder that the season of summer is over and the season of winter is coming. When I’m hiking I often meet people who say that this may be their last hike for the season because of the colder temperatures and there seems to be a sense of gratitude from those folks.

            Fall is a season of transition. It is a season of changing from vibrancy to stillness. The leaves fall. The light is less. The warmth is limited. We are moving to a different time. And yet we are not fully there. This is part of what is exciting about autumn hiking. We are in-between what was and what is to be. It is a liminal season and space and can be very exciting.

            There is something great about exploring that “not-yet” space. Often we don’t like to be stuck in the in-between. We want to know that we are heading somewhere or that we are already there, and as much as we like to say that it is “the journey,” I despise long rides car-rides. I just want to be there. Sometimes, the challenging is knowing when we are in fact no longer in-between, but are “there.” How do we know when we have arrived at life? I’m not talking about going on a hike on a trail or looking for a specific point, I’m talking about the existential, meaningful place where we feel like we are where we are supposed to be. Even such a statement is full of assumptions and potential meaning. It suggests that there is a “supposed,” that we are heading towards something. Yet are we? How do we know if or when we are “there.” The answer will be different for different people and in different situations. It may be having a partner or a home or a certain job. If may be having children, or having pets, and it may be different for your particular season of life. And even if you feel like you are “there” in some aspects, we all have places for transitions in other parts of our lives. We are all still in-between in one way or another. We are not fully “there.” For some, this can be as uncomfortable as a long car ride, anticipating the end, the destination, and wanting as badly as possible for the journey to be over. Summer is over. Winter is not yet here. And we are stuck on the shoulder waiting to move from one extreme to the other. We are not yet “there.”

            This season I am going to look to fall for some sense being present in the in-between. Not getting through autumn so that I can break out the snowshoes and fully enjoy winter backpacking, but being present in the transition of autumn. When I am hiking in the fall I love to stop and notice the smells, the colors, the crispness in the air. It harkens to a change that is coming and speaks to a season that is past. And I notice that there is something about this season that is unique, that is of its own. There are colors that I will not find anywhere else. There are smells that I will not experience any other time of year. Even as we move from one place to the next, I am aware that the transition has its own special and wonderful experience to offer.

            And yet the in-between is still difficult to navigate. In my own life I am very aware that I am in-between. I have left pastoral ministry after more than 20 years of living into that vocational identity. Yet I still pray and read scripture and admit that I am a pastor. I still talk to individuals about their faith, especially in the wilderness. I still preach from time to time. I have not fully left, and I am not fully wherever it is that I hope to be going (that is still very unknown). I remember the season that has past; there are reminders of who I have been. I hold onto those memories, those connections, and those parts of myself that are full of “goodness and discernment” (M. Oliver, “When I Am Among the Trees”). I have not fully left who I have been for more than two decades.

I am not yet where I am going. I have been spending much more time in the wilderness. I have been having powerful and profound conversations with individuals and groups in the wilderness and seeing different and wonderful ways that the Divine, that God has been seen and encountered in the wilderness. I can make out a path before me, and trust that it is the way for me to go. But I am not yet there.

In the meantime, I am in the autumn, the in-between and as much as I get anxious in the fear, unknown, and anticipation, I will strive to be present and notice the signs of wonder and grace and beauty.

It is my favorite time of year. It is a time that I love, and enjoy as we move from one season to the other. This fall, I will strive to allow my own sense of transition to be guided and lovingly comforted through the symbols of creation. The change will happen and will continue to happen. That which needs to die will, and that which needs to be dormant will. And there will still be beauty, and wonderful and unique beauty in this liminal space of in-between.