I am surrounded by shale walls. This chasm is narrow, reportedly cut by glaciers and further carved by the creek I am currently standing in. The shale looks like someone rolled out flat layers of rock, then stacked them on each other to a towering height. I wonder what is in this rock that the water can remove.
I first came here over thirty years ago. I don’t even remember how I found this place. Once I found it, I never forgot.
When I was much younger, I was drawn to swimming in the waterfall and hiking in the surrounding forest. I’ve hunted here and fished nearby. I even camped here once, in the pouring rain, waking to a conservation officer letting me know I wasn’t allowed to do that.
I’ve come to know this place pretty well over the years. The path to the first waterfall is familiar under my feet. I’ve climbed to the second and third, sometimes digging in with fingers and bare toes, sometimes using a rope someone has hung for the purpose.
Many times, I’ve hiked down from the top to see the area that always reminds me of a bowling alley. It is narrow, surprisingly straight and long. The steep shale walls on either side of this part of the creek seem to add to the effect.
I know the spot farther south where someone carved their name into the stone at the top of the falls that stop my progression down the stream. It is dated in the 1800s. What brought this man (boy?) to this spot so long ago?
This place feels a bit like home to me. Maybe everyone should have a place that keeps calling them back.
I had never confirmed it until now, perhaps because it seemed so fitting to me, but people who lived here long ago may have believed that this place is where people emerged into the world. A recent search for information on the subject indicates that, while there is no archaeological evidence tying the story to this particular chasm, it fits the descriptions found in surviving accounts.
I tend toward facts and logic, but to stand here is, for me, to almost believe in something I can’t quite explain. I am not the only one. People come here to pray, even today. These things are not my realm. All I can say is that this place is special to me.
For me, today, the ghost I encounter is my younger self, a reminder of the dreams of youth, of sturdy legs and suntanned skin. My step is not as sure as it once was. I’m slower now, but still capable. Some of the dreams of the past have come true, some have been cast aside, and still others remain in the future.
I am not the only one who has changed. I have seen this chasm full of debris after storms, the water raging and branches catching along the banks. I have seen it reduced to a trickle, almost allowing me to keep my feet dry as I make my way to the first falls. Branches and even whole trees have fallen. Trails have changed.
I am wrong. It is not so much like home as it is like an old friend, the kind of friend you don’t see for years but recognize immediately when at last you meet again. You have both changed. There are new stories to tell and some reacquainting to do. Yet something essential between you has remained untouched by the time apart. For however long you are together, the years since your last meeting seem to lose their importance. That is how this place makes me feel.
The water is cool on my feet. The air is warm and humid around me. A soft breeze makes the humidity bearable. I am a person full of questions. And I do wonder about this place, but today I am taking a break in the past.
Shoes in hand, I wade carefully toward the falls. There are stories here I want to find. Maybe if you come too, I’ll share them with you.
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