We have all been physically lost at some time in our lives. Confused, turned around, disoriented, unable to decipher instructions or worthless when it comes to reading a map. My reaction to being lost has always been one of calm acceptance and often humor. My sister and I do not consider taking a trip together a success unless we have gotten lost at least once. Bangor, Augusta, Portland, New York, Massachusetts — just a few of the places that have challenged my weak sense of direction. The strongest memory of all, though, began in my cousin’s backyard.
I was 4 and Julie was 10. She had acquired 10-year-old wisdom and I possessed the wide-eyed wonder of the young and innocent. When she explained to me that entering into the woods would be nothing short of magical, I placed my hand in hers and together we glided through the tall bushes (which looked like trees to us) with great expectations. I did not consider even for a moment the consequences of losing one’s sense of direction. I was 4 years old and honored to be with my very wise and courageous cousin and we were off to discover the wonders of the world, all contained within that patch of overgrown bush and swamp in Julie’s backyard.
It didn’t take Julie long to realize that we were traveling in circles. My sneakers were soaked with mud and my hair was twisted and torn with stray twigs and leaves. Thistles of various sizes clung to our shorts and our legs were scratched and bleeding from the sting of the low branches and our multiple tumbles to the ground. We were most definitely lost in every sense of the word and my delight soon turned to fright! Julie spoke softly and soothingly to me as we searched for some sort of clearing; some sort of escape.
The sound of our mothers’ voices blanketed the situation with hope and in no time, we were standing in the clearing, tattered and disheveled and oh, so thankful. My mother gently scolded me and held me close; not seeming to mind my muddy clothing and tear drenched face. In a matter of moments, I was hugging Julie good-bye and riding home in my mother’s car; my body snug against her side. We stopped at a small general store and my mother bought me new sneakers, socks, and a Dixie Cup filled with a combination of rich chocolate and creamy vanilla ice cream; topped with a flat wooden spoon. I decided at that moment that getting lost had its rewards.
Each time I make a wrong turn, I remember Julie and our experience of so long ago. I cannot help but wonder: just who is driving my car these days? When I look in my rearview mirror, I catch a glimpse of hair filled with thistles and twigs and I would wager that muddy and worn sneakers rest upon the floorboard. I may be turned around, but soon I will see that clearing; and I will always find my way home.
Editor’s Note: Belinda Wilcox Ouellette has lived in the Caribou area for all of her 56 years. She presently lives in Connor TWP. with her husband Dale and their Goldendoodle Barney. They are currently working on building a home in Caribou. You may contact Belinda online at: dbwouellette@maine.rr.com.
