Mile 625

The fog, thick as soup, engulfed the quaint cabin on the first morning. Misfit watched the other hikers gather their belongings after a breakfast she had prepared, stealing themselves against the foul weather ahead. This morning, however, the weather was not a concern for her. They were hiking out today, but Misfit was staying still.

The hikers she observed were not strangers; they had been her support system for the last 400 miles. Some, such as Greeter and Mr. Greeter, were part of her tribe. She tried to convince herself that she wasn’t saying “goodbye,” but there was no way to be certain. The truth is the trail is constantly moving, always changing. One’s community was defined by the pace one conveyed along the wooded path. Stop, and the neighborhood moves on as a new one bulldozes in. Misfit’s world was about to shift in ways she could not anticipate.

She hugged Greeter goodbye, tears at the corners of both their eyes. Misfit reminded Greeter in that last embrace, “The trail always finds a way,” even if she didn’t fully believe it. Misfit murmured a weak “see you down trail” as she watched the last familiar face fade into the fog while pangs of fear and regret frayed the corners of her thoughts. Standing under the safety of the old cabin’s porch, hoping for a sign but seeing only fog, she relented her position and spun on her heels towards her new home and new purpose. Although she felt a little left behind, Misfit was not alone. She was part of a team of whom she soon learned were some fantastic people.

Right-Foot was a charming silver-haired handyman with kind eyes and a warm smile. He would kindly talk your ear off if you let him, often joking about his lust for a steak in this land of vegetarian cuisine. Scotsman also recently completed his thru-hike in January, summiting Katahdin during sub-zero temps. He was executing a post-hike year of work-for-stay at hostels he loved along his 2021 journey. As such, he truly connected with all the hikers who visited Woods Hole, and Misfit was no exception. He was honest and thoughtful, and the two became fast friends. Next was Nick, the mindful traveler. He was a meticulous and humble man who did his work quietly and intentionally. Fascinated, educated, and inquisitive, he and Misfit learned much from each other. Finally, Bruno, who paused his section hike of Virginia to spend several weeks working at Woods Hole. Bruno had the temperament of a monk and the skills to tackle mechanical and botanical tasks around the grounds. Bruno embodied gentleness, and when he asked how someone’s day was, he honestly wanted to know. They all walked different paths, but whether by happenstance, luck, or perhaps fate, all found themselves in this place at this time because of a common belief. They believed in the AT. More importantly, they believed in Woods Hole and, by extension Neville.

It is an odd and remarkable accomplishment to make strangers feel at home in a place they have never been. Not a guest or a visitor, but genuinely feel as though one has been a part of a place all their life. That is the superpower that Neville Harris possesses. She belongs to the forest, and Woods Hole is her true love and passion. One that she shared with all those that passed through these doors.

Misfit spent her days in the kitchen preparing meals and snacks for the hungry hiker guests. She saw many of her slower hiker friends the first two days, but she only greeted strange faces by day three. She turned inward to Woods Hole and found solidarity on this side of the door. The team shared stories and insights over breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Neville went out of her way to thank Misfit for her help twice daily. It was almost as if she were visiting with family instead of working at a hostel. Misfit felt as though she stumbled into the center of the universe and could likely lose herself in this home for the remainder of her years if not for one thing. As fulfilled as she may be in this place and despite the foul weather, the siren song of the forest called to her each morning and night.

The weather finally turned on her fourth day at Woods Hole, and the sun broke through the clouds. It was easy to accept her place while the rain poured down from the sky and drenched hikers appeared at their doorstep, but now that the forest was dry and sunny, the feeling of being misplaced grew. Woods Hole was a home unlike any other, but the call to adventure was a potent elixir.

Stay or go? Hiker or host? The pull was strong in both directions, and the decision felt impossible. However, on the morning of the 5th day, Neville made it easy. Two days earlier than their agreement, she told Misfit that her time was up. Not that Neville wanted her to go; instead, it was an act of compassion. Sometimes you must let a caged bird go free no matter how lovely its song.

An eternity passed in those seven days at Woods Hole. It is odd how attached one can become to someone or someplace in a concise amount of time. Perhaps it isn’t “time” that is the defining factor. Perhaps it is something less tangible. The raw honesty one experiences while traveling. The power of being present in the moment. Either way, Misfit felt like she belonged here, and although she was hiking out, she was not leaving Woods Hole or its people behind. All trails find a way to lead you home again… someday.

On her last morning, she said her goodbyes to both the human and animal residents of Woods Hole. With a full belly, pack, and heart, she stepped out from under the porch and headed up the road, refusing to look back and reveal the tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. She paused at the intersection of the gravel road and footpath, feeling renewed. Embracing her return to hiker status, she took her first step back onto the AT. She imagined Greeter just a few miles ahead and thought, “The trail always finds a way” then she picked up her pace just a little because, this time, she believed it.