Post by Grubb.
Thursday, on the way to New Hampshire, we took our final hike in Maine outside of Skowhegan on the Coburn Trail. Ten feet from where parked our Nissan Rogue, we were engulfed in a forest of maple, beech, oak, and pine. Walking the sun-dappled woods in wilderness Maine. That’s been my experience since I stepped through the other worldly portal a week ago. It’s felt like I’ve been in early nineteenth century America when nature was the poetic soul of the country. I’ve never been in this world yet I know this world.
The paradox of this parallel universe is that everything new seems familiar, like I’m about to have a deja vu moment…without it being uncanny…having glimpses of a life I’ve never lived. Someone else lived it. Emerson, Thoreau, some pantheistic Yankee escaping the Industrial Revolution. Me, I’m just escaping a world where the thought of utopia is laughable.
As we were leaving Skowhegan, I noticed that an Amish man had his rig parked outside a store, adding a visual to my nineteenth century musings.
