Article 4 - TRAVEL IN LOCAL SPACES, "MEANDERING TO CHENANGO LAKE" September 2006 edition of First Church of The Streets

For some, the quest for silent spaces leads them to adventures far away. That's all well and good, if you can find the time and money to do so. The only problem with that method is that it has a temporary feel: there's maybe a month or so (if you're lucky) where the remote is your life, and then it's back to the clamor and chaos. This method works fine for some people, but to experience it more often, like I do, it becomes more necessary to find the quiet places near and familiar.

There's this element to it: a part of the day spent amongst civilization, doing things amidst the public that comprise everyday life. A diner breakfast overhearing a man talking about a woman he was sweet on at church, forty years a widow, and a cluster of women wearing hats decorated with everything from fruit to satin bows to lace and golden ribbons, hugging and embracing late arrivals similarly attired. A pitstop to the library, watching construction on a church with scaffolding on it. Jackhammers and horns surround the mind, and it's easy to tune it out, become unaware of it, just to hear your own thoughts. It takes discipline here to focus, because there are so many distractions, so many obstacles.

But in moving away from it all, the human element becomes less apparent, other than in his handiwork of roads and houses. Riding along a state highway into the state forest: who says government doesn't care about the soul of its citizens when it sets aside this kind of nature and provides such convenient means to get to it? And then soon, there is nothing but the forest, and the happy chaos of the city seems like a fantasy to keep myself amused.

At first, my husband and I weren't sure which park we were going to, but now that our errands were over, we found ourselves near and around Hunt's Pond State Forest near South New Berlin, New York. As we entered the forest, we were surrounded by lots of young pines, as though the place had once been a Christmas tree farm but now a haven of winter beauty. Overlooking the pond, there was a primitive vehicle pull off nestled in greenery. There was a stillness in the area like no one was around for miles but us. Paradoxically, it felt like this beauty by the lake was being played out just for us, but also that it was playing despite us, at once caring about its human audience and not caring, wildflowers and evergreens alike.

Despite being well into the temperate zone, there was a tropical feel to the lakeside air. It was hot in sun, but mild in shade. Just walking and basking in silence with the heat seeping into the skin was enough to silence any internal chatter I had and change my focus from telephoto to wide angle. There were camping accesses not far away from where we were that at this point seem deserted, painting the park with lonely but satisfying solitude. At the outskirts of the park, across the street from where we were, there was a driveway that led deep into the forest. Posted signs dotted its perimeter, raising claim to private property. Here, many residences lived in conjunction with the public land around them, and it was wise to keep focused to pay attention to lines that you couldn't color outside of.

Eventually, we went to the main park. We'd been there at an earlier time to catch the sunrise, and decided now to drive to water pump at the far end of the park. There was a rough bumpy road that circumnavigated the pond. We passed through the different campsites; all were empty in the early fall light. You could pretend there was no one for miles, and that the trees hid no one behind them. I couldn't sense any echoes of old tourists, and yet it felt peaceful, not deserted at all, fuller than the silence I experienced earlier. Maybe, underneath the sheen, all of the memories were still alive, adding to the energy of our experience and our very lives.

When we reached the water pump, we parked near a comfort station that was closed for the year. There were walking paths that surrounded the water areas, lined with birch maple and pine trees. The canopy of pine trees made it feel almost silent, muting any noise even from within the park. It was more silent than our initial entry to the park. I wouldn't have been able to imagine that, but now I experienced it.

There was rocky access that led to the water pump. Not feeling particularly adventurous, I didn't climb down its depths, and instead, sat at top on some boulders. Eventually, I walked down a little, and sat on a ledge over looking the water drain, which resembled a faux waterfall. I watched as my husband took different shots of pump, and saw a spider making its living precariously pitched on the ledges. If I turned around, I could see the pond. There was lots of growth on it, giving a tropical feel. Just sitting there and enjoyed moment felt like suspension of time, because none of the usual cares were applicable here.

When we left the park, we took pictures of forest, and decided that we weren't ready to finish the trip. So we headed over to Chenango Lake, a place where I'd seen many signs leading to it but had never actually been there. Most of the land surrounding the lake is owned privately. There were a lot of houses surrounding the lake, which I guessed were for the most part seasonal ones. There were signs with special directions to tell you where this road was and that one was. I imagined someone getting lost in the maze of signs and narrow roads, traffic jams built up by confused seasonal drives nearly backing into each other as they turned around to get off the wrong road. We almost encountered that ourselves as we drove around, nearly getting stuck on a dead end road.

Finally, we found the main road that had what seemed like a public access to the lake. It looked like a harbor from my childhood days on Long Island. The waters went for a long way, and I thought maybe one day I'd take my canoe on it. There didn't seem to be any paths to walk on to explore the lake, so we stood by the access and let ourselves be mesmerized by the calm ripple of enchantment. A haven of summer dreams, a place to created fond memories if one didn't drag emotional baggage in from a previous life, a place for solitude to calm demons if you chose to face them. That was what this place seemed to be. Or, more likely, what my imagination conjured it to be. The lake mirrored the perception that one brought to it.

All the signs pointed to Chenango Lake, and all roads would eventually would take you there, if you remained faithful to the course. Wasn't that true of any worthwhile goal?