God is in the air

My venture continued with my acquisition of food stamps, which unfortunately had become almost necessary for my survival. I say almost because I could have continued to buy ramen and rice and subsisted entirely on that, but for my sanity and health I decided it would be more wise to eat food that was more than just empty fuel. I'd managed to overcome my strong moral objection, though admittedly I did still have a few suppressed misgivings. Regardless, I went ahead with the plan I'd formulated.

Coming through the next town on Highway 101 going south, I inquired a stranger while waiting for the streetlight to change, where I could find the town hall. They simply directed their finger and gaze across the street, and there I saw an embarrassingly conspicuous sign, “City Hall” bursting forth from the side of a pale brick building.

I entered and asked the receptionist behind the glass window who I should talk to about food stamps and where I could find them and she gave me a phone number and said they'd be able to help me. So I called the number, was told where the building was located, and then immediately set off in the direction I'd been instructed. I did my best to maneuver the town's side streets, and after asking a few people where exactly I was, I arrived. Inside it was less depressing than I had expected. The people I spoke with were very helpful and kind and through the posters on the walls (I remember one well that read, “Over 60% of people below the poverty line are employed full-time, Know your facts”) and the atmosphere, I could tell that these were people who just wanted to help.

Next, filled out a form, had a short phone interview, then discovered that the place I needed to go to get the food stamps was actually the town just north, the one I'd passed through the day before. A day's journey backwards, and I was there. I went into yet another building, walked in, filled out another form, waited a bit, then had the in-person interview. I was called into the office of one of the people who worked there, and answered a few questions. They had printed off some kind of record on me and knew where I'd worked last and some other personal information, I'm sure, and I told them where I was from and that I'd been in Oregon almost a week. The guy asked me where I was living (tent), whether I had a checking account (yes), how much money was in said checking account (almost nothing), etc. A few more questions and they gave me a little blue plastic card. $200 dollars was available for me immediately each month. Only a fraction of that was on the card at the moment though because it was already nearing the end of June, but it was exactly enough to get me by. I'd been on my adventure for three months now, and my funds were virtually gone. I had a

little put aside for bills, but it wasn't even enough for that. Some day soon I'm going to write the people in that building a nice letter of thanks because I'm deeply indebted to them for what they did for me.

Now I went south again, retracing my path for the second time. The weather had become foggy and everything was dim and shaded. Crossing bridges I became surrounded with a thick gray haze from the mist as it rose from the water. Throughout the day I could see only twenty or thirty feet in front of me and there were a few other points also where I worried for my safety, even with my red blinker flashing behind me. To my right was a continuous cluster of trees between the road and the hills dropping into the ocean and over the tops of them I could see the clouds flowing inland from the sea and descending to the ground.

That night I spent in a margin of trees bordering a vacant lot next to a logging factory. I'd asked a man in town where he might suggest I stay and he had mentioned this place, saying that he sometimes saw homeless people and bums sleeping in this area and that no one would bother me. It was unused land owned by the factory. When I awoke in the morning it was to the sound of breaking twigs. Not more than two or three feet from me was a wandering doe walking between the branches around me and eating the grass by my feet. I stayed completely still while she looked toward me trying to recognize my form. She was careful and wary at any movement or sound and she forced me to be still in her presence, while my heart pounded in my chest at this rare chance she unknowingly offered me.

California's border was heralded by the appearance of redwood trees. I'd been anticipating the redwood forests since even before the beginning of my trip and now that I was so close I could feel it. Along the sides of the road sometimes I'd see a dead stump of a tree, worn and weatherbeaten, but overwhelming in size next to its neighbors.

Within a day or a day and a half I'd arrived in the Prairie Creek Redwoods State Park and the road split from Highway 101. It led me to the heart of the forest. My first day in the park was foggy and cold and occasionally it began to drizzle. Looking up I could see the towering trees disappear into shadow, each layer of their leaves deepening a shade as they grew into the white sky.

I found a tree up a small hill that was hollowed out perfectly as a sleeping space. Long ago I'd decided that if I did travel through the redwoods I'd make it a point to sleep inside of one. These trees are hearty enough that even through forest fires they survive and this one (and many others, too) had a hollowed out center from a past fire and the floor inside was padded with shreds of bark, fallen from the inside walls.

After hauling my bicycle up the hill and through the undergrowth I lifted it up and pushed it behind my tree so it was along the side facing away from the road. Then I had to heave it into a thin gap between my tree a tree which had fallen along side it. No one would be able to move my bike now without exerting very much effort and force. I took the opportunity to go exploring in the forest area behind my tree. I found a few fallen trees to walk along as bridges above the undergrowth and then found myself on the brink of a shrine. I was at the top of a hill and a staggered circle of trees spread downward. At the center of this circle the fingers of the sun stretched toward the ferns on the ground through the solitary hole in the forest cover. The plant life amid these trees is so thick and vibrant that it's almost suffocating. Placing my hand on the glorious remains of an elder tree I could feel the pulse of life on its dead surface. On the stump were young trees sprouting, children of a giant. Stems into leaves, beads of moisture rolling off their faces as they looked to the sky, flowing rife with synchronized beauty and vitality. I could feel God's breath in the moist air.

On my way back I couldn't find the path I'd taken so I did my best to push through the stems branches and leaves growing from the ground. All of the plants seemed to be at least my height and were tightly knit together. I eventually found my way back to the road by the sound of the occasionally passing cars and then walked along it until I again found my tree.

Inside there was more than a large enough space for me and my things so I laid all of my supplies out inside it. After setting everything I cooked my dinner, got into my sleeping bag wrapped myself in my tarp. Darkness fell outside my door and the muffled sounds of cars on the road ceased, leaving a quiet stillness and peace all around me. Soon I fell asleep to the pattering sound of dripping water as condensation built at a point on my ceiling and fell to splash softly on my tarp.