The Burn

It sounded like the popping of a champagne bottle. 

I stumbled away, my vision spinning and blurred, my ears ringing. My body reacted before my brain could catch up. The camping stove had exploded? On us? I stood a couple feet away from the blackened rocks of our “kitchen”. I remember struggling to focus my gaze on the space between my hips and the ground. My knees were peeling and bleeding. 

My friend and I had been on our final night of a week-long backpacking trip. It had been magical. Our tents were set up on moss, our kitchen on rocks overlooking a waterfall. Hours before, we had bathed in the pool below, shoving our faces under the falling water.  

Now, my friend’s eyebrows were burnt off, her arms, face, and legs charred. We called 911, a number I had never used before. Waiting for the team of paramedics to arrive with their ATVs and helicopter, I sat in one spot and rocked back and forth. We realized quickly how much burns hurt after the medicine of shock wears off. My friend paced around me in circles. We were both screaming, our voices cracking in such sudden catharsis. We released the truth of our pain to the sky and to the Earth, and she held it for us. 

The two of us were there for an hour, with nothing to do but perform this horrible song and dance. There was nothing to do but sit in one spot and feel every single nerve ending sizzling. We watched the day’s light exhale, and it reminded me to do the same. The insects that live in the transitional moment of dusk emerged. They sang and danced along with me and my friend. I had never felt more alive than I did then. I had just experienced the harsh reminder of life’s fragility. Every slow tick of the clock was a reminder that my heart was still beating. It was beating with every inch the sun took toward rest, and it was beating in admiration. The world was still so beautiful, despite how much my body writhed in pain. 

As a young teen, I read Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer. In it, she asks her students, “Do you love the Earth?” to which everyone could reply confidently, “Yes. I do.” Then she asked “Do you think the Earth loves you back?” and everyone hesitated. 

I thought about this love, as the smell of burnt gas, hair, and skin, gave way to the night air. No matter what situation I find myself in, the Earth has always been there as a comfort. She watched me grow up, spending hours with my sister exploring the woods behind our house. She’s seen me fall into rivers and heard me sing at the top of mountains. She’s taught me how to be okay with discomfort, how to be resilient, self-assured, and independent. I felt the Earth’s love as a kid, I felt it after the explosion, and I feel it now. She will always be there. Knowing that goodness, love, and beauty can be found anywhere allows me to embrace barriers as opportunities for growth. What is harrowing is only a part of the full picture. The rest is made of wonder.