Because of the solitary nature of what I do, it's not often that I run into people when I'm taking pictures. The woman I met yesterday, I met at the gas station after I had already been to church. Another inspiring encounter took place months ago at the pharmacy on the way to church.
But because there is a geocache site located in the woods behind the church, it was only a matter of time that my path crossed someone else's.
This morning a man followed me into the woods. He had a GPS and iPad and when I asked him if he was geocaching, he laughed and said yes. And then because I have always been stupidly curious, I asked him if I could follow him. I had never seen where the actual cache was.
I figured I was about as threatening as a potato, which between all the layers I was wearing and the heavy, brown canvas jacket, I'm pretty sure a potato is what I most closely resembled.
He didn't seem threatening, though my ears perked when he mentioned that he usually carries a gun when geocaching in case he runs into something, alligator or otherwise, that might pose a threat.
I followed him only so far. He went off the path and found the geocache a moment later buried under some palm fronds. It was something I never would have found even though I knew it was out there. Then again I would have never left the path.
Fairy tales have made it very clear what happens when you leave the path.
Nothing good.
But this morning I felt like I was on a treasure hunt. It was freezing cold, worse than yesterday, and my camera was dying in my hands. And I was captivated as this strange man explained geocaching to me, as he told me stories of how he walked paths with gators on each side and panthers in the trees. And just when it might have been uncomfortable, just when he might have overstayed his welcome in the woods with a woman he had just met, he said goodbye.
After he left, I went further along the path, to the bridge, still under repair and, for the first time in months, I took a step on it. I took several steps on it and looked down at the water and then at the deeper woods.
Little steps.
But because there is a geocache site located in the woods behind the church, it was only a matter of time that my path crossed someone else's.
This morning a man followed me into the woods. He had a GPS and iPad and when I asked him if he was geocaching, he laughed and said yes. And then because I have always been stupidly curious, I asked him if I could follow him. I had never seen where the actual cache was.
I figured I was about as threatening as a potato, which between all the layers I was wearing and the heavy, brown canvas jacket, I'm pretty sure a potato is what I most closely resembled.
He didn't seem threatening, though my ears perked when he mentioned that he usually carries a gun when geocaching in case he runs into something, alligator or otherwise, that might pose a threat.
I followed him only so far. He went off the path and found the geocache a moment later buried under some palm fronds. It was something I never would have found even though I knew it was out there. Then again I would have never left the path.
Fairy tales have made it very clear what happens when you leave the path.
Nothing good.
But this morning I felt like I was on a treasure hunt. It was freezing cold, worse than yesterday, and my camera was dying in my hands. And I was captivated as this strange man explained geocaching to me, as he told me stories of how he walked paths with gators on each side and panthers in the trees. And just when it might have been uncomfortable, just when he might have overstayed his welcome in the woods with a woman he had just met, he said goodbye.
After he left, I went further along the path, to the bridge, still under repair and, for the first time in months, I took a step on it. I took several steps on it and looked down at the water and then at the deeper woods.
Little steps.
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