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  Surprise on Mt. Hood

By Virginia Jones
Garden of Roses: Stories of Abuse and Healing
August 25 2010

http://web.me.com/virginiajones/Compsassionate_Gathering/The_Garden_of_Roses/Entries/2010/8/25_Surprise_on_Mt._Hood.html

Truthfully I didn’t expect to talk to anyone about abuse on the Pacific Crest Trail segment of the Walk Across Oregon. I had no agency contacts or members of my own group who indicated an interest in walking with me. My reason for walking on the trail was for the beauty of the place. I want to bring awareness to the issue of abuse, make it easier for survivors of abuse to come forward in an atmosphere of support, but I also want to bring awareness about how we can heal from abuse. I struggled with depression most of my life related to the sexual abuse I suffered at age 4, but when I was out in nature hiking by a waterfall or on the crest of a mountain range, my ever present depression would disappear and be replaced by joy, joy. I felt it is important to walk on the Pacific Crest Trail even though I expected to speak to no one. I just wanted to set a precedent in the expectations that in the future others will join me. I planned only to have a pleasant day hiking with my children. I was so casual I arrived late at Timberline Lodge on Mt. Hood, our point of entry on the Trail that goes from the Mexican border to the Canadian border. Moreover, although I wore a “Walk Across Oregon” shirt, I forgot to clothe my children in “Walk” shirts. I really expected to speak with no one about my favorite issue -- bringing in the community to end abuse and support survivors.

Boy was I surprised.

Walking on the Pacific Crest Trail I had a really good day, I met not one, but four people really interested in detailed explanations of why I wear this t-shirt emblazoned with “Stop Child Abuse, Heal the Wounds,” and walk on trails and through towns in Oregon.

We set out just before 11 AM. By late August the snows had receded up the slopes of the mountain, exposing vast expanses of old volcanic ash and grey cinders. The last eruption of Mt. Hood, a Cascade volcano, was around 250 years ago -- long enough that plants have taken up residence on the slopes of the mountain. It is elevation where the trees are sparse. Timberline Lodge is at timberline, about 6,000 feet here in northern Oregon. The White Bark PIne is stunted and gnarled. The soft, pink Pussy Paw and yellow Buckwheat and Aster flowers are past their peak blooming, but there were purple, alpine Lupines as well red orange Indian Paint Brush and white clumps Pearly Everlasting blooming and a little yellow member of the daisy family I don’t know the name of.

It was a perfect day. We watched a fire blow up in the distance, sending smoke billowing up on the flanks of Mt. Jefferson, the next cascade volcano south of Mt. Hood, but on Mt. Hood the air was clear and the sky was a deep blue somewhere between royal blue and turquoise.

I felt uplift and awe over the intense beauty of the place. We hiked west towards Paradise Park -- a mountain meadow high up on the Mt. Hood close to the Pacific Crest Trail. It is a hike we’ve taken before. Others hiked on the trail too, for various distances. Some hiked only to where the Mt. Hood Wilderness Area starts and some farther. Some hikers were sturdy gray haired people with rucksacks and water bottles on day hikes. Other were younger people who wore backpacks filled with gear, clearly prepared for several or many nights of camping in a row

We paused at Zig-Zag Creek so my son could explore a waterfall up stream, and then we forded this cold, snow fed mountain stream. I doffed my walking shoes to protect them and then sat on a rock on the other side of the stream, putting my shoes and socks back on.

I noticed two women in shorts and packs walk up to the stream. They paused to adjust their packs, and a man, also with a backpack, caught up with them. They crossed the creek and followed us. My son hikes triple speed, but my daughter is a little slow. The group of backpackers caught up with my daughter and me. We stood to the side of the trail to let them pass, but they stopped to exchange pleasantries.

I asked them if they were doing the Pacific Crest Trail.

“Yes, they replied, “

“How far?” I asked.

“From Mexico to Canada, we started in April.”

“That is quite an accomplishment,” I said. “Where are you from?”

“Berkeley, California,” they answered.

They, obviously having read my t-shirt, “Are you walking across Oregon?”

“Well, yes, but not like you. I am only walking through towns and on scenic trails.”

I continued, “My goal is outreach. It is actually really difficult to walk every step of the way and you spend four out of five days in rural areas without anyone to speak to. I am walking to bring awareness to the issue of abuse, about how we all need to work stop abuse and support survivors, and I want to talk to people about the issue.”

I paused here because many people are not interested in knowing more.

I don’t know why, but this group of backpackers wanted to know more. Maybe it was because they were from Berkeley, California, and care about such issues. Berkeley has a history of having people who care passionately about issues, Maybe it was because they had spent so much time in the wilderness, they really wanted to talk to someone, anyone about anything. I don’t know why, but this group was interested in knowing more, much more.

“I can talk for hours, “I apologized.

“No, go on,” they said, “Finish your story.”

So I launched into my story of being sexually abused at age four and telling my mother, who promptly did nothing, and how I was raped on a date at age 22, and how I put both the rape and the abuse to the side and did not deal with them until I was baptized Catholic at age 41. Then, 11 months later, the priest who baptized me and my children was removed from our parish because he abused boys.

“And Church leadership allowed forums for about 6 weeks, but then shut down all discussion of the priest saying, “We’ve moved beyond that now.”

“But we hadn’t moved beyond it. People were wounded and angry at each other. The priest was dynamic, and many people loved him. But others thought, ‘How can you support that disgusting pedophile; we are lucky to be rid of him.’ At first people clung to the parish with their pain, but when their questions were never answered, they drifted away. Within five months parish attendance was down by 1/3. From this I came to realize that the whole community is wounded by abuse, and that the whole community needs to be a part of the healing process. Abuse happens when we are silent. We have to talk about this issue to stop abuse, and we all have to support the survivors. It is much harder to heal alone, without support.”

I paused again, waiting to see if they were still interested, because many people start losing interest here, but this small group of people from Berkeley, California, did not lose interest.

“Go on with you story, ‘they said.

“The youth minister in our church came forward during forums and told her story right after the priest was removed, and she told her story to the newspaper. She had stories about the priest seeking unsupervised contact with the youth of the parish. If you listened to her stories, you had to realize the priest probably abused children in the parish, but instead of supporting her, people in the parish harassed her until she left the Catholic Church. People would walk up to her in the store and yell at her, ‘You ruined his life (the priest’s life),’ even though one of his survivors had come forward. It was the abuse he perpetrated that ruined the priest’s life.”

They were still interested, so I went on, “This issue is so uncomfortable for most people, they back away from it. They don’t want to deal with it, but abuse won’t stop until we talk about it and survivors have a much harder time healing alone and unsupported. We have to support the survivors for healing.”

I tend to repeat my favorite points.

I paused again, not wanting to overwhelm them.

But they said, “Go on.”

I added that I came to realize through my experiences walking across Oregon and working with local agencies concerned with the issue of abuse how much the problem in the Catholic Church is echoed in society. More than half of the domestic violence agencies I’ve been to are unmarked because there is too great of a risk for the woman if it is known that she is seeking help in leaving a violent relationship. If word will get back to the abusive man in her life, she may be harmed. Not just the shelters are unmarked, I said, the offices of the domestic violence agencies are unmarked. You have to know the address ahead of time in order to find them. In one town I went to this summer, a women ended up dead this year -- murdered by her husband after seeking help from a domestic violence agency. There was so little that the non-profit and the police could do without enough of the right evidence.

By that time my children were getting antsy. My children have heard all my stories over and over many time and had to live through some of them too, such as their mom getting thrown out of a Catholic Church.

After a brief round of departures and wishings of good luck all the way around, we all pressed on towards Paradise Park.

But those were not the only contacts I made on Mt. Hood yesterday. On the way back to Timberline Lodge from Paradise Park, I met another backpacker -- a short woman with red hair who was journeying alone all the way from Mexico to Canada.

She, too, asked about my shirt, and I went though the whole story again. Again I paused multiple times to see if she was still interested and she was.

She even told me, “You weren’t at fault (for the abuse I suffered).”

The day was so successful that I will definitely be hiking on the Pacific Crest Trail again on the Walk Across Oregon.

See you there. You’ll get to tell your story too!

PS. The picture was taken several years ago on the Pacific Crest Trail. I misplaced my camera.

 
 

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