Schenley Park Walk

“To the attentive eye, each moment of the year has its own beauty, and in the same field, it beholds, every hour, a picture which was never seen before, and which shall never be seen again” (Emerson 39).

For a while, I did not wanted to go back to Schenley Park. The reason I was last there, in mid-October, was because I to escape. The night before, I received a text message that sent me into an instant state of madness and despair. I wanted to get lost. I needed to be out of my dorm room and away from my oblivious roommate, the stuffy air, and the annoying sound of laughter from behind closed doors. I walked into Schenley on a crisp, but overcast October afternoon with numbing thoughts in my mind. My walk was constantly interrupted by phone calls from my parents and friends. I didn’t know how to answer them; I just knew that to get them to stop calling I had to say I was fine, even though that was a lie. It was an afternoon I wanted to forget. I don’t know why I decided to go back to Schenley and walk around. I was afraid the same memories from October would come back with every step I took. This walk, however, was be different.

The same stone steps that led down to the paths were now covered with snow and ice, which made for an interesting (and dangerous) descent. While cradling a $3.94 cup of chai tea, which cost about the same as all of the nails for Thoreau’s cabin, I tried not to slip down the treacherous steps and break my neck. After narrowly succeeding, I chose to turn left, because I was already familiar with what lay ahead to the right. I soon came upon a frozen stream that lay under an old stone bridge. I remembered this scene from October, yet it looked quite alien with the snow. I was able to walk alongside and, occasionally, on top of the ice. As I walked through the ravine, I saw some old footprints that traveled up out of the stream and onto the hillside. I followed them and soon saw a large stone alcove that was embedded near the top. Feeling a bit daring, I climbed up the snowy slope on all fours, grabbing onto branches and small fallen trees for support. The alcove itself was about ten of fifteen feet wide, seven feet deep, and had four or five feet of ceiling room. There was a slab of stone that lay at about a forty-five degree angle, on which I laid down and stared up at the sky. I almost felt sheltered and protected by the alcove, and the level of comfort the stone provided was a bit surprising. I felt as if no troublesome thoughts or bad memories could penetrate the stone. I didn’t even care how I was to get down from the spot. Lying down on my back, I felt invincible and disconnected from the world at the same time. All I could hear was the slow trickling water of the melting stream below, and occasionally a passing car from overhead. I honestly could have stayed in that spot, immobile, for the rest of the afternoon and evening. It felt like I was in a tomb with a glass cover, out of which I could look all around. I seemed hidden to everything around me, except for a curious bird that hopped around the threshold from time to time. In the summer, I bet people frequented this spot and enjoyed cooling off in the stream. Empty beer cans and a Crown Royal beach towel were left frozen on the bank.

Yet, I soon felt the urge to get up and continue on. Perhaps I was afraid I’d get too comfortable and thus succumb to my seasonal depression. I don’t know. This moment reminded me of the apparent disconnect between Emerson and his prodigy, Thoreau. While Emerson definitely appreciated nature, it seemed as though he only liked to enjoy it in moderation so he could see the ephemeral beauty that it beheld. Thoreau, on the other hand, seemed as if he always liked to be around nature, and thus he became fully integrated into the natural world as he briefly lost his connection to the “real world.” I didn’t want to feel anything, anymore, and that made me afraid. I reluctantly resisted letting go of memories, however painful they were, and just blissfully sitting on the cold slab of rock. In the end, I ultimately have to get up and face what lies ahead of me. Thus, I am left to hold the snapshots of beauty and pain in my mind as everyday life, once again, gets in the way and prevents me from the peace for which I subconsciously yearn.