Commentary –

My Treasure – Open Space –  A Place To Discover Life And Find Solitude

By Cathy Siwik

There is a place in my mind that I like to go to from time to time. It holds the memories of a world where I spent most of my childhood. We called it Morgan’s Pond, but it was more than just a pond, it was Badger Mountain and Indian Hill. Every inch of that property was there for me to do whatever I wanted, and no one would ever know. It was not only my place of refuge, but also a place to discover life and find solitude. To every kid in the neighborhood this place meant something different, yet we could all agree that it gave us the kind of freedom that we could never get at home. To me it was the gateway to a parallel universe. I could leave the awkward kid behind and become a pioneer discovering uncharted lands. It was new and exciting and I had it all to myself, or so I would pretend.

Some days I would set out before dawn with my trusty companion, the family dog. Trembling with excitement and in anticipation of what the new day would bring, we would escape the house before the rest would awake. We would arrive at the pond just in time to watch the sun greet the day. Quietly we would settle on a flat rock and listen to all of God’s creatures wake up. The birds were always first. The silence would be broken by the swallow’s sweet morning song. The geese and the ducks that had taken up summer residency there would reluctantly pull their heads out from under the cover of their wings. They would stretch out impressively and splash about playfully while my dog watched eagerly. Her concentration would be stolen away by a chipmunk scurrying out of his home in the leaves. There were turtles that would poke their heads up out of the water as if to make sure the coast was clear and then lazily drag themselves onto a rock that had been warmed by the sun. And slowly but surely, all the lovely little insects would lay themselves out to catch their share of morning rays. I remember liking the bees in the early hours of dawn when the dew was still heavy on their wings. We would sit motionless for hours overcome by the splendor of it all.

When my legs had grown stiff and my dog impatient, we would again be on our way.  This time our journey would bring us along the path since worn down by generations of deer on their habitual trek for water. This path wound its way through the surrounding forest making occasional stops at the water’s edge. On a “lucky” day, I’d spy a doe with  her fawn at such as place. Unfortunately, my dog usually managed to frighten them off. She wasn’t too “swift” when it came to that sort of thing. Well, I wasn’t so sneaky myself. I remember the time my older sister taught me how to walk like an Indian, toe first and ever so softly. I would try it for about five minutes and then get tired of it and resume my comfortable pace. Wildflowers, ferns, and jack-in-the-pulpits had woven a carpet at my feet. Above me towered the majestic Oak, Maple, and Birch trees. Their branches spread out a protective quilt made of the most brilliant shades of green, yellow, orange, and red. Small streams trickled down through the hills slipping over mossy stones attempting to reach the pond’s edge. We would stop at each of these streams along the way to tease the frogs and touch the salamanders’ slimy skin as they slithered under the nearest stone. I would grow tired of this after a short while, and my attention would turn to the strong aroma of grapes. Their massive vines held the fruit so high in the trees that when I reached for them they were nearly out of my grasp. This made them all the more desirable to me. Frustration along with scrapes and bruises would eventually send me away sulking. I also discovered a hornet’s nest on that same trial, purely by accident. I stumbled over a dead log and out swarmed a mass of angry bees! Their attack sent me screaming in terror down the trail. With my eyes closed, I ripped at my clothing and stumbled over every rock and protruding stump in my path. When they had finally left me alone and I regained by composure, I set out to hunt for jewelweed to comfort my aching arms and legs. I would have jumped into the pond, but I had far too much respect for the snapping turtles and the snakes that lurked in its murky depths. Needless to say, during the years I spent discovering those trails, I learned to obey the laws of nature.

Badger Mountain and Indian Hill were my hideouts. Indian Hill was my lookout, the trusting guard of my fortress on Badger Mountain. From my fortress I could see the entire pond, and I could detect anyone coming or going from the roadside entrance. Many of my summer days were spent creating this masterpiece. I cleared out brush and small tress, built rough walls of twigs and knotted grass, and carved secret symbols in the trees and on the hard ground. This world was mine – only mine. I imagined speaking the language of the birds, the squirrels, and the deer. They greeted me when I came and warned me if danger was imminent. They foresaw bad weather and guarded me from trespassers. I had a collection of treasures that I kept well hidden in the hollowed out trunk of an old Oak tree. Amongst my prized possessions where arrowheads and special stones that I had unearthed; I knew they were worth “millions.” I had also preserved exotic butterflies, and the weirdest item of all was the skull of a large animal that I imagined was a bear, but was probably only that of a cow who had wandered too far from the nearby farm. I had chosen this spot to build my home away from home well. I was very proud that no one else had discovered it. It was far off the trail at the corner of the pond and the only way I could find it time and again was through a series of landmarks that I had memorized. Where the two streams crossed to form an “X” I would face north and climb up the steep hill, turn left at the stonewall, step around the fallen tree, and proceed behind a thicket where, at last, I would find Indian Hill. Badger Mountain was somewhat easier to find once I was there. I had hoped this place would remain mine forever. It was the most beautiful place in the world!

It is hard for me to recall the precise time of my life when I said goodbye to that wonderful place. Maybe I never did, and maybe that is why it remains with me to this very day. I am reminded of Morgan’s Pond, Badger Mountain, and Indian Hill every now and then by the smell of wild grapes, by the feeling of wet leaves under my feet, by the sound of birds chirping in the morning, by the taste of discovering a new challenge, and at the sight of every child. I now realize that I will indeed have that place forever and that is  all mine, or at least I can pretend.

Cathy Siwik is a resident of Newtown and a student at Western Connecticut State University.