Becoming Odyssa - Jennifer Pharr Davis [30]
It had never even crossed my mind that bleach could be used to purify water, partly because there was a poison control warning on the bottle. I still wasn’t treating my water, and I knew that maybe that meant I was taking in some things that weren’t too good for me, but bleach or iodine or other chemical treatments didn’t seem healthy either.
Steam then told me how challenging it was for him to be a vegetarian on the trail. He said he was struggling to take in enough calories and protein in his diet.
“I’ve heard of a few vegetarians on the trail who drink bottles of olive oil or eat sticks of butter to maintain their body weight,” he said.
“Are you going to do that?”
“I think if I’m tempted to drink olive oil then I’ll just go ahead and add some meat to my diet.”
Above his gear and water purification, the aspect that interested me most about Steam was that he was hiking the trail as a Christian missionary. He had partnered with a group called Appalachian Trail Servants and he raised support to hike the trail and share his faith. I knew that I would share my beliefs if the subject came up in conversation on the trail, but purposely trying to start that conversation terrified me.
It’s not that there weren’t Christians on the trail—there were. But Christians on the Appalachian Trail are like bears: you might run across a handful on your way to Maine. On the other hand, left-wing antifundamentalists are the squirrels of the trail, and you’re guaranteed to encounter several every day. As a bear, I was scared of squirrels because they were scared of me. They kept their distance and feared I would eat them, when really I just wanted to dine on berries and live peaceably in the woods. I admired Steam because he was proud to be a bear, whereas I was a bear trying to look like a groundhog. Groundhogs are a lot less threatening than bears. Plus, they’re cute. You’d be crazy not to like a groundhog.
“How is it sharing your faith on the trail?” I asked.
“It’s been great so far,” he said.
There was a long pause, and I could tell he was reflecting.
“I never bring it up right away, and just try to look for ways to help people. You know, give them water, or a little extra food, or just listen to what they have to say—things that I would want people to do for me. In conversation there are a lot of natural ways for me to bring up my faith, so I can do it organically and without judgment.”
As we started a long, gradual uphill section, Steam continued to tell me how blessed and comfortable he felt as a Christian on the trail, and how meaningful interactions and moments of peace constantly reassured him. I was happy to listen to Steam and his stories because they seemed to strike a chord of truth. They also meant that I didn’t have to talk while hiking uphill, which always made me grateful. By the time we reached the top of the mountain, I started thinking that maybe I should just be happy to be a bear and not worry about what the other woodland creatures thought.
Steam and I continued to hike and talk until the early afternoon when we arrived at Spring Mountain Shelter. There was a young male thru-hiker in the lean-to named Second Gear, who briefly introduced himself and then continued hiking. I also had the urge to continue hiking, but Steam decided that he was done for the day and would spend the rest of the afternoon at the shelter.
I said good-bye, wished him well, and continued down the trail. It struck me that Steam was out here to love and encourage me as much as anyone else. He was out here for the bears as much as he was for the squirrels.
For much of the afternoon, I walked within view of Second Gear. We didn’t hike together and we didn’t talk to one another. That didn’t bother me. What did bother me was that he was listening to his iPod.
IPods didn’t bother me because they were antisocial or because they were a way to disassociate from the trail; they bothered me because when you listen to an iPod, you can’t hear external noises, and