Cherish the Day

Happy Valentine’s Day! If you’re anything like me, February 14th can be a stressful day. On the 18th day of this month, my wife and I will mark the anniversary of the beginning of our journey through life together, twelve years ago. Every February for the past twelve years, I have devoted myself to the task of outdoing my previous year’s outward demonstration of love for my wife. Custom flower arrangements with embedded meaning, elaborate mylar balloon arrangments, and adventurous forays into romantic home-made cuisine are the norm, but it can all be…overwhelming, for the few hours my wife and I can enjoy it after a long day at work.

Bear with me, I am getting to the part about how this is relevant to the topic of this blog, hiking and getting back to nature. As I’ve mentioned in past entries, my wife and I had our first date (not counting the time I “kidnapped” her on an eight-hour road trip to a law symposium for the opportunity to get to know her better) at a local national wildlife refuge. It isn’t exactly the kind of destination most people think of for a first date, but I had my reasons for inviting here there. My wife is beautiful, in every sense of the word, inside and out, but what I have always loved most about her is the deep and meaningful intellectual conversations we can have when completely free of distractions. I learned this about her during that eight-hour drive. I chose the trail at Santa Ana Wildlife Refuge for precisely this reason. It is quiet, virtually isolated, but familiar and dear to my heart.

Somehow, twelve years ago, I knew the young woman I was sharing the trail with that day would be as familiar and dear to my heart many years from then, and it was one of those rare and magical moments in my life when I was actually right about something by sheer “instinct”. This Valentine’s Day and our upcoming anniversary is extra special. That beautiful girl who wore the wrong shoes to a hike twelve years ago, but endured the pain anyway and walked alongside me, smiling that gorgeous smile, also endured the pain of carrying twins and bringing the two most beautiful, happy little boys into the world…also in the month of February. Our figurative journey along life’s trail literally began along a forest trail. In the years since then, we have hiked many trails together, most notably and memorable the trail through the sacred forest along the Tanama River on the enchanted island of Puerto Rico (more on that in a future post).

This year, with two highly energetic, and newly mobile boys to care for, my wife and I find ourselves too sleep-deprived and worn out to continue our tradition of one-upping our previous year’s Valentine’s Day celebration, but our hike has brought us to a place in our lives where flower arrangments and balloon bouquets were simply leading us, and that is the family we have built together and the love that binds us. It is very easy to get caught up in the madness that marks this particular holiday. A trip to any store or flower shop right now will confirm what I have observed year after year: mobs of husbands scrambling for last minute gifts (I’ve been guilty of that myself). With little choice but to take a less aggressive approach to celebrating Valentine’s Day this year, I can say that the romantic notion of carpe diem, seize the day, needs to be tempered by the much older but timeless notion of foveam diem, or cherish the day.

Of the many Valentine’s Days my wife and I have celebrated together, none will ever be as cherished as this year’s, the first with our children and as a family. It won’t be the flowers, candy, or decorations that make it special, so much as the cherished memories of the many special, love-filled moments along life’s trail that have made this day possible or the hope with which we continue to add to our growing collection of cherished memories in the years ahead…and it all started with two people falling more deeply in love along a quiet, lonely forest trail, sharing the beauty of nature.

Early Winter on Black Oak Trail: Little Red School House

The trails at Little Red Schoolhouse Nature Center are near and dear to my heart. On our first date, 12 years ago, I invited my wife on a walk along the trail at Santa Ana Wildlife Refuge in Alamo, Texas. It was a pleasantly mild and sunny mid-winter day, and our hike would provide us with the perfect opportunity to get to know each other better, free from the distractions of, say, catching a movie or sharing a meal at a noisy restaurant. Santa Ana was a magical place for me growing up, and I wished to share that with the beautiful young woman I had mustered the courage to ask out on a date. It was during our hike that she first mentioned Little Red Schoolhouse, reminiscing about her own childhood memories of growing up in Chicago and visiting the forests of the surrounding suburbs. When we packed our lives and moved to Chicago a little over a year later, it was one of the first places we visited, and from that first impression, I knew why it held such a special place in her heart.

Nestled in the quaint and sleepy village of Willow Springs, Illinois, Little Red Schoolhouse welcomes both local regulars and visiting tourists with its historical charm. Though recent modernization improvements have changed the original aesthetic of the nature center at the entrance to the trail, the center’s namesake attraction, a red, 19th-century, one-room schoolhouse, still sits prominently at the entrance to the trail, relocated and preserved from its original location deeper into the woods along Black Oak Trail. Walking alongside and exploring the interior of this historical landmark, you are transported through time to the pioneer days of the American Midwest.

From the recently built nature center, a fun treat for people of all ages housing live exhibits of the local wildlife, a paved path leads away from the few modern structures on the preserve grounds toward a small wetland pond, home to an assortment of local amphibians, fish, and waterfowl. Opposite the path, an apiary buzzes with the hum of bees making honey, but the hives and the surrounding woods are silent on this early winter day. Just past these features, the paved path ends and becomes a gravel path that bends to the right at a football field-sized patch of tall prairie grass from which, in warmer weather, arises the perfume of native wildflowers, most notable hints of aromatic chamomile. Following this path to where it bends again to the left brings you to the entrance to Black Oak Trail.

Standing here, at the edge of a clearing where the prairie meets the forest, you quickly come upon a fork in the trail. The journey along Black Oak Trail, as it so happens, begins like Robert Frost’s poem, “The Road Not Taken”: “Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,” both in the sense that the single path you’ve been following becomes two and that, in the fall, the leaves of the trees at this fork do, in fact, turn a brilliant yellow. Regardless of which path you take, left or right, Black Oak Trail circles back to this very point, but for the sake of these notes on Black Oak Trail I will apply a tried and proven method of choosing which of the two paths to take: you can’t go wrong going right. I will say, however, that the experience of starting down the left path does have a different feel to it than choosing to start down the right path, adding value to Black Oak Trail and reason enough to revisit Little Red Schoolhouse.

The rightward path of the trail follows the natural western shore of Long John Slough, a large but shallow lake that is the prominent water feature of Little Red Schoolhouse. The slough positioned to the right of the trail is home to the same variety of amphibious and other wildlife as the aforementioned pond, as well as alligator snapping turtles (a rare treat to see up close), large catfish, and beavers. All along the shoreline, which comes right up to the trail and is known to flood over the path in the rainy season, sunning red-eared sliders, basking frogs, harmless snakes, and signs of beaver activity in the form of chiseled sapling stumps can be studied up-close, making this leg of Black Oak Trail a favorite among families with young and curious budding naturalists.

On a cold early winter day like today, the trail is markedly different. The trees, aglow with the brilliant colors of autumn only a few weeks ago, have been nearly stripped bare of their leaves by a recent gusty cold front. The slough, though presently thawing under sunny skies, is still largely covered by a thin sheet of ice. The symphony of bird calls, the scurrying about of small woodland critters, and the gentle rustling of the leaves accompany me on this hike only as memories of past visits. In all sincerity, the trail today seems desolate. I have not met a single living soul on the trail since I left the nature center, and I am beginning to feel very much like the last man on Earth. It is a wholly different experience, one that is equal parts somber and serene.

The trail bends left, leaving the slough behind me relative to my direction. Here the trail carves through denser foliage and broad tree trunks that rise high above me like pillars to an abandoned temple. A steady breeze replaces the silence with the creaking and cracking of bare tree limbs aching from the cold. At intervals, the trees open up to small, naturally arbors where the remnants of old and decaying trees now form neat rows of fallen tree trunks. During the warmer seasons, these might be covered in a variety of local fungi slowly reclaiming logs that double as temporary homes to all manner of insects. Now, they are brittle to the touch, crumbling like damp sand in my hand. Nature wastes nothing; these once mighty trees will fertilize the soil and begin the cycle anew.

There is beauty in nature, so intricately complex, that man cannot recreate it or experience is except in the natural world. Here, alone, with only my thoughts to keep me company, I am reminded of a humbling truth: we are only one of many species inhabiting this beautiful world. We were not the first, and should we forget this truth, we may not be the last. Forests, like this, will always be our true and natural home, our shelter from the elements, just as it is home to countless other living creatures, but it can carry on without us. Its trees have stood for much longer than our towering skyscrapers, and will stand long after every man-made structure has been reduced to dust. I am filled, at once, with a profound sense of peace and concern.

At the next bend, you come to another small clearing where a simple wooden marker marks the original site of the schoolhouse. It is fascinating to consider that school-aged children once walked along this very trail to and from school each day. Where were their homes relative to this location? What was recess like for children growing up in the woods? What lessons did their teacher(s) teach? I wonder if they thought these woods as magical a place as I, or whether it was all as commonplace and mundane to them as my commute to work each day? Like the adults I know who wish they might have attended a school like Hogwarts (myself included), I wish I might have been a student or a teacher at the little red schoolhouse that once sat in this clearing in the middle of the forest.

Along the third leg of the trail, my thoughts about life in the pioneer days are interrupted by the faint, but distinct sound of running water. I follow the sound to the right of the trail, separated from it by an old wooden fence. I follow the sound parallel to the trail until I reach a break in the fence before leaving the trail and making the steep descent to the source of the sound, a narrow brook rushing along smoothed river stones. It isn’t clear wherefrom the stream originates, but it is flowing fast enough that what should sound like a trickle sounds more like a faint sustained roar. Without a clear path to follow and too much debris along its banks, I make my way up the steep incline and back onto the trail.

Another 100 yards on the trail, and I find myself, again, in a less densely populated area of the woods. Here, the trail straightens as far as the eye can see, a perfect analogy for the long road of life we all walk. Except for a few trees bending awkwardly inward, the tops of the trees no longer arch over me to obstruct my view of the blue sky. A Cooper’s hawk flying above me and to the right is the only sign of life I’ve seen in a while. It glides gracefully in the wind, wings outstretched, for a few minutes before circling back and diving swiftly to the ground beyond some tall grass in the distance, presumably to catch its next meal. I wonder where it will go before the first snow of the season.

A final u-bend to the right brings me back under the cover of the trees and onto the last leg of the trail. To the far right in the distance, where the tree line ends some 40 yards from the trail, the sun shines brightly across the prairie grass. The trail will lead me right alongside it and back to the fork in the path. Had I chosen the left path over the right at the start of the trail, I would have been greeted, here, by the sight of Long John Slough glistening in the late afternoon sunlight. I can see it faintly from here, and before long, I can make out the nature center in the distance.

Rather than retrace my steps toward the apiary and pond, I take a left at the edge of the prairie and follow the gravel path along the rear of the nature center. Along the way, I pass a small observation pier overlooking the slough, but the water here is frozen over, and the sun will soon begin to set. With Robert Frost still lingering on my mind, the words of another of his poems I teach come to mind, “The woods are lovely, dark and deep. But I have promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep.”

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Late Summer on Yellow Trail: Swallow Cliff Woods

Swallow Cliff Woods, just a short 30-minute drive from Chicago in the southwest suburb of Palos Park, transports you to a different world that is a stark contrast to the hustle and bustle of city life. It has quickly become one of my favorite forest destinations to get away and reconnect with the wonders of nature.

The trail begins with a steep stair climb up the sloping cliffside for which this gem of the Forest Preserve District of Cook County gets its name. Here, you are greeted by a variety of friendly visitors, ranging from casual day-hikers of all ages, to more serious athletes putting in a vigorous workout jogging up and down the many steps that lead to the trail’s entrance. In the snowy winter months, this steep slope transforms into a family-friendly destination for sledding and tubing.

When you reach the top of the steps, you’re in for the first of many treats as you gaze upon the wide blue sky and open prairie that stretches for miles before you, but there is still much more to be seen. A short walk from this point, the forest beckons, and the wooded Yellow Trail begins. On a warm sunny day like this, the tree canopy offers some welcomed shade. The majority of the trail is like this, with a few patches of clearing letting in just enough sunlight to illuminate the veiled path.

Along the first leg of the trail, you can appreciate the height at which you are hiking relative to the ground-level from which you started. You can clearly see the ridge line that marks the edge of the cliff, marked by downward sloping treetops at eye-level. A closer walk by the edge, off the trail, reveals a steep, but gradual drop to the ground below, with the main trail a safe distance from it. Though it winds through the trees, the trail is distinctly a closed circuit circling back to the starting point, but all around you throughout the trail, topographical features like the water-carved stream bed pictured below beckon you to wander off the beaten path a little for a better look.

During my visit, I found myself going off-trail a lot. I couldn’t help it. With my GoPro in hand, I had to get a better shot of the less-seen wonders of Swallow Cliff Woods. I will caution, though, that while reaching the stream-bed was fairly easy, getting back onto the trail proved challenging. The steepness of the slope is deceiving, offering adequate footing going down, but slippery conditions climbing back up, especially after a recent rain. Leave the trail to venture down into this shallow ravine at your own risk. That being said, I found the choice rewarding and well-worth the slip and fall I experienced getting back on the trail. I followed the path of the stream-bed as far as it would take me before the ground conditions became too muddy and obstructed to continue.

Back on the trail, naturally occurring soil erosion makes for several fallen trees, their exposed roots arrayed like points on a crown. These trees are, without a doubt, far older than I, and I can’t help but wonder how many travelers through these woods generations and generations back might have seen those trees while they still stood. This, like any other forest, is in a constant state of flux, some changes natural, others man-made, but never the same forest twice.

Midway down the trail, you come to a clearing in the tree line. A shallow pond, surrounded by white wildflowers and hidden from view by tall grass occupies the clearing. Were it not for the soaked ground separating us, I’d have gone off-trail here too, but previous experience finding myself ankle-deep in mud has taught me better. It will have to wait for another day.

The second half of the trail, not unlike the first, winds back to the starting point, similar in every respect save for the ravine. I stay on the trail until I am some 20 yards from the starting point, and there I find a network of footpaths branching out in every direction amid moss-carpeted ground toward the western expanse of the forest. The main trail does not run that way, but curious explorers before me have carved new trails of their own, worn enough to brave wandering down.

The sun is now making fast on the horizon, however, so I do not get far down the path I choose before it’s time to head back. From what I could see, the forest here goes well beyond the marked boundaries of Swallow Cliff Woods, connecting with another wooded area, and leading, no doubt, to another trail. I shall return to find out for myself.

Unlike Little Red Schoolhouse, Swallow Cliff Woods is still very new to me. The main trail is shorter than LRS’s Black Oak trail and maybe twice the length of White Oak Trail, but the web of foot-carved trails that spring up near the main trail’s end lead deeper into the forest to parts yet unknown to me. That is reason enough to revisit Swallow Cliff soon and often.

Note: This hike occurred some months ago, before our infamous Chicago winter. I have not revisited Swallow Cliff Woods since, but hope to do so in the early spring, or perhaps on a mild winter day when snow still covers the ground and leaves the trail to the imagination.

 

For First-Time Hikers

I was living in South Texas the first time I went hiking on a preserve trail. I admit I had no idea what I was doing, though the experience wasn’t completely new. I had previously hiked up a mountain in Monterrey, Mexico, with friends who lived there and knew the area. I remember leading the group, walking a few paces ahead of everyone through the trees, eager to reach the summit, but our hike was cut short, and I never saw the top. From that first experience, I was hooked and made up my mind to do it again soon. I wouldn’t though, hike through a forest again…not for another few years, anyway.

I had only ever “experienced” hiking and marveled at the beauty of forest scenery through old copies of National Geographic magazine and other related print material on the topic. I had seen it done in movies, namely adventure flicks where a band of heroes or a lone adventurer trek across vast landscapes while an aerial camera zooms out above them to reveal their relative smallness against the majestic, but foreboding, wilderness. This was certainly a far cry from the hikes through the arid brushland of South Texas that I was familiar with, which, while amazing in their own right, just weren’t quite at parity with hiking through a forest temple, with its mighty tree trunk pillars and stained glass-like treetop ceiling.

When I owned my first car, I finally had the opportunity to experience it for myself. Not far from my hometown was a national wildlife refuge, Santa Ana. I had visited it once before, as part of a grammar school field trip, but we hadn’t made it onto the trail (we were there to visit the nature center itself and watch the original version of Dr. Seuss’s “The Lorax”. Unlike the forests of the Midwest that I hike today, this was a mesquite forest of old gnarled mesquite trees, each draped in long, hanging Spanish moss. In the daytime, it was a scene straight out of an old western, the kind of place where John Wayne might track down a bandit. As the sun set, it was a scene straight out of a horror movie. It wasn’t National Geographic, but it was my forest, and the first place I thought of to take my future wife on a first date.

She wore the wrong shoes, which is what this post is really about. If you’ve never been hiking before, one of the first questions to come to mind is, no doubt, what you should wear. I’ve been there, recalling the images of hikers in the National Geographic magazines, thinking to myself, I need to get myself a proper pair of boots, a knapsack, and a fancy canteen for water, khaki cargo shorts, and a button-down plaid shirt, rolled at the sleeves. I recall thinking I had to look the part, like the people in those images, before I could go hiking. Nothing could be farther from the truth.

Sure, the right gear is important for just about anything we do, but only insomuch as it is practical to our purpose. In the wilderness, utility trumps appearances, and functionality trumps fashion. The right gear is whatever is right for you. It can differ from season to season, depending on where you’re hiking, and from trail to trail. I have been in the forest on hot summer Midwest days and during sub-zero Midwest winters. I’ve hiked on flat, foot-worn trails, through tall prickly prairie grass, and along damp marshy wetlands. Every situation required some minor adjustments, but a few staple items are important.

Here’s a breakdown of my typical hiking gear:

• Comfortable shoes, well-suited for the terrain and that provide sufficient traction. This doesn’t have to be hiking boots. Even sneakers can get the job done depending on the terrain. I would, however, avoid dress shoes, open-toe shoes, flat bottoms, and flip-flops. Take it from my wife and the white dress shoes she wore on our first date.
• Comfortable socks, because going commando in your shoes can result in painful blisters. Lengthwise, I prefer to protect my legs from thorns and insect bites, but I tend to go off-trail. Staying on the trail should pose little danger to your legs.
• Lightweight breathable clothing for warm weather; lightweight layered clothing for the cold. You never want to be over-encumbered by your clothing or gear, especially in situations where sweat or rain can weigh you down and make you uncomfortable. Clothing with plenty of pockets is optional, but I personally prefer it to carry equipment.
• Protection from the sun; in my case a baseball cap and/or sunglasses. Though you’ll spend most of your time sheltered by the shade of the forest canopy, some trails cross uncovered areas and the low early morning or early evening sun can cast intense light through the trees, limiting your visibility.
• Water. Depending on the length of the trail, the duration of the hike, and your access to water in between, you’ll want to bring along only enough water to avoid dehydrating or to clean wounds should you require first aid. A 34oz reusable water bottle is more than enough for my needs.
• A simple first-aid kit. Again, avoid carrying excess weight. I find that a small ziplock bag containing bandages, insect bite ointment, and antiseptic wipes suffices. If it is a popular trail, you’re likely to encounter other hikers should you find yourself in more serious trouble than this will cover. If you’re going it alone in a remote area, pack your first-aid kit accordingly.

The following items are the more personal-preference items that let me write this blog:

• My GoPro camera, for documenting the trail and capturing interesting footage to share (coming soon).
• My cellphone, for emergency purposes only and quick photography (I try to make my hikes as distraction-free as possible from my daily life and responsibilities, but I am a married man and a father, and my family needs a way to get a hold of me when I am alone in the forest).
• My all-purpose bound journal; small enough to fit in my back pocket or large drawstring bag, with only a pencil or a pen for notetaking and sketching.
• A drawstring nylon sports bag (lightweight, easy to store, but strong enough to carry anything I can’t hold in my hands.
• My multi-purpose paracord survival watch (which includes a compass, whistle, flint and steel, and a thermometer, half of which I’ve never needed to use but which straps unobtrusively around my wrist in a small package…just in case).
• A hiking pole (seriously optional; I choose to carry an inexpensive aluminum one for support as I hike up or down steep surfaces to reach off-trail locations, as well as for protection against the possibility of dangerous wildlife encounters, though I have never had to use it in this capacity).

As you can see, there is nothing particularly special about my gear and very little you can’t find in a typical closet. When it comes to preparing for a hike, a little common sense goes a long way. Take only what you need for what you want to get out of the hike. If exercise is your purpose, pack as light as possible. If you’re heading into the woods to document the experience, pack a camera. If you’re planning on going off-trail and into the brush, wear clothing that will protect you from thorns and the possibility of poisonous plants or insect bites. There is no uniform for hiking, and no special requirements either.

Perhaps the only essential requirement is the right footgear. You’re going hiking after all. Everything else should be selected purposefully, with a clear use in mind. If you’re like I was all those years ago, putting off hiking for lack of the “right stuff”, then put it off no longer. Your first hike will inform every hike thereafter, and you will learn from personal experience what works best for your hiking needs. What’s most important is that you hit the trail and discover, for yourself, the personal benefits of getting back to nature.

Have first-time hiking experiences or advice to share? Please post it in the comments section for others to read and learn from, and as always, thank you for being a valued member of the Forest and Trail community.

 

Hiking in the Forest

Understandably, the idea of hiking anywhere, really, can be intimidating. Companies specializing in outdoor equipment advertise hiking gear the same way they advertise equipment for more extreme sports like whitewater rafting and mountain climbing. Rest assured, hiking is for everyone healthy enough to enjoy a leisurely walk, and the most essential hiking gear can easily be found in a typical closet, but I will discuss the “right gear” in a separate post. Today, I’d like to focus on the experience of hiking in the forest.

I’ve been hiking the trails of the Forest Preserve District of Cook County for almost ten years. In my experience, the “difficulty” of each of these trails ranges anywhere from easy to moderate, without getting into the more complex rating system professional hiking publications use to rate the difficulty of a trail. I have yet to hike a trail in these forests that I would describe as difficult or challenging. This, of course, will differ from hiker to hiker, depending on your personal fitness level and any other physical limitations or considerations.

I can assure you, I am not a model of fitness by any stretch of the imagination, and would describe myself as only averagely fit with the occasional knee and joint pain. This is one of the many reasons why hiking is so appealing to me: it provides me with low-intensity exercise that is easy on my leg joints and that breaks with the monotony of exercising on a stationary treadmill. If you can endure a walk through a shopping mall or neighborhood park, you can very likely enjoy a hike through the woods with greater benefits to your health and fitness, minus the cost of a gym membership. After a long week of being stuck in a classroom or office, the last thing I want is to spend what little free-time I have confined to a gym.

Unlike the gym, the forest and its trails are truly ALIVE! They change with the seasons, the weather, and are constantly transformed by both nature and their woodland inhabitants. No two hikes, therefore, are ever the same. Even for two people sharing a hike, the trail and the surrounding forest are experienced differently. I, for instance, being a naturalist at heart, have an eye for the finer details of nature’s intricate web and will notice the smaller things my wife, and favorite hiking companion might miss. She, on the other hand, being an interior designer at heart, has an eye for the full tapestry of the forest, the lay of the trail, and nature’s rich color palette. We each get something different from the same trail, and come away a little richer spiritually, artistically, and psychologically, while enjoying the same physical benefits.

I like to treat each hike as a journey of discovery, whether that be a personal, internal discovery (finding a solution to a personal problem, reflecting on a past experience, or clearing my cluttered mind), or an external discovery of one of nature’s many treats (such as a previously unencountered woodland critter, or a previously unnoticed connection between members of the forest ecosystem). In this way, the benefits of hiking are always more than physical.

Carrying a journal on my hikes also allows me to document the trail, changes in a known trail, off-the-path hidden gems, and sketches of the local flora and fauna, all of which can turn a simple one-hour hike into a more profound, character shaping experience. Naturally occurring and man-made arbors or clearings at different points throughout the trail offer a great place to rest, maybe sit on a fallen tree trunk, and take in your surroundings. As a mind-clearing and centering exercise, I like to consciously focus on my breathing during these stops, cycling out the city air and filling my lungs with the sweet, aromatic air you can typically only find in the forest.

Another way to get even more value from your hiking experience is to come to the forest with some knowledge of the local history of the area or the trail itself. The Little Red Schoolhouse forest preserve, for instance, is so named for the one-room schoolhouse that once sat deeper within the forest, nestled among its trees. Though the structure itself has since been moved and renovated, a historical marker along the trail marks the original clearing on which the building rested. As an educator, I have always been captivated by the image this produces in my mind of early pioneer children walking to school through the forest along similar foot-carved paths as those that now mark the trail through those woods. These links to the past are not unlike the experience of visiting a national monument or museum exhibit, but instead add to that experience the thrill of discovery and a sense of being transported to a different place and time, given the seamless, undisturbed proximity to the location.

Being as how many closed or “circuit” trails often begin at a fork in the path, simply choosing to change the initial direction of travel can alter the experience of walking the trail. Unless you are the kind of hiker that pauses at intervals to do a 360-degree turn and take in your surroundings, you are not likely to look back on the ground you’ve covered or the sights you may have missed in passing that are now behind you. This makes revisiting previously hiked trails a great practice, certainly worth your time.

Ultimately, these are just some of the more memorable and noteworthy experiences I’ve had in my history of hiking through the local forests, without getting into too much detail about each finer experience therein. The important takeaway from my sharing this is the understanding that hiking offers both shared and unique experiences for everyone that can be as rewarding, if not more so, than the physical benefits of purposeful walking. If you are reading this blog because you’ve never visited your local forest but are considering it, I truly hope you’ll take the time to head out and experience the joy of hiking through the forest for yourself.

If like me, you’ve collected similarly impactful experiences over time, I would love for you to share them in the comments section. Thank you for choosing to be a part of the Forest and Trail community. Until next time.