The dirt in our nails were like battle scars. Every night, before we huddled into our synthetic sleeping bags, hiding ourselves from the severe Maine winds, we shone our headlamps at our fingers, checking for the day’s accumulation of filth. We’d brag and argue about how much dirt were on our nails, like it somehow affirmed the importance of the day’s work. Look at my nails—they’re caked, I’d say. Well look at mine, another would scoff. There’s no way you can beat mine.
I hadn’t showered in two weeks, and the thick forest leaves were becoming my favorite form of toilet paper. I was here as a national crew member for the Student Conservation Association, building bridges and cutting trails two thousand miles away from home. Every rock I lifted, every swing of my pickax, was helping preserve the precious wilderness at America’s northeastern corner; this was our mission. We went to sleep watching the miraculous starlit night, and in the morning, we were greeted by the sight of a few low-hanging branches and streams of sunlight. Today, as usual, I prepared my day pack—a raincoat, water, the mosquito repellent that didn’t help, and a sandwich—before sliding on my mud-crusted boots and hard-hat helmet. We made our way down the side of the mountain, through the rough trail, day after day, undeterred by bee stings, rainstorms, or caribou tracks.
Today we were doing something special, though. Our guide was taking us down to the river, hidden behind thick foliage lining an ordinary Maine highway, to enjoy ourselves, relax and bond after days of strenuous labor. As the guzzling roar of engines deadened, I heard the voices of the breeze, constant, like the lull of a sleeping giant, of a swelling tide getting closer.
A roughly-cut path brought us to a flight of stone steps, offering a panoramic view of the clearing. As I took the steps down, I felt like I had fallen through a vortex, into a place entirely magical and alive. The jagged rocks underneath were coated with invisible drops of dew, trying to make us slip and fall, and the leaves seemed to reach out to me, tickling me hello in all different languages.
The guide led us to a rock cliff, where the river far, far below danced beside the bank. A popular cliff jumping site, he told us, for those who like to push their boundaries.
I took a casual look down from the vantage point. It was quite a distance down, and I remembered I still had my contacts in. My mind recalled the calculation of trajectories, the acceleration of free fall at 9.81 meters per second, the fake cliff in King Lear and the real one in New Moon. No no, I thought. This wasn’t for me.
But part of me felt wild and fearless, craving that uncontrollable spirit, that force of nature, strong and bold. I was here, transported from suburbia, to experience the unfamiliar with only the bare necessities. How many times before had I lived completely without electronics? How many times before did I have to crouch for hours in the woods to avoid being struck by lightning? I had torn down those white fences, searching for new frontiers. Was I not one to push my boundaries?
My toes hovered over the edge, over the division between ground and air. I closed my eyes, and felt the world rise and crash. Anticipation and surging adrenaline exploded into pure euphoria.
The river consumed me as I cracked the surface, and my limbs stiffened from the New England waters. As I resurfaced for air, I could see the build-up under my nails wash away. I felt a layer of dirt on my skin peel off, as if I were shedding skin. For snakes, it’s a natural process associated with growth. For me, I think it’s the same.
I jumped in for all the times I’d been held back by the unknown. I jumped in for the rush of discovery, for the opportunities I would otherwise not have, like watching shooting stars rain down as I froze in amazement in my pajamas or catching the sunrise dispersed by drifting clouds as I stood on the mountaintop. I jumped in for the way I tested my limits, climbing one mile, two miles, three miles further, for the way I threw myself into my conservation projects, working through physical pain to preserve our Earth. As I swept away the prudence that’s held me back before, I am not the same girl. I am a girl who dares to explore new territory and shape my environment; like water, I can cut through rock, fill in cracks, and grow the forest.