Til You’ve Sat: a Field Note from Dunee Falls

It was early morning—the path to Lower Dundee Falls.  I made my way along the gravel path, which had  become mud and was now damp dirt beneath my feet.                                          

Rain, still lingering in the soil, made the way to the falls wet and slick in places. Tree roots poked through, networking the surface of the ground, making my already unsure footing uneven as I descended towards the stream that fed the Lower Dundee Falls.

I was at my first stop of seven, and already I wondered to myself if I should “turn back now!” Still, I pressed on traversing the hills in search of the unmarked falls. I followed the sound of lapping water; this led me to the stream. The ground that had been loose and slick was now rock, cupping small pools of water. Here, I paused and looked downstream. 

I had missed the path to the falls, so I would rest here to see what pictures I might make of the stream and the undergrowth of the forest. 

I looked out into the distance of the river as the late-morning sun slipped through the beech, birch, and maples, illuminating the canopy above the stream. 

 “You’ve never been to a place til you’ve sat in a place, “ I reminded myself, so I sat down on a wide rock, feet dangling over the water.

As I sat, the forest seemed to draw me in — like a long lens zooming toward a distant point — immersing me in the forest. Where once I had been a visitor, I was now a naturalized part of what had grown there over many dawns. 

For a moment, however brief,  I lived there. 

This shift only happens when you sit in a place. At that moment, I was at peace, held by nature and shielded from the outside world, my focus entirely on the lapping river, the trees, and the sunlight. 

 #isatinaplace #fieldnotes