Friendship in the Review Mirror

It’s amazing the places and ways that the memories of friendships sneak up on you. Life being this series of encounters that it is has a way of transitioning from one moment to the next without you even realizing it, only to look back and see how far you have come…or how far you have moved away depending on your perspective. And then at the most random of moments old memories trickle forward like a slow stream of consciousness brought forth by the most mundane aspects of daily life.

I went for a walk in the woods today, alone with my thoughts my mind tends to wonder, ranging from recent Simpson’s episodes (great) to questions about the purpose and structure of prayer (confusing). And yet as I walked alone through the woods I couldn’t help but think of one of my old college roommates.

It was a cold February day in Indiana; we had just had the first big snowfall of the year, one of those snows that cling to the trees as though some divine hand had painted on the snow to cling to every crevice available. And despite the low hanging clouds the snow stands out bright white against the dark bark of the trees, as if for a moment the world has actually become and Ansell Adams photo. The flakes were still slowly tumbling to the ground and it was quiet as I bundled up and headed into the woods. I had my Dad’s old 35 mm camera in hand, with a vain hope that I would somehow be able to capture the moment on film. The forest was quiet, muffled as though wrapped in a blanket, the only sounds being the moaning of the trees when ever a breeze would pass through, burdened under the weight of the fresh snow. I felt alone in the world, enjoying every deep breath even as it hurt my throat going down, freezing my lungs from the inside out. But as I walked I had a strange feeling that I wasn’t alone, circling my gaze every few minutes trying to catch a glimpse of what ever was with me. But it was nothing, and I moved on trapped inside my own head as I lumbered through the drifts and over fallen logs.

And then, out of no where…BAM, flat on my back, snow already tricking down my neck, camera suspending in my outstretched hand trying to keep it out the snow… “Gotcha” he cried, “You’ve been stalked by Ethan” as he let out a wail of excitement and shoveled some more snow on my confused face. “I saw you heading into the woods on my way back from class so I grabbed my boats and have been tracking you for the past 45 minutes!”

“Shit” I mumbled somewhat defiantly.

“Yep, you’d be dead right now if you were pray or something…not that I eat meat, but you get the point…first class stalking!”

Coming to grips with my humiliation of being so easily followed and so incredibly unobservant I shifted the conversation to the brilliance of the forest and off together we went deeper into the woods. The favor was to be returned nearly two years later on a damp rainy fall day in Upper Peninsula Michigan, when my “Gotcha” scream followed with Ethan tumbling into a pile of wet leaves and both of us covered in rain and mud. We could have been five years old at the time, it would have made more sense the way we were acting, but we were in our early 20s and just trying to enjoy what ever moment we were given…and at that moment we were succeeding.

Ethan, I believe, is now hiking and tracking with his wife somewhere on the Appalachian Trail, and I am walking through a forest in central Sweden, a world away from our first adventure nearly 10 years ago. But as I look up at an old tree, one that would make for a good climb and an even better view for tracking, I can’t help but think of my friend….feelings of loss as our lives move in different directions, yet mixed with thankfulness knowing that we made the most of our time together. It’s ok through, know I will see Ethan again, and with that I begin climbing the tree, making sure my trekking skills are still at the top of their game.