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| Virginia Swamp, Matthew Brady photograph courtesy of the US National Archives |
Back home in Arkansas, things weren't so good. The economy was in the toilet, so jobs were scarce. Even the electronics training I had received in the Marines didn't help, because I had learned to repair equipment that was thirty years behind the state of the art. I eventually ended up living in a ratty trailer at the back edge of a swamp, one that looked a lot like the photograph above, scraping by on odd jobs and foraged food.
Still, scrounging acorns and hickory nuts was better than scrounging out of trash cans at a rest area. Trust me on this...
One cold, drizzly November afternoon, I was having some kind of identity crisis. Who exactly was I? I knew myself as the kid I had been a few years before. I knew myself as the Marine I had become. But I wasn't sure who I was that particular afternoon, and I had no clue who I wanted to be. The more I thought about it, the more important it became for me to answer the question until finally I couldn't take it any more.
I don't know how the average person handles this sort of existential dilemma. My method was to take off all my clothes and run out into the swamp as far as I could. I think my main motivation was to find out if I had anything left in me, any toughness that didn't come from being part of a group. Part of it was just to get away, if only briefly, from the trappings of "normal" life. I guess I wanted to see what my essential nature was or something like that. I don't know. It wasn't exactly a carefully considered plan.
Behind my trailer lay a couple of miles of swamp that ended at the Arkansas River. No houses. No people. Not even bugs or birds that cold, gray day. Even though I was naked in near-freezing temperatures and a steady drizzle of rain, I didn't feel the cold. My mind was spinning too fast for me to notice what was happening to my skin.
I suppose I ran about a mile before I reached a point where I couldn't go any further. I was naked and alone with nature, and when I stopped running the mad whirl in my mind settled to a single revelation, a glorious epiphany, a thought as clear as any I ever had. And that thought was--
What the fuck was I doing?
I suddenly realized that I was naked. Naked! In a swamp! In the freezing rain! And the sun was going down!
This was crazy. If I wanted to have an identity crisis, I could just as easily have it back at the trailer where I could sit in a comfy chair and have a cup of coffee to help me think.
I looked behind me and realized, with just a twinge of fear, that I had no idea which way my trailer was. It was sort of behind me somewhere, but I hadn't paid attention to my path on the run into the swamp. The soggy, matted vegetation left no tracks that I could see. I picked what seemed a likely direction and started running back as the last daylight began to fade.
That was when the true revelations began coming.
I was an animal in the wilderness, more or less. I had no tools, no weapons, not even a hat to keep the rain off. My relationship with nature had been stripped to its bare essentials. I could die out here if I didn't find my way back or figure out something else.
One thing I figured out as I searched for home is that trees are our friends. I used them for cover on the way back, pausing behind a trunk now and then to scout my surroundings. Trees were shelter. They represented an increased chance of survival for a naked ape. Some of them offered food. Some of them offered branches that could be used to fashion a weapon or a shelter. I've always liked trees, but until that desperate run out of the swamp, I hadn't realized just how important they were. I've had an immense respect for trees ever since that day.
Another thing I figured out happened when I finally spotted my trailer. By luck or instinct, I had chosen the right path. When I saw that ratty, run-down box, I realized what it was. It was an artificial cave, a place to find shelter from the elements and any wild creatures who might be dumb enough to be hunting in the gloomy darkness. It might be artificial, but it was still a cave. My cave.
When I got inside, I turned on a light, and I was amazed. So easy to make a light. Just flip the switch. Before I even began to dry myself, I stood looking at that switch for a long time, turning it on and off, thinking about all it represented, about how marvelous it is to belong to a civilization that can produce and distribute energy to its citizens.
The towel amazed me too. I hadn't read any Douglas Adams at that time, but that day I learned how important a towel was. And the clothes. Such incredible, warm inventions that I had taken so much for granted. The marvels continued. A coffee pot. Coffee itself, grown in a distant land and shipped to my artificial cave where I could use that wonderful electricity to make a comforting brew. A ceramic cup. The comfy chair. A blanket to help me warm myself. Shoes! Books! All the things you can't find in a swamp.
Like I said, it was a ratty trailer inhabited by a poor man with only a few ratty belongings, but to me that evening, it was a cave full of miracles.
I don't know if I settled any identity issues that day, but I've never lost some of the other feelings I gained. I've never lost my respect for the trees. I've never lost the sense of wonder I have for the trappings of modern civilization, or the gratitude I feel at having been born in a time and place where I could enjoy them.
Most importantly, I've never lost my feeling of intimacy with nature. She and I had been naked in the dark together, and we had no more secrets between us.
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