Woods Queer

When I was a girl, the word queer simply meant strange or odd. It was unkindly applied to kids who didn’t quite fit in or spat out at people with whom you were angry. It wasn’t until later that this word metamorphosed into a sexual context. I rarely hear it used anymore, perhaps to avoid insult or confusion. But I recently found it in book that I have read and thoroughly enjoyed.

Written in the early 1940’s, We Took To The Woods is an autobiographical collection of stories written by Louise Dickinson Rich. Each chapter addresses a question people might have asked her about her choice to move into a remote area of the Maine woods with her husband. Questions like: But you don’t live here all the year ‘round? and Do you get out very often?

It is this second question that brought up the term woods queer. Defined by the hardy folk who made their homes in that particular section of wilderness, it simply refers to someone who has been isolated for so long that they can’t remember things like what day of the week it is. Louise writes:

Woods queerness is a real and serious and fairly common thing here, brought on by solitude and a growing awareness of the emptiness all around. It starts in little ways, and gets worse and worse, until finally it may end in raving insanity. Every now and then, someone along the lakes is taken to an asylum.

 And then she tells a funny tale of self-doubt, wondering if she was beginning to go woods queer and deciding that she needed a trip to the city.

Now I do most of my non-study reading in bed at night, and this chapter made me giggle. I shared the concept of woods queer with Ron, and I have to admit I may come to regret having done so. Every time I ask him what day of the week it is, he responds by asking if I’m going woods queer. Of course, he’s joking. At least I think he’s joking…

Time up here in the woods, especially during the long stretches when I’m here alone, takes on a different rhythm. The routines of sleeping and eating, going for a walk or doing pilates, savoring devotions and taking on the day’s work, are not so different than when I am in San Diego. What is different is the absence of activities that occur on specific days at specific times. Piano lessons on Tuesday, community group on Thursdays. The kinds of things that recur weekly. Things that remind me what day it is.

I joined the local quilter’s guild, which meets monthly. Which doesn’t really help with the what day is it? thing. So far it hasn’t really helped with the monthly thing, either, since I was unable to attend the last several meetings due to other conflicts. Like a visit to the local ER. But, that’s a whole other story.

When you think about it, though, is it such a bad thing not to have our lives dictated by a calendar? Wasn’t that one of the greatest things about summer vacation when we were kids? Three months without the structure of a school day that was completely dependent on what day and time it was!

Life in the woods for Louise Rich was not a life without parameters. Whether she was aware of which specific day it was or not, food had to be prepared, fuel brought in for the stove, water gathered. The seasons brought rhythm to life – a garden in the spring; harvest in the summer; serious, and I mean SERIOUS, preparations for winter in the fall; surviving and looking out for neighbors in the winter.

Perhaps woods queer wasn’t so much about orientation to the days of the week. Perhaps it was more about the necessity of interaction with other people, the connections we need with one another to maintain a healthy state of mind and heart.  After all, in the creation story God declared that it was not good for Adam to be alone. He needed someone other than the animals, someone like himself, for companionship.

Do you think Eve ever asked Adam: so, is it Tuesday or Wednesday?