Lost It

The Big Woods had beckoned because it was a good day for photography. My route was through an old field where some of the last butterflies of the year visited the few thistles that were still in flower. 

 

From the field it was up into woodland that, although it has been logged, has never been cleared and has probably been woodland since the glaciers retreated over 10,000 years ago. There my quarry was fungi, specifically the fruiting bodies that can be abundant during the fall. And find them I did: large and small, colorful and drab, some newly emerged and some battered – by feeding slugs, chipmunks and deer.

After a mile or so there was a choice, go back the way I’d come or take an old road downhill on its curving way back to where I’d left the car. I chose the road because it offered the prospect of finding more fungi.

I hadn’t gone far when, on a steep spot, I stepped on a loose fist-sized rock that had been hidden by tall grass; it rolled beneath my foot and down I went – again. As I got up it was obvious that there was blood dripping from my fingers. Some dead branches where I landed had taken a couple of fair-sized chunks of skin out of my right forearm, because I take two anti-coagulants the blood flowed freely.

My pack’s first-aid kit isn’t for minor scratches or trivial cuts, it’s a serious kit for serious injuries. The amount of blood dripping from my fingertips called for something I’d learned about years ago – a sanitary napkin makes an extremely effective compress-type bandage since they’re made to hold blood. So out came one of those “feminine hygiene products” and self-adhesive tape to hold it on while I walked the mile and a half back to the car.

At home H cleaned up the mess I’d made of my arm (she’s had a lot of experience over the many years we’ve been married), and I changed my clothes. It was then that I discovered my pocket knife was gone; it’s a knife I’ve carried for over 40 years and has a story of it’s own. The knife’s predecessor was lost through a hole worn in my pocket while I was inspecting a new road under construction – it probably lies buried beneath tons of fill on the side of a ridge, for it was never found.

Only a day or two after I’d lost that knife, we were in a parking lot when I glanced down and saw a $20 bill laying on the ground. That $20 paid most of the cost of a new knife and now I’d just lost that knife too.

Was this knife lost when I fell or had I left it somewhere in the house or car? A search failed to find the knife, so I concluded it was where I fell. The next morning, after a night of rain, I headed back to the Big Woods to find the knife. On the way there were some fungi worth photographing –

 

Although it had rained during the night, the flattened grass and the broken sticks still spoke of my tumble. I brushed aside the grass and leaves – no knife. I’d just about given up hope of finding my knife when I absentmindedly kicked aside a piece of branch – and there it was –

 

How did it get out of my pocket when I fell? That's unknown and will never be known; but it doesn't matter, the lost had been found. 

When opened, the knife was a bit dirty and rusty from the rain –

But a bit of light oil, rubbing with steel wool and a little sharpening and my knife was as good as it was before spending a night in the Big Woods.

I’ve carried a pocket knife since I was in high school and this knife for over 40 years, and now it’s back in my pocket.