Found.

The best hobbies, at least in my view, encourage us to grow, or at least offer the potential. Letterboxing is one of those hobbies. Every time I try for a box, it is a practice of open-mindedness, acceptance, humility, optimism, and resilience. Some boxes really test my perseverance - how badly do I want to find this box? How will I feel if I give up? The feelings are amplified if I have other boxers with me - they, too, are dealing with themselves while searching for the box. I can feel their apprehension, frustration, justification, and hopefully satisfaction and pleasure when we are successful. What a mix! And this doesn't take into account the physicality of the weather and bugs, schleppin' your bag, hiking, and (of all things) squatting trailside to stamp in. And, when I do find the special art at the end of a crafted clue in that specifically chosen place, well, that is all very ... special. It is more than a hobby then, it is a shared human experience.

But sometimes it gets even more personal. Look at what was found in a special box we planted not too long ago:

photo credit: L. Samson

I am imagining this soul coming to visit their tree-friend and discovering the letterbox. I wonder if they were surprised, perhaps thinking it was an intruder to their privacy ... they didn't 'rehide' it very well, but neither did they destroy or take it. I want to think that they took comfort in the fact that they were not the only one who considered the tree special. No lie - it is a special tree - I felt that as soon as I came across it. I would consider this tree, that offers refuge and comfort and accepts offerings of tears and art, a sacred place.

I will be writing a note in response to this frequent visitor of the tree, and I hope they read it. And I hope that when other boxers go to find the box, they too will be touched with the intimacy shared by this local visitor to this sacred place.

I believe the author of this note is correct - the love they share with the tree is reciprocated. I, too, noticed and love the tree, and I hope they can somehow feel that, as well.

As an aside, I am glad I included information about letterboxing in the box - perhaps because the cards Ryan offers look professional or authoritative enough that they decided not to destroy the box. Or perhaps they chose to leave the box there because they had heard of letterboxing previously, or knows someone who has letterboxed. Moreover, if the stamp in the box were of something other than the special tree (say a cartoon character or another unrelated subject), would they have decided to take the stamp? Would they have considered it inappropriate or simply trash? Maybe, because it was a carve of that tree, this person felt a connection with another who thought the tree was special, as well. 

That is a lot of speculation, and I suppose I will never have answers. But it makes me, again, think about the issue of the quality over quantity of planted letterboxes. But, that's another post.

"Each time, on arriving at the river, I want to find God immediately - I want direct access, I want power and preternatural wonder. I'll listen to the sound of squirrels and birds, expecting God's voice to echo in the rustle of every stirring leaf. I'll stalk God, as it were, along all the trails above the lodge. And usually, after at least twenty hours into the trip, I'll finally realize there's going to be nothing there but trees and clouds and distant river after all. I find myself left with dead leaves and a thin line of geese flying over the western sky. Yet it is at this precise moment, where I give up looking for the burning bush, that my retreat usually begins." 

Excerpt from Landscapes of the Sacred: Geography and Narrative in American Spirituality, by Beldon C. Lane; 1988, John Hopkins University Press, p. 16.