Waiting for the snake

Weekend before last, I trekked east about an hour to reunite with five friends from freshman year in college. We go back a fair bit, you could say. We generally meet every five years and, for this visit, I selected a refurbished 1900s hunting lodge in the Highlands Nature Sanctuary, a part of the Arc of Appalachia, with the mission of reuniting the Appalachian Forest. It's a good, central meeting point because we travel from Cleveland, OH, to Nashville and points between. Lucky for me, Cincinnati is about midway.

Highlands is the former Seven Caves attraction, which has been closed to grow the bat population. When we stopped at the former gift shop, now museum, library and guide station, one college friend, the plant pathologist for the State of Tennessee, carried on quite a conversation about the white mold that's diminished bats. Fortunately, the attendant said, it hadn't reach Highlands; another reason the walkways, electricity and tourist traffic were removed from the caves.

This slice of beauty seems to maintain the perfect balance between nature and man, preservation and cultivation, awareness and relaxation. The lodge and surrounding trails were perfect for our group's reconnection. I arrived first – barely. The drive out State Route 50 was slow and beautiful, easing me into a more contemplative rhythm. Peering down the paved path from the drive, I spotted more than enough white rockers for our group and took that as a welcome sign. Inside, I dropped my bags and just sighed. This was it, the place I have been searching for: rustic, but not antiquated, preserved, but not stuffy. Seems the original 1920s wicker in terrific shape has been retained. Five bedrooms with two single beds each line the sides of the lodge. In the center is a fire place and staircase to the lower level of kitchen, prep area, large dinging room and porched piazza. Upstairs are two living rooms, a large porch with swings, two more intimate, closed porches and a bathroom with double toilets and showers. This would be just fine, I told myself, scrambling to think of other opportunities to rent this gem.

We arrived in clumps, all within an hour or so of my entrance. And, the parade of food never stopped. We began to wonder just how long we'd intended to stay, but with a gathering of mothers, we never go hungry nor run out of conversation. I think we all wished the weekend wouldn't end.

After a late night chatting – some into the wee hours – we shared breakfast (pumpkin waffles and maple syrup) and headed out for a hike. Two planners selected the trail, but we opted to stop at the station. Unfortunately, with four of us crammed in the back, the driver hit an undetected old stone. Ouch, her SUV said. Its owner was much more gracious. Back on the narrow roads, we passed the hidden trail, then backtracked, parked and walked to the river. I happily crossed into the water and over stones in my Vibram Five Fingers, my yoga shoes with separate toe compartmments. I caught some flack earlier for wearing them, but squishing in the mud is wonderful. Dead end. The trail began on the other side of the road. Go figure, it wasn't visible from the car and literature mentioned it wouldn't be as they encourage hiking, but want to preserve and return the forest.

It was a beautiful hike on an Indian summer afternoon flanked by women I grew up with: through finals and flirting, serious relationships and break-ups, good roomies and bad. I was so intent on listening to a conversation as we walked single file, that I lifted my eyes from the trail and tangle of roots only momentarily when, I felt a glacial shiver in reaction to contact with something cold and slimy on my ankle. Instinctively, I walked past until my mind ached to know what sort of mud would reach only above my foot and not encase the rest of the shoe. Not mud, but a very long, writhing and rising snake, unhappy with the close encounter. We all took many giant steps away and watched as it seethed from being disturbed. I felt empathy – from a distance. I hadn't mean to disturb this creature and seemed to have stepped up against its coil, not directly on it.

I wouldn't get close enough to identify it, but we were pretty certain it wasn't a rattler or copperhead. Even in that moment of recognition, I felt as if this were a symbolic experience, not necessarily a visceral one. That thought was reinforced minutes later when, on another path, an even longer, very black serpent of sorts slithered across into an old shed. In all my years of visiting the Smokies and heading out solo once to the desert to paint and realizing that was ridiculous, I've never seen a big snake outside of glass. Then two within the hour? We were all a little stunned.

We returned to the cabin warm and sweaty, ready for showers and a cold beer. There was a squeal as Deb discovered a wide worm in the drain. What sort of conspiracy was this? Alone, she probably wouldn't have thought twice about collecting him and tissue and letting him loose off the front porch. But a third slimy thing?

When I returned home and caught up my best friend, she automatically said it meant that I had brushed with something dark and it hadn't harmed me. That I had gotten past unscathed. Interesting, I thought and, later googled the symbolism of the snake. I wasn't expecting its significance: primal energy, life source, healing, transformation and ... purification. Wasn't that the VERY same word my spiritual director drew for me at the beginning of the year; my word for the year?

The snake or serpent also signifies spiritual guidance, a period of transition or personal growth, stepping into the unknown, needing support and a reminder to stay grounded as one moves through changes. These are big ideas that do mean something in my life. They connect to other events and experiences. I see them as hopeful and positive, perhaps not always easy.

However, when I read that the snake represents our vital energy, coiled at the base of the spine and the movement of kundalini, I was reminded of my last shamanic/massage session two days before the snakes appeared. I had asked for opening and, of course, hip work. My careful therapist waited til the end to get to the hips, especially the one injured so many years ago. And, he actually got a part to unlock. "That old, stubborn thing," I'd carelessly remarked. "It doesn't know any different than to hold all of that energy," Gary responded. So I have been gentler, waiting ... for the snake, I suppose.

• When have I had an encounter with an animal that held a message?
• How aware was I in that moment?
• What were the circumstances?
• What did I learn?
• What place do I believe animals hold in the world?

geared up to
relax and play

with longtime,
close-knit
women

we quickly
shed our
filters and
inhibitions

of the five years
since we'd met
face to face
all of us

rekindling
the bonds of
innocence and
growth we collectively
experienced

and, together, we
took the untrodden
path, hard to
locate, yet beautiful

and terrifying as
we stumbled
upon him,
clothed just as 
the forest floor

brushing past,
awakening his
seething energy,
then letting
him reassemble

as we
more carefully
wound our
way around
and out of
the woods

together

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Putting my Rosie on

Our freshman corridor portrait

Logging into my computer, I am reminded of them and that time. My password is my nickname (oops, now everyone knows) Rosie, earned back then. College can be a precious time. Mine was and I look ahead to my high schoolers and hope the same for them.

In a few hours I will be on my way to our every-five years' reunion that began when we all turned 40. We stayed very connected beyond graduation, attended each other's weddings and began to drift after long-term men and children arrived.

Ox College, now Oxford Community Arts Center

The seven of us, plus a few more, were randomly thrown together freshman year in a very old dormitory at the far edge of campus removed from the more-modern quads. At first glance, it seemed like a catastrophe – a recipe for loneliness and isolation. Turned out it was anything but. Now, we all feel privileged that we had the opportunity to live in such a beautiful, unique building complete with parquet-floored ballroom, auditorium, marble-stalled bathrooms, antique-studded study rooms and stuffy Victorian parlors where ancient yearbooks were stashed in benches. The place had a patina and oozed a certain austerity from its days as "Oxford Female College." I am certain we contributed to erasing that aura at what we affectionately called "Ox."

The ballroom, site of the Ox College Spring Cotillion

When someone asked where you lived on campus and you replied "Ox College," the usual response was one of pity because of the distance to campus and supposed social life that centered around the quads. However, they were mistaken. We didn't put on the freshman 10 (extra weight), although we had our own dining hall and better food, simply because we had more walking or biking to get anywhere except uptown. We were at the far edge of uptown, between the Oxford Lane Library and Planned Parenthood and closer to the bars than anyone but the frat boys. That proved rather convenient as we returned from winter break and the university was closed for the first time in its history because of a blizzard. We could get uptown for groceries, pizza and beer. Not so for the quadders.

Because we were so out of the way, during little-sis rush (we were all indies and not into the cloned life of sororities), the fraternities always sent us escorts. It proved an interesting social life and a handful of us joined an off-the-beaten-frat-row eclectic fraternity because someone's sister was already a little sis. We got the royal treatment and were wooed.

Exterior of second alley

The friendships that have endured, however, are among this group of women who occupied second alley, a small wing of the dorm. Over the four years, we all re-arranged with whom we lived, but mostly, in some combination of one another. This weekend, six of us get to be together again as we have been at 40, 45, 50 and, now 55. The glue of our group, Maggy, attempted to assemble us last year and, finally, in desperation launched a Facebook group called "55 and Doing Fine Ox College Reunion." That created momentum so that we will be in the woods at a 1900s refurbished hunting lodge with no kids or spouses and a lot of catching up and reminiscing to do.

I had a preview last week when I traveled to Cleveland for an author's conference and stayed with Bethy and her husband. She hasn't changed at all and we picked up right where we left off. I first met Beth in the kitchen at Ox. She was making yogurt in a contraption I had never seen. She was Jewish and seemed so exotic and earthy to me. I was smitten. Still am. She's as grounded, humorous, compassionate and saucy as ever.

I don't recall how long it's been since I've seen Debbie, but I was so surprised at her friendliness freshman year. She's so comfortable in her beautiful skin that I assumed she was a selective sorority type – boy was I wrong. She introduced us to little-sis life and was such a wonderful combination of hard work and silliness, when you'd least expect. Can't wait to catch up.

Jackie was Debbie's room mate and so grounded and wise in college. She would tell the truth when necessary in a way the rest of us could hear and respect, rare for someone that young. Don't get the impression she was a stick in the mud – far from it. She was always good for a party or trip uptown. I would have loved to have lived with her.

Barb, whom we'll terribly miss this weekend, was my room mate junior year when we rented an apartment. I'll never forget an early conversation when she said the thing she craved most after mowing was a cold beer. That seemed so strange to me at the time. She was wise and worldly (from the BIG city of Cleveland), a gifted artist and easy room mate, even with her lab mice.

Funny that Maggy has become the glue that binds us because she didn't turn up until second semester. She wasted no time connecting with her small-town, genuine wholesomeness and hearty friendship. She knows no strangers and perseveres to keep this bunch together. You can always count on Maggy to make you feel better – that's just her way.

I revered Anni, who always seemed to have her act together. We'd often collide late at night in the bathroom, sharing cheese and crackers and conversation, thinking the entire second alley couldn't hear us. She is an excellent confidant, with attentive ears and a big heart. I know that hasn't changed.

There was such acceptance, affirmation and companionship in this group. You can see why I am so excited that I get to be Rosie this weekend. I really like her and how each of these wonderful women is reflected in and contributed to who she is.

• When have a circle of friends deeply shaped me?
• How do I remain connected?
• What were pivotal young-adult relationships?
• How have I grown as a result?
• Even if I didn't see it then, where was Spirit in all of this?


I flew the coop
for for years
and never came home,

according to
my mother

college was a pivotal
and precious time
in my life

anchored by
remarkable
young women

with whom
I have been
privileged to
grow older

and,
hopefully,
wiser

I am
eternally
grateful

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