Writings

Lost in Robinson Forest

By Amy Hadley-Martin

            I am unable to remember the exact date, but I believe it was late February of the spring semester, 2006.  It was my first semester of returning to college full-time in 19 years.  I had quit my job of 14 years with the Kentucky state government in early January to pursue my degree, majoring in Political Science and Geography with a minor in Environmental Studies.  My goal is to work on developing environmental policies on an international scale.  On this particular chilly day, I was sitting in my Global Environmental Climate Change course and noticed a stranger within our midst speaking with our instructor.  He was not a tall man, but nicely built, with thick, brown hair and blue eyes.  He didn’t appear to be the scholarly type, but more of an outdoorsman.  I suspected this was another visitor to our class since we had had several within the last few weeks.

            Once class began, the instructor introduced this man as Erik Reece, author of a book called “Lost Mountain” which was about the strip mining taking place in eastern Kentucky’s Appalachian region.  We had recently covered some information on the disasters of mining operations, concentrating on such places as Martin County, Kentucky and the flood from a slurry pond that had given way there.  This flood had released sludge--waste from coal processing--into the water of a creek, which ran through several communities downstream and poisoned various communities’ water.  Our studies had concentrated on the fact that the government is doing little, if anything, to clean up these sites and provide a safer environment for the people of these areas.

            Erik spoke of his book and the destruction left behind by these coal industries who care little for the people or the environment in which they extract this coal.  He showed us pictures he had taken of the areas that had been mined and the so-called “reclamation” sites.  I had read some brief scientific essays on what happens to such places - like the flooding that takes place because of the lack of vegetation to help control runoff and mudslides, and was a little familiar with the idea Erik was trying to get across to the younger members of the class.

            At the end of the class, Erik passed out pamphlets of information about a program called the Summer Environmental Writing Program (SEWP).  This program is an experiential learning program which involved living in Robinson Forest for an intense four week course (which actually counted as two Arts and Sciences 500 level summer college courses) and learning about the forest and nature.  This course would focus around nature writing, as it is part of the English department.   According to the pamphlet, “SEWP provides a rare opportunity for students to inhabit a distinctive, diverse tract of American wilderness as they explore, through varied modes of writing, their relations to that place.”  Robinson Forest is a 10,010-acre forest in Eastern Kentucky owned by the University of Kentucky.  This forest spans three counties and holds one of the most diverse temperate ecosystems in the world.  This brief description was enough to pique my interest.  I took a pamphlet with me and looked it over intensely.  After reading the more in-depth description within the brochure I began to think there would be no way I would be able to do such a thing.  I am a single parent with two children of my own, and a shared arrangement with my parents over caring for my niece, of whom they have permanent custody.  I just could not imagine being able to take part in the program while all three children were out of school for the summer.

            I put the brochure away for the time being, just glancing at it from time to time.  I had always had a strong desire to write, and when I was younger I was told I had a talent for it.  Within the last year, I had taken some career tests to see in what area I excel, basically for fun.  The tests indicated I should become a writer, which I found humorous since I had given it up many years ago, except for the writing I do at home with rough poems and daily journaling.

            All of this twisted and turned and pulled at my mind within the next couple of weeks.  I decided to share the program information with my mom, though I still do not know why.  She read over the pamphlet and was shocked at how much this sounded like something I should be very interested in. 

            “You should really apply for this program, Amy,”she said.

“I’m couldn’t possibly,” I replied.

“Why not?”

“I need to be here with the kids. I just can’t leave for four weeks.”

“Sure you could.  Ryan has several camps, so he will be gone.  Kyle and Kayla will have Vacation Bible School one of those weeks, and Joe is planning on taking Kyle out West for ten days.”

“But what about Kayla the rest of the time, and Kyle for the time he will be around?”

“I’m sure they will let you come home at some point,” she continued.  “Plus it will be easier for me if you are gone for four weeks than if you were in the whole summer session for eight weeks.”

“I’m scared,” I told her.

“Why are you scared?”

“That is just too long for me to be gone.  I will be surrounded by people I don’t know, and I don’t have the talent.”  I answered.

“You don’t know unless you try.  Think of it this way--if you really care about the environment, and that’s what you want to work on, then you must have some experience in a natural setting in order to be taken seriously.” I had to agree with her; I could not come up with any other excuses.

The one aspect of my life my mom has encouraged has been my writing.  Still I was surprised to hear her enthusiasm for the program given the fact that I would not be around to take care of the children.  My mother is retired from politics but works part-time in a local craft store in downtown Frankfort.  She overextends herself in volunteering, at church and the Kentucky Democrats, and she has her basket making class, quilter’s guild, and many other activities for which she is always on the go.  I decided to quit my job and go to school full-time to be around more to help her with the kids.  I had been working full-time and attending classes part-time in the evening at the University of Kentucky, and my mom spent a great deal of time complaining about her life taking care of the children all the time.  I, of course, was also missing out on a lot going on with the children, including their sporting events and school functions.

            My mom is a highly educated woman, working in politics her entire adult life.  I had admired her ever since I was quite small, for she fought for equal rights and social programs for all people.  She and my father, who was an attorney in Louisville, had four children; I was the oldest, then my sister Molly, my adopted brother Travis, and then my youngest brother Jeffrey.  When I was fourteen, my parents divorced, and my mother moved us from Louisville to Frankfort.  Within months, she married my stepfather, Joe.  He is a rigid man most of the time and rarely shows emotion.  Since I was the oldest, I did not bond with him like my younger siblings did, and Joe and I have constantly been at odds.  Even so, he has done a great deal for my boys, taking them under his wing as if they were his own. 

            My oldest son Ryan was two at the time of my divorce from his father.  Ryan’s father, John, is a difficult man who wants constant control of all those around him.  He and I still do not agree on the majority of issues concerning Ryan, and we secretly battle and have a great disgust for one another.  I am constantly forcing a smile on my face and put on a fairly believable façade for Ryan.  John and I now have a shared custody arrangement, in which we both have equal time with Ryan, alternating each week.

            A couple of years after my divorce, I had a brief relation with a man I did not know very well, and ended up having my second son, Kyle.  Kyle’s father, Kevin, lives in Colorado and has never laid eyes on Kyle, and he wants no contact with him.  He does pay his child support, but nothing more.  I am lucky as Joe has a remarkable bond with Kyle, unlike anything I have ever seen, even between a biological father and son, but his input can be harsh and difficult to take sometimes. 

            My father passed away just seven years ago last November, and I miss him terribly.  Although the divorce was difficult on us all, and he suffered from alcoholism, he and I still remained close.  After I had my own family, though, we didn’t manage to see each other as often because life always got in way.  I still regret a lot of missed times we could have shared.

            The point is, my life is not an easy one, and the stress can be overwhelming at times.  My mom assured me that things would really be okay for that four-week period.  So, I decided to apply for the program.  This application process involved an essay about myself, and samples of my writing.  I submitted these by the deadline and waited for word on my acceptance.  Only twelve students are selected to go each year, and it was open to students of other schools as well as those from UK.        

            I am a champion for the environment, constantly reading books on the topic and belonging to some distinguished organizations, such as the World Wildlife Fund, MoveOn.org, Act for Change, League of Conservation Voters, Defenders of Wildlife, and the Sierra Club.  I participate in these organizations mainly through emails to politicians and donations to the cause.  Every so often I will hear about another organization and try to get as much information as possible, looking on their websites and making choices about which ones to join.

            It was in May before I had learned that I had been accepted into SEWP and started to feel anxious about leaving.  The closer the time came the more anxious I got.  It took a while for me to prepare emotionally and to get packed.  I struggled with the fact I was leaving my children for such a long time.  I discussed it in depth with them, and neither seemed particularly phased by the idea.  The closer the time came, Kyle started wanting to be around me more and clinging.  I began rethinking the idea and found myself wanting to back out.  I didn’t finish getting ready until the day before my departure.  Kyle and Joe had left the Saturday before me for their trip to Texas and Arizona.  It was extremely difficult saying good-bye to Kyle. 

            We left on Monday, June 26th, and I had never been so nervous in my life.  My mom and my niece, Kayla, drove me to the Student Center parking lot where we were to meet the rest of the group.  My hands were trembling with fear and anxiety.  We unpacked my bags, and said our good-byes.  Kayla was full of questions about where I was going, and I tried to explain it as best as I could to a three year old.  I watched as they pulled away, and I suddenly became very self-conscious.  I was surrounded by complete strangers, all of who were between the ages of 19 and 25, with one 30-year-old student from the University of Louisville, who could pass for 23, while I was 38 years old.  Once again, I found myself the oldest of the group, except for the professors, and even then, Erik was only one year my senior. 

            We traveled two hours before stopping for lunch, and then off again for the remainder of the journey.  I spent most of the time in the front seat of the 12-passenger van with the other professor, Randall Roorda, talking about our children and asking questions about this program.  I still had no idea what to expect.  I called home a couple of times before we reached camp since I knew that my cell phone would not have a signal in camp, and I would be unable to communicate with the outside world, unless the Internet happened to be up and running and I could email my family. 

            The first day we unloaded the vehicles and then met with a naturalist, Dr. John Cox, who took us on a hike to the fire tower soon after we arrived.  The fire tower stood up on the top of a ridge high above our camp.  The trail to the fire tower ran almost a mile at a 45-degree angle.  Immediately, I was gasping for air and finding it difficult to keep up.  It had been years since I had done any hiking, and I had put on quite a few pounds since those days.  I had also been in a couple of car accidents in the last couple of years.  However, my mom said it would be good for me to get some exercise as well as learning about the area and issues of concern in this part of the United States, so I continued on.  I fell behind several times, but lucky for me there was a clear path and Erik had told me to take my time and just catch up when I could.  I felt a sense of loneliness and separation from the group, not just physically, but in other ways as well. Here I was, 38 years old, with a family of my own.  I was not on the same academic level as the others, and I certainly did not have the same eating habits, as I found out at mealtime.  I didn’t know how I would fit in with these strangers. 

            I continued on and eventually made it to the fire tower at the top of the mountain.  I had missed quite a bit of conversation and what John Cox had been telling the rest of the group about the animals, plants, trees, and about his knowledge of the area.  I was able to learn from him at the beginning of our hike and once I reached the top; I listened intently.  We were given a few minutes to write in our journals and then told to go down the mountain one at a time, spacing out a couple of minutes so there would not be any conversations or distractions from other members.  Since I was the last to arrive, I said I would be the last to leave.  I called my mom to check in and let her know I arrived safely.  I wrote more in my journal about the beauty around me and the sites of strip mining in the distance.  Perhaps I waited too long, but I then took off for my hike down the mountain, after taking some pictures.  I came to an unfamiliar area along my trek and realized I may have taken a wrong turn or something along the way, but then thought I may not have been paying much attention on the way up.  There were four options before me, so I took the one that looked the most promising.  After a while, I came across one of the other members of the group, Vincent, coming toward me.  He said that I was headed in the wrong direction, and we decided that we were lost.  He called me his lost buddy.  Vincent is a tall, skinny Canadian guy with dark brown hair cut short, and has a voice that carries farther than I could have imagined.  He is very friendly and has had an exciting life traveling around the world with his family.  He makes friends easily with everyone in the group, no matter what their differences.  He is also very outspoken and competitive.  It took some time, and we had to backtrack to the fire tower before we eventually found our way back to camp.

            My experience getting lost with Vincent turned out not to be my first time falling behind the group and being separated.  Another time, Randall stayed close to me, as we both had fallen behind until we had lost the rest of the group entirely and ended up returning to our previously designated meeting place without them.    

            On one particular hike, I had once again gotten separated early on from the group that continued on quite swiftly, as I tried to catch my breath and walked ever so slowly.  Before I knew it, there was no sign of them, and the path had disappeared before me.  Unlike other people, who might panic, I took advantage of the situation this time.  I was able to stop and take notice of my surroundings and actually lose myself in the natural world.  This was a nice change of pace for me in many aspects.  It was actually something I have dreamed of for many years.

            It had started out simple enough, the group of us starting on yet another hike into the forest, but I knew from previous experience in the last couple of weeks that it would not be so simple for me.  In each of our hikes, I had managed to fall behind the rest of the group because I had not prepared physically for the challenges of this experience.  Still, I did what I could to keep up and then played catch up the rest of the time.  I cursed myself when I found that I missed a great deal of discussion and knowledge that had been passed on from the visiting scientists.

            I tried to keep up as best as I could in the beginning of the hike, fearful of missing out on even more discussions.  However, once again, I was out of breath, my face turned beet red, and I was dripping in sweat, while others barely broke a sweat at all.  I continued to keep stopping along the way to catch my breath and taking a few drinks from my water bottle, worried whenever I lost sight of the group.  During the time I tried to keep up, I was unable to take in the beauty of the forest that I would discover later.  All I could think about is not losing them again.  As long as I heard the voices of some of our campers, I figured I could manage to find them if I should lose sight of them again.

            Unfortunately, I counted on that one too many times, and before I knew it, they had disappeared into the forest, and I could no longer hear those voices I had counted on, not even the boisterous ones.  I stopped and tried to control my heavy breathing so that maybe I could catch at least the direction they had drifted into, but I heard nothing except the insects and birds above me.  When I realized that the group was much further than I had imagined, I found a large, steady rock that was covered with moss on the bottom and up one side, and I took a seat.  I have my canvas bag, with pens, a camera, a bottle of water, a bandana, my pamphlet on Kentucky trees, and my journal, which I have learned to carry everywhere.  I began to find that I could finally relax now, without worrying about catching up to the group.

            I was able to notice the sounds around me, such as the sweet songs of the wood thrush, Carolina wren, and indigo bunting. I was able to tell them apart from their calls, which John taught us the first day of our visit here. These sounds put me at ease, but the insects flying around my ears did not.  I have always hated all insects, even the so-called “good ones.”  It has been with me all my life, as far as I can remember.  When they are flying around my head, it causes to me to jump and flail around like some kind of maniac.  I suppose this journey has succeeded in getting me to a certain point of not being so panicky when they are around, but I still do not have a very high tolerance for them.  During this particular outing, I figured they were the least of my concern, for the time being.

            As I became acclimated to my surroundings, I began to relax.  The insects became less bothersome, and I took in the beauty around me.  It helped that the weather was quite nice and had not exceeded 80 degrees, which I found refreshing.  It also didn’t hurt that I was enclosed in a forest in which very tall trees, such as the big leaf magnolia, American elm, beech, and scarlet oak, formed a canopy and shaded me from the sun.  I could hear the faint sound of a stream that I determined was not too distant from where I sat.  I took a look at the plants in my direct line of sight and found some interesting ones I had not seen before, including a lady slipper with the stem and leaves but without the bloom, since spring had come and gone and most trees and flowers were without the color of blossoms.  It made me want to be here when the forest would be in full color in March and April.  Perhaps I would be able to return one day.   I found a Christmas fern, several colors of mushrooms, some jewelweed, and then concentrated on the tress.  I began to name them, and found several big leaf magnolias, yellow poplars, beech, mountain laurel, red leaf maple, sassafras, and even some eastern hemlocks.  One lesson I didn’t miss was the one taught by botanist Rob Paratley on identifying trees by their leaves and bark.  I did not recognize many of the trees, and I could not find them in my trusty tree identification booklet.  Nonetheless, it was refreshing to know that I could actually remember some and was able to look up the rest.  I felt lucky to be alone at that particular place and time.  

            Many people dream about escaping from the chaos of modern life… taking a leave of absence from their lives.  Most people are under so much stress these days; they have jobs they do not enjoy, kids that are unhappy at home, activities that seem to take over their lives.  Then there’s the price of gas and electricity and striving for the same comforts as their neighbor, such as computers, Playstation 2, Xbox, and digital cameras.  The phrase “keeping up with the Joneses” comes to mind.  Kids today demand the best of the best.  They think they must wear expensive clothing and shoes so as to not get ridiculed at school.  I have this issue with my oldest son, Ryan.  Even those people I know who have “retired” have less free time than they did before this retirement.  My mom comes immediately to mind, as do many of her friends.  This is a common thought to almost everyone I have met, if not all.  Kids also seem to be so busy that they are doing their homework later at night when they should be in bed getting their rest for the next day’s activities.  I am one of these people who want to escape from my life from time to time. 

            So there I was, with no one around me in the middle of an unfamiliar forest and no idea how to get back to camp, and I felt relieved at the thought.  I could walk aimlessly around and get a feel for this marvelous place and all it has to offer.  I have spent days with naturalists, biologists, botanists, ecologists and conservationists, learning about this forest and its surrounding area.  However, I felt able to take things in now that I was alone. And I could concentrate more without having other people around.  I found myself continually testing my knowledge about what has been discussed in the weeks since my arrival and not really caring where my journey takes me.

            In everyday life, I have often fantasized about going off into the forest and having a log home and just retreating into my own little life without the interference of others.  This happens mostly when I am stressed out about certain aspects of my life, such as being a single mom, trying to pay my bills with too little an income, and fighting with my parents over my parental techniques.  Sometimes it can just come over me, this urge to run into the woods and get lost for some extended amount of time.  Of course, I am always brought back to reality and am disappointed when I hear the sounds of car horns and traffic that are constantly going outside my windows. 

            I wonder how many other people want to escape to the wilderness and get back to nature?  I often hear others talk of going to a beach or some other favorite vacation spot and never coming back, which appeals to me during my times of stress as well.  But what about the forest?  How many of these people would like to escape into a place that is basically unexplored and shows little, if any, signs of human life?  Granted, I can stand here among the trees, shrubs, unseen animals, and birds and feel a sense of satisfaction with myself, but how long could I survive here?  The answer comes to me quickly - not one day.  It is easy to spend hours here, but I am a city girl, with all the conveniences of fast food, Kroger’s, the corner gas station, and lets not forget the gym, for which I have a membership that’s gone unused in over a year.  Still, the absence of human life and a path to follow makes me feel more alive than I ever could in the community in which I live.  There is a godly presence in this forest when no one can be heard or seen, and I stand alone. 

            I sometimes think I spend too much time thinking about escaping society, and I consider the possibility that something may be wrong with me.  However, I am in the field of geography and can relate my desire to my studies as the human connection to a place, if one were to push me on the point.  In my experience, you can really get to know a place by getting lost in it, literally.  When you are forced to find your way around a place, without a set course, you submerge yourself in that place and allow it to become part of you.  You are able to remember particulars such as a certain tree, rock, or building. I was once told that I live in a  “Disneyfied universe” all my own, a fantasy world in which I didn’t have to face real problems.  My friend, Charlotte, who felt it her responsibility to bring me back to reality, said I must break this cycle of escapism because it was not healthy.  Charlotte is a self-proclaimed counselor/psychiatrist and wants to practice on all those around her.  It can be hard to be her friend sometimes, but she knows me well.  I, of course, do not believe in her view that this is an unhealthy line of thought.  Only by escaping can you actually keep your sanity.  I can honestly say that I do not know of anyone who doesn’t escape reality on some kind of regularity, but I would say that if there were people like that, they would be a very miserable bunch.  I believe it to be perfectly normal in today’s world to delve into such desires, especially with the world in the shape it is today.  Perhaps I do not love reality as much as fantasy, but I consider myself lucky to have such an active imagination.  

            It’s almost like a part of me belongs here, perhaps it is what Yi-Fu Tuan, in Escapism, calls my “animality” or animal self.  He speaks of how people of the world today are trying to leave their animality behind, and culture has taught us to be ashamed of one’s own inner animal.  He states, “It has often been said that humans are animals that possess culture, which amounts to saying that they possess both the desire and the ability to escape from or cover up their condition.”   This can be through surgeries to alter one’s appearance or in our luxuries at home.   I read this book because the title caught my eye since I live in my own little escapist world.   Being lost in the forest can bring part of the animality back into the person, or so I have found in my excursions.

            The culture of the modern world leaves everyone feeling overwhelmed at times, needing to escape to a place without deadlines and traffic jams and the needs of others being met before our own.  I doubt that humans had vacations a thousand years ago, but did they have the desire to take a break and escape from their lives?  I pondered these thoughts as I rested on that large rock within Robinson Forest.  I took a look around and laughed to myself.  I listend again for the sounds of other human beings, but I could only hear the birds in the forest, which drew me into their song.  How lucky I am to have gotten lost in such a place as this.   I enjoyed breathing in the fresh air and having time to slow down for a change.  I stopped even trying to find my way back to camp and started  soaking up the natural environment here.  I felt at peace among the trees.  Did I get lost on purpose without consciously knowing it?  I decided to start walking, partly to see if I could find my way back and partly to explore more of this forest.  I took my time and collected leaves from trees and plants that I could not identify.  I thought I will look them up in our “camp library” when I get back.  Until then, I stuck them in the outside zipper pocket so the other items in my bag would not crush them.  I started downhill, thinking that would be the easiest track; however, I did not count on the soft, moist soil that sometimes gave way under the pressure of my weight.  At those times, I found myself sliding upon a muddy slope instead of hiking downward.  Rocks came tumbling down with me as I tried grabbing flimsy twigs coming out of the ground.  Finally, I came to a stop at the bottom of the steep hillside. 

            I began walking but didn’t travel far before I found the stream I had heard earlier while I perched upon my rock.  I could not contain my glee.  Even though I had my hiking shoes on, I danced around in the water as if I were a child again.  The water was not deep, maybe less than a foot, but it was cool and clean nonetheless.  I splashed the water upon my legs to get some of the mud off which I gathered during my slide down the hill.  I used my bandana to rinse off my face and then found a rock near a rushing part of the stream and took a seat once more.  I glanced up and was comforted by the canopy of trees above.  It was the peak afternoon hours and the forest was becoming alive with insects as the temperature rose.

            I decided to do some writing in my journal and then deal with which direction to take.  I wrote a few pages on the sights and sounds around me, and the joy of acting like a kid in the water.  I glanced down in the water and spotted something black, and knew immediately what I was looking at - a chunk of coal.  I picked it up and was in awe of its lightness, and even the beauty of this piece.  I remembered the discussions on the value of this land for its coal, and the billions of dollars worth of coal that lies under the soil beneath my feet.  I looked around me while holding that chunk in my hands, tossing it up into the air and catching it over and over again.  It depressed me to think of this forest in the hands of those greedy millionaires with no heart for the wilderness that lay in these mountains.  The piece of coal goes into my bag, not knowing what I intend on doing with such a distasteful thing.  I decide to concentrate on positives for the rest of my journey.

            I got up from my rock and glanced both ways along the stream.  This would be a nice place for that log home I have always dreamed of.  My dream is not of a one-room cabin, but a multi-floor log home.  This home would include a nice great-room, kitchen, dining room, another living room, multiple bedrooms and bathrooms, and balconies to glance over the forest that watches over my home.  And lets not leave out the air-conditioning.  Once again I take note of how urban living has corrupted my dreams.  That is not something that would fit in here, I tell myself.  It would ruin the nature around this area and even disrupt the wildlife, and kill the plants and trees.  My dreams are inconceivable to others, but they are dreams.  If I could figure out a way to bring this dream to life, without damaging the nature around that I love so much, I would succeed where no other could.  This would truly be a feat of magic. 

            These ideas of my dream home remind me that I am part of the global problem of mass consumption of energy, which is what drives these coal industries.   The issue of whether I can lessen my addiction to fossil fuel is a fight I don’t know if I can win.  I am an urban dweller and have become accustomed to the customs of popular culture.  I hope to be able to change my habits once I return from this experience. 

            All of these thoughts haunt me while surrounded by the forest.  I decide it’s time to figure my way back to where I would meet the others, so I head downstream.  I am in no particular hurry as I have several hours before dusk.  I feel as if I am worlds away from the life I left behind a couple of weeks ago.  I walk through the water, stopping every once in a while to admire the cleanliness of the stream.  I have never seen a stream like this before, and I most likely will never see another like it again. 

            As I walk through the water, I kick over some of the bigger rocks and watch the darters scurry across the bottom of the water.  Occasionally I catch a glimpse of bigger fish, perhaps a creek chub or minnow.  Each time I start to slip on the rocks, I am able to catch myself before I land on my bottom.  I find humor in my near misses, even laugh out loud a few times.  After walking about thirty minutes I see a clearing through some of the shrubs that gather along the sides of the stream.  I lean in to take a closer look and find that it’s a road.  I sigh while noticing a rainfall measuring instrument, which we passed coming into the area.

            I climb out of the stream and head down the road.  Within five minutes I am facing the van and truck.  No one is around, so I take a seat and wait for the group to join me.  I look at my notes in my journal and start filling in some blank spaces, but I am interrupted within minutes by the sound of the rest of our group.  I make light of being separated from them, and listen to their laughter as they poke fun at one another.  I find myself drifting in to my own little world again, thinking back to my time alone.  Soon their laughter chokes out my tranquil thoughts, and brings me back to the group.  It didn’t seem to take long before we arrived back to camp.  I gathered my bag and headed to my room to change out of my wet and muddy clothes.  I found myself feeling disappointed to be back in camp. 

            Although this adventure took place just a couple of weeks ago, it seems like an eternity.  I have returned from the forest to the city, giving up fresh, clean air for thick smog and the smell of sassafras for the smell of exhaust fumes.  I had begun my journey with fear and anxiety about leaving my family, and I have come back with a renewed sense of what is being lost.  What is being lost are the forests, as well as our sense of place in nature.  We must become lost in order to be found.  Robinson Forest reminded me of the rainforests and their destruction by our own hands.  How can we escape to these treasures if we continue on this path?  We are destroying that from which we came, and in continuing to do so, we extinguish our own “ecological connection.”  Geography is the study of place, which makes me think of one of our readings during my stay at Robinson Forest, David Orr’s “Place and Pedagogy.”  In this reading, Orr writes about our sense of place, that people no longer have this sense of place and do not have a dialogue with which they attach themselves to the land.  He writes, “[K]nowledge of a place – where you are and where you come from – is intertwined with knowledge of who you are.”  Getting lost in Robinson Forest has given me a sense of the place, and it now is connected to my heart, not for the campfires, sing-a-longs, or even the people I met, but for the beauty it holds and the time I spent alone in the woods.