Runaway Acorn
Yesterday, we drove north to visit the beautiful Stony Point Battlefield State Park. It was a cool and drizzly day, just perfect for a road trip. I was trekking down the path to retrieve the Grand Mobile, when I heard a quiet pop above me, and a little acorn broke free from its birthplace, and leapt to the path, where it started rolling downhill. It rolled really fast, bumping over stray rocks and leaves, and then dove over the edge where it plopped into a little stream and started floating away to its destiny.
My mind wandered to the grand adventure this little acorn could have. Would it drown in the stream and become part of the dredged up vegetation on the shore? Or would it be swallowed by some lucky fish or bird to be transported to a far-distant land. Maybe it would find itself lodged between a rock and a hard place, and decide then and there to put down roots (literally) and become a full-fledged oak tree, surprising the fauna and flora with its uniqueness?
The thing is – something will happen to that acorn. It didn’t just disappear when it freed itself from its home. It is now in a transition to the next phase of its life. Even if it dies – it’s still here. A unique thing that takes up a space and a place in this world. Maybe it will be packed in mud, and become a fossil to be discovered by some future generation.
The battlefield overlooks the breathtakingly beautiful Hudson River – you can see for miles in every direction. There are some folks who dress as soldiers and other figures in the time of the Revolutionary War (1779), and build fires, cook whatever they cook and live in tents on the property. It gives it a homey, nostalgic feeling of continuity of life, of remembering those who died there.
There is a little lighthouse up top, and a stone gate at the entrance. Those were built by people hundreds of years ago, and those folks are long-gone, but their contribution to the world remains. I like to imagine their ghosts wandering over and through the misty hills, perhaps picking little acorns off the historic oak trees and hucking them down the path.
