Each September I get a poem stuck in my head, for
the whole month. It's Gary Snyder's For All, and it's beautiful. I don't
have it completely memorized, but the first line goes on repeat in my head,
"Ah, to be alive on a mid September morn." I hear this line when I
zip up my boys' sweatshirts before heading out into the sandbox, I hear it when
I'm lacing up my sneakers for a run, or when dry leaves are crunching
underfoot.
September has always been my favorite month.
Growing up in New Hampshire, I had an inherent appreciation for the crisp
weather, brilliantly colored leaves, a new school year, and the ever-faint
smell of winter in the air. And now, as a runner, I appreciate September all
the more. We have yet to worry about running in single digit temperatures
(usually), it's too early for the dangerous layer of ice on the ground making
me feel like I'm running on banana peels, and yet the heat of the summer has
passed, as well as the sucking mud, hail and generally inconsistent conditions
of the spring. All in all, September makes for perfect running here in Vermont.
And, I have had some pretty great runs lately.
Monday morning I got up at 5:00 in order to get a
13 miler in. I had missed my long run over the weekend and wanted to make up
for it before the week really got going. The following are some notes of
interest on the run, and why it's good to be “alive on a mid-September morn.”
The first 45 minutes of the run were in the
darkness, my headlamp guiding my way. Also, the first 2.5 miles were straight
up a hill. There is something nice about running a hill in the dark, I just had
to keep moving with no vision of what was ahead. Just as I crested the hill, my
calves and lungs on fire, I saw a little pinprick of light in the distance-
moving towards me. I realized it was someone else's headlamp, and by the speed
at which it was heading my way, I figured it must be a biker. As we passed each
other I could only see the light of their headlamp, no face, but out of the
darkness I heard a cheerful "good morning," as he biked by.
Just by that greeting I know he felt it was good to be alive, too.
The next shadowy figure I saw in the road ahead
turned out to be one of the approximately 2 dozen deer I saw that morning. I
really have never seen so many deer within a 2 hour time period in my life.
Later, after scaring the first few pairs off and sending them hurtling into the
woods, I decided to take a new approach and try some deer whisperer techniques.
The technique went like this: I stopped running just as 2 deer were staring me
down (yes, deer in headlights pose), I turned my head away and became as still
as possible. When I turned back a moment later, I realized it worked! The deer
slowly walked into the woods, they were all like, “it’s okay, she’s cool.” I
felt pretty darn proud of myself, thinking I should probably write a book about
being one with wild animals.
A little later,
I came upon yet another pair of deer and I tried my deer whisperer technique
again. It didn’t work. As they bounded away, pell-mell into the meadow I wanted
to shout, “Ladies! Come on, it’s me. I’m cool. Your cousins were all chill with
me. I’m practically one of you!!!” Alas, I better come up with a new book to
write.
Much of my run
led me along dirt roads in East Montpelier, past farms, meadows, and stands of
trees that were just starting to show their oranges and yellows. Beautiful. My
other wildlife encounters included a snake (I didn’t stop to check the species,
“hell-no” to that), a mink (what a rare sighting!), and a flock of wild
turkeys. Turkeys fly, if you’re wondering. I saw it with my own eyes.
Around mile 10,
I ran past a farm and literally just as I made out the license plate on the car
in the driveway and read the words “MOOOO” on it, one of the cows about 20 feet
away came out with the loudest “MOOOO” ever. It was the strangest synchronism
of events best appreciated when you are on mile 10 of a 13 mile run. And, it’s
6:30 in the morning and it’s good to be alive.
I’ll leave you
with the full Gary Snyder poem, and I hope you all can find time to go for a
long run, walk or hike this fall, and hear your own “heart music.”
For All
by Gary Snyder
Ah to be
alive
on a mid-September
morn
fording a
stream
barefoot, pants rolled
up,
holding boots, pack
on,
sunshine, ice in the shallows,
northern rockies.
Rustle and shimmer of icy creek waters
stones turn underfoot, small and hard as
toes
cold nose
dripping
singing
inside
creek music, heart
music,
smell of sun on gravel.
I pledge allegiance
I pledge allegiance to the
soil
of Turtle Island,
and to the beings who thereon
dwell
one
ecosystem
in diversity
under the sun
With joyful interpenetration for all.
