Leave no trace

A few days ago, I hiked up to what may be my favorite view in our region - the big flat rock over looking South Holston Lake, at the top of Flint Mill Trail on Holston Mountain. I have made this hike perhaps close to 200 times now in my life - and hope to make it 200 more before I return to dust.

But on this hike I came across something different. Very different. Something I never could have guessed.

When I arrived at the top to the overlook I found Tibetan prayer flags stretched across the view, spanning the sky between two trees.

I have no doubt these prayer flags were placed there with the very best intentions.

HOWEVER ... the wind and weather will eventually take them down and spread them God only knows where. If everyone did this type of thing, it would create quite an environmental catastrophe. It’s why I quit putting little America flags and tiny wood gnomes out and about in the woods, as I occasionally did once upon a time.

If one wants to follow the letter of the law, these types of things likely all qualify as “littering” in a very realistic way.

We should all be mindful of what we leave in the woods, however good our intentions may be.

Best advice I ever heard for venturing out into nature?

“Leave no trace.”

So after a couple days of due thought and reflection, I did what I felt was the right thing to do; I hiked back up there today and removed the flags.

Did I feel badly? Hardly. I actually felt a great sense of meaning.

I did pause and offer a prayer for whoever put up the flags to begin with. Not a prayer of self-righteousness or vengeance (I don’t even count those things as prayers - and I’d be willing to venture the Almighty doesn’t either). I simply hoped and prayed they were able to spread their message of prayerful love in different ways than by demonstrably littering a pristine natural forest.

“Leave no trace.”

Eventually, given enough time, none of us will leave a trace.

99.999 percent of us will never make the history books. And sometime in the not too distant future, likely within a century or less for most of us, someone will say our name for the last time. It will never be uttered again. By anyone. We will become utterly and completely forgotten. No one will ever know that we once existed.

And even if we do become wildly famous - say, Abraham Lincoln famous - we will also eventually be forgotten. All of us. Even Abe. Given enough time.