ch. 9, v.1-22 (beartown state forest)

Our humans say "Here we shall pitch our tent
Where round about us gathers only this population of trees,
Taciturn and shadeful, their summer coats now heavy for the incipient equinox.
We shall rest in their quiet company
And hear in our ears neither the wailings nor the bass beats of chariots that pass upon the road."

Yea, thus deem our companions, but an invasion plagues this verdant wood--
A rampant brotherhood of chips o'erruns its peacefulness and calm.

Their squeakings are as like a multitude of tiny but sharp arrows
Delivered o'er the full journey of the sun across the sky
And shot from every branch of every tree and, yea, every crevice of every hillock upon the ground.
They taunt and tease dogkind, shaking at us their striped habits
And drawing us off the way of the path into the tangle of vines and thorns.





Again and again I give chase to drive them from us but their host is too vast
And my haunches grow weary from the pursuit.
Yea, tho' I be a varmit-hound of great prowess,
Tho' generations of rodents have trembled upon tree limbs at my thunderous alarum,
We cannot prevail, my companions, here in this western land.
Their numbers are too numerous and their retreats too swift;
They laugh a squittering laugh at our fruitless charges.



So thus we fold again our tent and pack again our provisions
And take refuge in this anonymous den, strangely sterile of scent
But like a fortress in its quiet and removal from the chipmunks legion.



Exegesis and commentary
Our fall camping trip took us to the campground at Beartown State Forest, where we saw no bears but more chipmunks than I've ever seen in one place before. The campground was lovely, and virtually empty, with Benedict Pond next to it for Frida's frequent dips.


We had a few beautiful fall days for camping and hiking, but as a major rainstorm approached for the last few days of our stay, we took a room in a motel just outside of downtown Great Barrington. It was Frida's first stay in any sort of "travel lodge" and she did surprisingly well. I thought she would be inclined to bark at the comings and goings of our neighbors, but she kept perfectly quiet.

Our hikes consisted of the trails around Benedict Pond, which included an intersection with part of the Appalachian Trail; a short walk to Bash Bish Falls on the New York border, which was disappointing after all the hype, and of course Frida was disappointed that she couldn't go in the water; and a beautiful hike up Monument Mountain.


Doesn't she look sad?




It was a relatively short hike--which was good, since the rainstorm was imminent--but a very satisfying trail with great views.

ch. 3, v.121-157

(If you look in the lower left-hand corner of the picture,
you'll see me and Len posed to provide some scale.)

This day my companion you have chosen a path of greater wisdom.
You neglect not the inheritance of homo sapiens,
The abundant grey matter that crafts numberless tools from the rawness of the earth,
The accumulated wealth of experiments trials and errors
Until with the ease and swiftness of a vast herd of horses
We may travel this mountain from its foot to its crown
Conquering in the space of one brief nap the ascent that before
Consumed of us many hours and much labor.




(Do you then ask of me what goodness we find in our daily perambulations?
Should we not quickly upon wheels of mineral and sap advance each morn to our destination?
Nay, this question is foolishness, for the destination you imagine is no purpose
But only a point in the compass of the pack's knowledge.
For we traverse the ground upon our paws to know its smells and its sights
To trace the history of other packs as they have followed this path
And to know if they are good to avoid, good to meet in fellowship,
Or good to chase and growl upon.
In the grasses and the sod of our quartering, accident may bring unto us
Rich odors erstwhile uknown--for in other wilderness have we not discovered
The droppings of large hoofed hinds or small canines who are our cousins?
Therein we enlarge the territory of our mind.)

So my companion I offer my praise for this ascent and for this walk it allows unto us.

Oh for this here is a wondrous confluence of condensation and suspension
That makes the atmosphere all about us as a cooling bath.
Yea, tho' we tread the sharpened edge of the earth's incisor
Several hundreds of rods above the vast salted water of our home
Towering even above the broad valleys whose roads we traveled only this forenoon,
All is hidden now from us in this curtain of moisture.







Tho' the heat of the sun could parch and again weaken us
Yet these mists caress and protect us
So dense that even should a pack of fogdogs come to walk with us ,
Letting us to see with our eyes the territory below
Allowing the sun in gentleness to warm the furless hide of humans
Doubt not that it is a righteous place for your canine companions--




See upon the very pinnacle of the summit of the mountain of mansfield
This cooling and murky pool
In it I shall have my bath taking unto my coat its good water
And anointing it also with my water, the mark of Frida.



Exegesis and Commentary

ch.3, v.41-86 (journey to mansfield)

O, dog, what augury whimpers to you of trials ahead?
Does a stench like sickness poison the break of day?
Does the kibble in your breakfast bowl form unto a fearsome snarl
warning you back to the warmth of your den?
No, dog, you cannot know this day before you have walked its paths.

For tho' the humans are puny of olfaction
and hear not the rustling of small rodents at many rods distance
still they view the plain from on high with keen eyes
and find us many good bowers of refreshment and sustenance
and carry magically about their person infinite stores of meaty treasures.

So on this day as on those past we embark upon our perambulation
with the humans--my companion, Karen Who Is Tall, and the Good Man Len--
who follow a broad path that opens unto us the verdant forest of this mountainside.
It is a generous habitat rich in smells and abundant of streams and mud holes.
I perform many and frequent ablutions anointing my coat with the goodness of the earth.


The path before us narrows but also the canopy becomes more dense
giving to us its protection from the rising sun of the day.
We slake our thirst and break the bread of midday upon tables of granite
where broad prospects of the long valleys below delight the eyes of the humans.
Many steep boulders we ascend sometimes where other hands
have crafted stairs from the stone so that we may climb.
Here now a cleft breaks apart our path and we must make as to leap across.





My companion, do you not see the awesomeness of the rock
that it begins to grow too high? The clefts in the path, a bit too broad?
And the forest about us, does it not shrink back from the sky--
the trees clinging with roots ever more naked to the steep face of granite?


Now you see the shade of the canopy has departed from us
and the lusciousness of the mud holes are seen no more.
No fragrance reaches my muzzle here unless it be the acrid absence of moisture.
The rich odor of earth tree and varmint is all behind us now.
Nor does the keenness of my ear discern above us the rush of water.
Your flasks colorful and transparent carry only a pittance of libation,
nay, not even enough in which to cool my paw.

Where do we climb to, humans? Where do we journey that there is no path
no water and no shade?
O the fire of the sun beats upon the many dark hairs of my head and back.
It bakes the stone beneath my pads.
My companion, your way is not good. It burns my brow and foot.
It parches my tongue which now unrolls almost to the slate upon which we climb.

Look upon me and know the unwisdom of your path.
See not only yourselves, nay, not if you would have us with you.
You must know also the furred hide that sweats not
and also the tender unshod pad.

This is my stopping place, this stunted tree, its twisted branches
shall intercede with the sun on my behalf and I shall dig from the scant dirt beneath it
a wanderer's portion of coolness. Nay, move me not. Here I remain.





Exegesis and Commentary

Here is one of the first opportunities I've had to record one of Frida's most obvious trials of faith--I think. It's hard for me to say, b/c the grounds for her despair are so substantial, if we are the object of her faith: when the dogs commit their way unto the humans, we so often fail them.

Anyway, our first day's hike, up the Crescent Ridge trail on Mt. Mansfield, was ultimately not the most successful from the dog's point of view. I don't think Frida actually had heat stroke, but we might not have been so far off, and it was good she made her limits very clear: her obstinacy, unlike Job's, won the day, and we turned back down the trail, tho' by that point she had to be coaxed along until we made it back to the place of plentiful mud holes, which she dearly loves.

And she was right. Len continued up to the summit, and he reported that the trail got even more challenging just up around the next bend, where he had to climb to continue. He came back down the Halfway House trail, which he described as "fit for neither man nor beast."

But we did see other people on these trails with dogs, so it is not entirely dog unfriendly, and of course Frida has had other fine camping and hiking experiences in Vermont, Western Mass., and New Hampshire. Mt. Mansfield was good, but challenging, hiking--it was just important to choose a trail carefully and to know when reaching the summit had become less important than enjoying the experience. But it was beautiful.

ch.3, v.20-40 (journey to mansfield)

Our journey passes many hours upon broad and open paths
there moving with a great swiftness,
Yea, greater even than the swiftness of young and hungry whippets,
'till we enter upon winding paths climbing upwards into the forest
where the stony path ceases and crosses the gate of underhill.
On the evening slope of the mountain we arrive.



Behold Karen Who Is Tall has preceded us here
and in the shaded grove there has pitched for us a good tent.
A table and rock hearth will serve for their board
and thereunto the humans unload bountiful provisions.



Evening creeps upon our camp.
My companion and the Good Man Len make from sticks and logs
fire that presses back the cool air of night
and sends the wondrous incense of sausage up unto the clear sky.
It pleases our muzzles, and although we deign not to fill our bellies with kibble,
we neither forbear the begging that attains our portion of sausage.

The sleeping place of the tent is good.
There my companion's feet are close upon one side,
and close upon another, the warming wool of poodle.
My pack all about me makes the night safe
and sweet with the fragrance of our many bodies.



Exegesis and Commentary
My apologies to the followers of Frida for such a long hiatus in the transcription of her book, especially as it came in the middle of the relation of this journey. As you will see later in this chapter, although the journey begins with a well-pleased canine, she encounters a painful trial, and I think the translation of that has proven more difficult than usual. Anyway, for now here is the satisfaction of the camp in the woods, all good with sausages and close sleeping quarters in the tent.