On My Way: Becham was love

The harmony sounded from the trees. I looked to see. The tops bent and swayed. The branches swirled and the leaves fluttered. The morning hike was for Becham. A loving terrier-mix, Becham had been both companion and hiking partner for nearly nine years. Becham died of heart disease last spring.

The hikes were the time I loved most with Becham. We took long walks on beaches, we found our way through the State Forest, and we explored countless up-Island trails. The Fulling Mill Brook Preserve to Peaked Hill Reservation, to Ocean View Farm Preserve had always been a favorite.

I set off from South Road into Fulling Mill Brook. The wide, grassy path was soft from recent rain. The woods on this early fall day remained dense with green foliage. Autumn was in the air. I heard the nearby run of the brook.

My kids and I adopted Becham — a rescue from Arkansas — when he was 3 months old. A bundle of energy from the start, he jumped out of his playpen, rolling over its top in the first 30 seconds. (I packed the playpen back up and returned it to the store.) In no time his smile found its way into our hearts.

Becham was my first dog. I would not have understood the feeling of the love for a pet had I not experienced it myself. Becham was a member of the family. His loss was heart-wrenching.

The brook made a quiet rumble. I looked to see the water flow over a small fall of rocks. My mind was elsewhere though. I walked by the overlook. I came out to the beginning meadow.

On our walks, I let Becham off the leash whenever I could. I would walk at my pace. He would sniff and pee and run ahead or behind me. I called him back when he was too far away. He would look at me a second and then lunge back in a gallop.

A short distance ahead, a Land Bank truck took up the width of the trail. I chatted some with the foreman. Some sections of bridge on a branch trail had washed out in the recent rain. Long new pine boards for the repair were in the bed of the truck. He recommended trying the new James Pond Preserve. After a few departing pleasantries, I kept on.

I turned onto a trail for Peaked Hill. The trail began over a newly constructed golden footbridge. I passed over the brook and went up a hill. The sloping path was crisscrossed with brambles and roots. I came out of the woods at a meadow along Middle Road. A field of yellow coned flowers on top of long stems waved. I crossed the road and began up a paved drive.

I heard the wind near the top. There was a good breeze. I looked to see the wind move and play through the trees. The sound was beautiful.

Becham suffered mini heart attacks and seizures in his final weeks. He yelped in pain, and I held him till he recovered. His final days were marked with intense episodes of gasping for air. There was nothing I could do.

I took a moment for the view at the top. I was at a secondary summit. After a drink of water, I set down on a trail into the woods. I would ascend the real summit on my return.

The trail went through familiar terrain. Near its bottom, I came to a pasture. A small herd of cows grazed. I went along the side, and returned into the woods.

The wind was in the trees here as well. The sound was less robust than at the exposed top. There was not the same sway and bend of the treetops. But the chord was untiring and no less appealing.

Becham brought happiness to nearly every person he met. His tail wagged, and he shook with excitement for every stranger. Folks could not help but smile. I was angry and bitter when he died. The illness seemed cruel and unfair. He was an innocent, loving dog. I had always thought he had another eight years.

I passed a couple of other folks, and soon turned at a trail junction for North Road. I was back on level ground. I made the remaining distance on a trail with meadow on either side. I always have enjoyed connecting the three main up-Island arteries on a hike.

I tagged up at North Road and turned around. I picked up the main trail where I had left it and started back uphill. My mind drifted as I hiked. I stopped at a long turn to admire a big old tree in a small clearing. This old big tree apparently had decided some years ago to occupy the entirety of the clearing. The big ungainly limbs reached in each direction all the way outward before turning for the sun. How wonderful.

Further on, small boulders and rocks had made their home in the trail. It was not a scramble. But one did need to navigate. I stepped up through this section with the joy of the hike. Somewhere in the trees, the wind sounded — in a lower tone this time. It was a single soothing note. I listened and kept on.

I passed the same couple. I turned for the summit at a trail juncture near the top. Soon, I was at the Island’s highest point, 311 feet. The summit of Peaked HIll offers one of the best views on the Island. I stood on a rock and looked over the Aquinnah Cliffs, with parts of Menemsha and Squibnocket ponds. The Atlantic was rippled with endless, marching waves.

Here, on hikes with Becham, I would stop for a few minutes. I would enjoy the view. He would sit in a proud posture and wait for me. We might have a drink and a snack. And then we would set off.

I walked a ridge trail back to the secondary summit. I descended the paved drive and recrossed Middle Road. A footbridge took me back into the Fulling Mill Brook. As I returned over the brook itself, I noticed how low the water was in the riverbed.

I came back on the main trail. Down a ways, I turned off on a branch trail. I took the trail and an easement to the Ocean View Farm. It is a nice and short addition to the hike.

I gazed over the ocean at the overlook, and hiked the loop trail. I made my back on the easement. I went along a rock wall and then on the branch trail.

Again the wind in the trees, Becham, on his short legs, would be a little tired now. But his spirit was indefatigable. He would look at me and keep going.

I came out to the beginning meadow and started the home stretch. I stopped and took the short overlook trail to the brook. The effort was worth it. The clear water fell over the rocks.

Becham taught me unconditional love. It was a difficult and painful lesson. I would have liked a few more of these hikes with him. Yet I know, as silly as it may sound, he would want me to move on with love.

I walked the main trail. The brook turned and cut underneath and flowed away into the forest. I came back to where the trail started, off South Road. My truck pulled over to the side of the road.

Becham will always live on within me. He is out there with me on the trail, climbing over the rocks and root brambles, and crossing the footbridges. He is at the summit with the view over the ocean. He is in the fresh cold water running through the brook. Who knows, I think maybe even his smile is up there with the wind in the trees.

Miss you, buddy.