Prelude: Three Paths

PONDERS

This episode of The Wanderer was produced on the stolen lands of the Massachusett and Catawba peoples. If you enjoy today’s episode, consider joining us in making a donation to Land is Life, an Indigenous led non-profit, working to support the rights, self determination, and participation in policy making of Indigenous people all around the world. You can make a donation today by visiting landislife.org/donate, or by clicking on the link in the show notes. Thank you.

 

The Wanderer is made possible by the generous support of all our incredible patrons. Recently I ran into fellow bard Charles Gustine, seeking out ancient churches and temples to study their icons, and the brave Sir Jeff of Dreason, in search of a seat at the court of the Great kingdom of Boston. Thank you to all these wonderful patrons, as well as Kristin Tallis, Morgan Ainsley, James Oliva and Hallie Casey. If you’d like to help support independent storytelling and hear your name before each episode, visit patreon.com/pondersproductions and join us today.

 

SFX: A fire crackling. Night birds chirping.

 

THE WANDERER

Those that travel through the forest know that there are three types of path you can follow. The first are the trails, the roads, the cuts that have scarred over, etched along the forest floor to make traversal easy. I’ve nothing against those who take the roads; if it’s getting where you’re going and not the going itself… so be it.  At least they aren’t the ones doing the cutting, don’t cause more damage in their going about. 

 

SFX: Louder snap from the fire.

 

THE WANDERER

I could spend my time being upset at the initial cutters, but there’s not much point. They’re long gone. 

 

No, the distinction of the smallest sliver of my disquiet belongs to the group who takes the second path. The bushwhackers, or the “one man cutters,” as the old ones called them. Sometimes it’s about getting to the end faster, other times it’s about seeing more of the scenery, and still yet are those who think this way is braver, the more adventurous route. They think they’re so… special, forging their own path, pioneering, discovering the undiscovered. There’s nothing undiscovered out here. Maybe undiscovered by them, but the provision of having been perceived by a man means very little to the forest. 

 

SFX: Owl hooting. Fire continues to crackle.

 

THE WANDERER

The old ones called it a one man cut because it’s just that. Sure they don’t take down any trees or pack the dirt so tight the weeds can’t even grow. But they leave behind a trail of broken twigs and trampled fauna. And a cut is a cut is a cut. You’d think a beauty as big as the forest wouldn’t mind a little cut, and really she’s fine, but she can’t make a habit of letting cuts go unpunished, else there’d be no more forest. It’s one thing to take the old scarred over roads, but cut the forest fresh and the forest will cut you back.

 

SFX: Snaps of the crackling fire. 

 

THE WANDERER

So, how then is a man supposed to travel through the forest? I’ll tell you. The third path. The hardest to traverse, or so they say. How would they know? As best I can tell I’m the only one who does it any more. I’m probably the only one who’s done it in hundreds of years. The problem with the roads and the bushwhacks is that they stem from the idea that traversal of the forest is a uniquely human endeavor. And that only man knows best how to get through the forest. As if there weren’t many creatures here before us, as if there weren’t other men here before us, as if the forest hadn’t already provided the perfect paths. These paths are as old as the forest herself, and as new as the winds and rains that ever bend them. They are the arteries, the airways, the means by which the forest takes her deep, long breaths. Without these paths there would be no forest at all. And when you’re keen, when you learn to hear the forest breath, you can follow those paths. And moving along one… it’s like flying. Not a branch cracks, not a flower is trampled. Your feet barely touch the forest floor.

 

SFX: Owl hooting. Fire crackling.

 

THE WANDERER

To the townsfolk and travelers, they’re whispers and legends, stories told once long ago ‘round a crackling campfire, fairytales they heard as children that helped let them dream sweet and safe. But the old ones had a name for these paths: the wanders. Which makes me the last of the Wanderers. It’s not a name that I wear with any sort of distinction or honor. I take no pride in it. I mention it only so you understand why I go for very long stretches without ever seeing another soul. 

 

SFX: Louder snap from the fire.

 

THE WANDERER

Of course, the wander isn’t easy. All things in the forest are balanced. 

 

SFX: The slow beginning of quiet guitar, plucking out a sweet melody in the background.

 

THE WANDERER

Traveling the roads will wear a person down in a specific way. There’s only so long you can move through a scar without having to pay by part of your soul, but you’ll get where you’re going with relative ease. The bushwhack is hard in the way that anyone who decides to follow their ego will eventually find themselves in a trap built of their own hubris. The Wander is easiest on the limbs, the most natural, but harder on the mind. You don’t really belong in the veins of a forest, and the forest knows it. Along the wander you’re tested, tested for what you are and tested for what you are not. They’re not easy tests either. 

 

SFX: The guitar stops. Fire crackling. Crickets chirping. Owl hooting. 

 

THE WANDERER

But… I think you should know something before we continue. I am not the hero of this story. In fact this story doesn’t have a hero. This story has a wanderer, a wanderer who will be tested, who will pass, who will fail, who will be left to wonder if they passed or failed or if they were ever really tested at all. I’m not going to save anyone here, least of all myself. But I’ve made a deal with the forest. I’ve agreed to wander: to wander as long as I can, as long as the forest wants. I don’t completely understand what she wants with me, but I wander because it’s the only way I have to keep the person I love most safe. I wander because it’s the only way I’m gonna get him back. It’s the least I can do. It’s the only thing I can do.

 

SFX: Fire crackling. A strum of the guitar, and the Wanderer begins to sing. 

 

THE WANDERER (singing)

 

If I tried to go

where the trees are cut low

the path wouldn’t lead me to you.

 

If I tried to go

cut a trail of my own

the path wouldn’t lead me to you.

 

So I wander, I wander,

I wander my way to you. 

 

So I wander, I wander,

I wander my way to you. 

 

At the long road’s end

there is just another bend

the road never leads me to you.

 

What is cut you cannot mend

when you meet the forest’s end

the forest will just keep me from you.

 

So I wander, I wander,

I wander my way to you.

 

So I wander, I wander,

I wander my way to you.

 

When you choose the ease of road

the toll is your soul,

and the toll will keep me from you.

 

When you cut, the greater toll,

the forest eats you whole

and there will be no me to lead to you.

 

So I wander, I wander,

I wander my way to you.

 

So I wander, I wander,

I wander my way to you.

 

SFX: The music swells and continues on. 

 

JORDAN

The Wanderer is written and sound designed by T.H. Ponders. Produced by Jordan Stillman. Show art and design is by V Silverman. Additional art by Olivia Li.

 

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Our special thanks goes out to Sean Howard, Russ More, Christina Orlando, Elka Carl, Jeff Van Dreason, and Chad Ellis. 

 

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Bob has been getting hope from their weekly Star Wars book group that’s brought him closer to friends, and twiglets are great to eat on Twitter is looking forward to seeing family she hasn’t seen in over a year.

 

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Please stay safe, and thank you for wandering with us.