A story from my friend Tasha Webb
Frustration and stress, and a ping of anger find themselves easily these days. Facebook scrolling, a habit equal to drug addiction, finding its hungry way into my palm more times a day than I care to admit. Feeding on my care and passion to save our way of life, the articles and reads about all that is wrong, suck me into their whispers of demise and corruption. Sharing my opinion in typed black and white more than is healthy. Fear, courage, wisdom, and experience pouring themselves out into comments.
But every so often I unplug. The addiction to google and internet nags at me, as I leave it all behind. I pack up a few days worth of needs into my camper. Satisfaction of a different addiction floods my body as the hitch makes a clunking noise into the receiver. In that moment I have completed the final tasks, to release me from my daily grind. The animals are set for a few days. Lifes demands all fed and on hold. I climb into the truck and put it in drive. With a clang of the trailer settling back, we are off.
Leaving behind an addiction to routine and social media, and heading toward another, gold mining.
As we make our way to the mountains, memories of familiar claims and familiar boulders and promising banks dance a tango in my head.
When we arrive, I’m smothered in the smell of damp moss and pine. I step out of the truck, into a darkened thicket of pine trees. The creek below echoing off bedrock and boulders, still high with spring rain waters. For a moment all is quiet. Addictions all fed. I put out the rug, and chairs, and set up camp. Filled with content. Boulders, bedrock crevasse, tree roots, and banks all feverishly dancing in my mind. I melt into the campfire with piney scents, and promises of golden pockets in every shovel .
With the sun rise, I find an abundance of energy. Social media addiction tugs at me, as I drink my morning cup of coffee with an empty palm. I don’t find myself sitting to drink my coffee, without the weight of addiction in my hand, I take sips in between tasks. Slipping into warm soft clothes and then into full rain gear after that. Lining up buckets, pans, pick axes, shovels, dredge, gas cans, sluice boxes, snuffer bottles, rock bars, and crevasse suction tools. I finish the last sip of my cooled black coffee. Load as much onto my back as possible and head off into the forest.
Moss pads my foot steps and the sound of the water gets louder as I approach. Iv spent a whole winter debating where I would first search. A crevasse in the bedrock I had spotted on my last trip, but never had a chance to explore, or a massive boulder wrapped in the roots of a giant tree on an inside bend.
My heels, dug into the bank, slip out from under me and I make the last few feet of the trek on my butt. Sliding down a steep bank, hanging tight to my gear, at gravities mercy, I find a soft landing at the bottom of the slide. A hardwood stick of a nearby maple pokes a hole clean thru my rain gear and sweat pants. Boulder it is. With the high water, the maple stick has decided for me where I will explore.
Hopping with success across the slippery rocks, I make my way to the giant boulder. Just as I remember a giant pine has wrapped its roots around it. I lay down my gear, and grab a shovel.
About an hour into shoveling, I am drenched in sweat and peel off the layers. A gentle breeze hits my wet neck and quickly cools my steaming skin. I sit and look at my work. Hardly an inch. The earth is hard packed around this boulder, and rocks of all sizes prevent my shovel from making much progress. The hard pack whispering promises to me as I curse with every blow I deliver with the shovel.
After another hour, curiosity steals me, and fill a gold pan with a shovel scoop of earth from between the boulder and a 6 inch root. I find a flat rock in the creek, with swift moving water, and I sit. Swirling my pan, and watching layer by layer drift away with the stream. Shaking and swirling, until I have an impressive pile of black sand left in my pan, all soil and pebbles washed away. I take a final scoop of water and begin rocking my pan back and forth, back and forth. Gently pulling the black sand to the bottom of the pan. Glitters of gold showing themselves. Rocking back and forth an entire line and one larger piece reveal itself and I pull out my snuffer bottle and suck up what iv found. Its not even lunch time, I have chose a good spot. I begin filling buckets with the Earth. Ill dump these into the sluice box later.
My day disappears. Addiction fed. Campfire, coffee, prospecting, repeat. The weekend disappears and its time to return home before I am ready. We pack up the gear. Fold up the chairs and rug. And this time the clunk of the hitch brings a ping of frustration. Filled and satisfied and yet exhausted and sore, chores and responsibilities start to accumulate and prioritize themselves. Within an hour service towers reach my phone, and facebook has fed its hunger as i reach, click, scroll.
Gold mining. For a moment.
Frustration and stress, and a ping of anger find themselves easily these days. Facebook scrolling, a habit equal to drug addiction, finding its hungry way into my palm more times a day than I care to admit. Feeding on my care and passion to save our way of life, the articles and reads about all that is wrong, suck me into their whispers of demise and corruption. Sharing my opinion in typed black and white more than is healthy. Fear, courage, wisdom, and experience pouring themselves out into comments.
But every so often I unplug. The addiction to google and internet nags at me, as I leave it all behind. I pack up a few days worth of needs into my camper. Satisfaction of a different addiction floods my body as the hitch makes a clunking noise into the receiver. In that moment I have completed the final tasks, to release me from my daily grind. The animals are set for a few days. Lifes demands all fed and on hold. I climb into the truck and put it in drive. With a clang of the trailer settling back, we are off.
Leaving behind an addiction to routine and social media, and heading toward another, gold mining.
As we make our way to the mountains, memories of familiar claims and familiar boulders and promising banks dance a tango in my head.
When we arrive, I’m smothered in the smell of damp moss and pine. I step out of the truck, into a darkened thicket of pine trees. The creek below echoing off bedrock and boulders, still high with spring rain waters. For a moment all is quiet. Addictions all fed. I put out the rug, and chairs, and set up camp. Filled with content. Boulders, bedrock crevasse, tree roots, and banks all feverishly dancing in my mind. I melt into the campfire with piney scents, and promises of golden pockets in every shovel .
With the sun rise, I find an abundance of energy. Social media addiction tugs at me, as I drink my morning cup of coffee with an empty palm. I don’t find myself sitting to drink my coffee, without the weight of addiction in my hand, I take sips in between tasks. Slipping into warm soft clothes and then into full rain gear after that. Lining up buckets, pans, pick axes, shovels, dredge, gas cans, sluice boxes, snuffer bottles, rock bars, and crevasse suction tools. I finish the last sip of my cooled black coffee. Load as much onto my back as possible and head off into the forest.
Moss pads my foot steps and the sound of the water gets louder as I approach. Iv spent a whole winter debating where I would first search. A crevasse in the bedrock I had spotted on my last trip, but never had a chance to explore, or a massive boulder wrapped in the roots of a giant tree on an inside bend.
My heels, dug into the bank, slip out from under me and I make the last few feet of the trek on my butt. Sliding down a steep bank, hanging tight to my gear, at gravities mercy, I find a soft landing at the bottom of the slide. A hardwood stick of a nearby maple pokes a hole clean thru my rain gear and sweat pants. Boulder it is. With the high water, the maple stick has decided for me where I will explore.
Hopping with success across the slippery rocks, I make my way to the giant boulder. Just as I remember a giant pine has wrapped its roots around it. I lay down my gear, and grab a shovel.
About an hour into shoveling, I am drenched in sweat and peel off the layers. A gentle breeze hits my wet neck and quickly cools my steaming skin. I sit and look at my work. Hardly an inch. The earth is hard packed around this boulder, and rocks of all sizes prevent my shovel from making much progress. The hard pack whispering promises to me as I curse with every blow I deliver with the shovel.
After another hour, curiosity steals me, and fill a gold pan with a shovel scoop of earth from between the boulder and a 6 inch root. I find a flat rock in the creek, with swift moving water, and I sit. Swirling my pan, and watching layer by layer drift away with the stream. Shaking and swirling, until I have an impressive pile of black sand left in my pan, all soil and pebbles washed away. I take a final scoop of water and begin rocking my pan back and forth, back and forth. Gently pulling the black sand to the bottom of the pan. Glitters of gold showing themselves. Rocking back and forth an entire line and one larger piece reveal itself and I pull out my snuffer bottle and suck up what iv found. Its not even lunch time, I have chose a good spot. I begin filling buckets with the Earth. Ill dump these into the sluice box later.
My day disappears. Addiction fed. Campfire, coffee, prospecting, repeat. The weekend disappears and its time to return home before I am ready. We pack up the gear. Fold up the chairs and rug. And this time the clunk of the hitch brings a ping of frustration. Filled and satisfied and yet exhausted and sore, chores and responsibilities start to accumulate and prioritize themselves. Within an hour service towers reach my phone, and facebook has fed its hunger as i reach, click, scroll.
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