Take a Hike

Beyond the Troubles of this World

Take a Hike’ isn’t necessarily an insulting expression meant to convey displeasure; it can also be a recommendation to adopt a healthier and saner perspective on life.

Years ago, my husband and I took our kids hiking on a rambling trail, not too far from home, that edged an inlet, leading to a wonderfully large and circuitous lake. I was pregnant at the time and, for me, the adventure was making it home in time to make dinner and fall into an exhausted sleep.

One day, years later, after my husband had passed away from cancer, I decided to grab hold of my courage, which was in rather shattered condition in those days, and find those same woods and take another family hike.

That was the beginning of an adventure I will remember forever, for it has not stopped, even these many years later. It only grows more beautiful with the passing days.

It was an autumn afternoon when I called off school early and announced that we were going for a hike in the woods. As the outdoors were always more enticing than the schoolroom, especially on a sunny autumn afternoon, I met with no objections.

We set out, and between what I could remember of the location and the older kids’ remarkable memories, I soon found myself driving down a familiar road and turning into a parking lot filled with trucks with boat hitches. The boat launch was on the right and the hiking trail was directly ahead. I can still remember the relief I felt that I had found the place. It wasn’t far from home or a challenging drive by any means, but for some reason, in my mind, it had taken on the elusive quality of the land of far away and long ago.

At the time, my eldest was still in his teens, and my youngest tagged along, usually holding someone’s hand. The leaves were turning gold and yellow, and spiders had built glorious webs across high branches. As far as the kids and I were concerned, we were in a National Forest, rather than in a little woodland that bordered a local lake. It was our adventure, and it was great fun.

When we passed a marshy area that opened into what I thought was a pond, I was enchanted. My heart longed to stop on the trail and just sit there with the trees, the animals, and glory in the autumn colors. But dinner awaited, and there were so many things that needed to be done before night took over the day.

But I remembered the place and how to get there.

Years later, I returned all by myself.

To say that the kids grew up would be like saying that an acorn became a mighty oak tree. Little kids naturally grow up into big kids. But when they get to be adults, well, a mother’s role changes irrevocably, and that can be rather hard on mom. Going from the trusted source of information about everything from trucks, ducks, and the Almighty, to becoming practically senile, in what seems like a short week, leaves a person breathless with confusion. The term identity crisis hardly covers it.

The first time I returned to the lake I didn’t bother with the hiking trail; I just flopped down on the bench by the lake and cried. It was such a relief. To be able to tell the ducks my sorrows and worries, all my hurt poured out. Didn’t ruffle their feathers one bit.

As Gandalf said near the end of The Lord of the Rings, “I will not say: do not weep; for not all tears are an evil.” I discovered the equanimity of the natural world. It’s not that the ducks didn’t care, though I am sure they probably hardly noticed me, but that my burdens didn’t have any power over them. They had their lives to live, and they continued on their way. I was happy for them even while I cried for myself.

One of the great beauties of nature is that it is so big and beyond the cares of human strife and toil. Though humanity has done its share of damage to the environment, on a small and large scale, the created world still lives vitally, birds soaring, squirrels scurrying, fish swimming, ducks ducking. Though spider webs get destroyed repeatedly, they spin again and again and again. Nature is a parable of enduring life written in the largest, boldest letters imaginable.

Years passed between visits, but eventually I got to the point where I felt free and strong enough to take myself hiking every week. On a remarkable week, I might go twice. If the roads were bad, I might miss a few weeks.

But no matter the schedule, I knew the trail was there. In my mind’s eye, I could see the bordered path, the overhanging limbs, vines trailing from high branches, and logs strewn in a lovely mess. A rabbit might scamper by, while a deer leaped deeper into the woods. Birds always notified their neighbors of my approach, and squirrels loved to flash their tails in warning. Spring bugs got annoying, and flies get downright pesky, but meeting a turtle family sunning on a log made up for everything. I have never seen the Muskrat family I believe lives in the shallow lily pad pond, but I’ve waved to Blue Heron many times and wished with all my heart that he wouldn’t fly off every time I step near.

No matter the condition of national affairs, the state of my kitchen, the latest loss, or cause for worry, the woodland remains aloof to my cares. Their beauty and innocence of true evil and the dark side of human events offer me a sheltered place to rest my heart and remind my soul that all is not lost, no matter how hurt or confused I may feel for a day.

God’s breath is offered in nature, and life can be renewed, hurts healed, and hope rekindled.

My little hike isn’t much by some standards, and there are times I must content myself with much less, but even a single tree can offer the timeless promise of something better, a world living beyond human misery.

These days, I don’t hike to the lake to escape but to join in sympathy with something so powerful, my soul calls it home.

The troubles of this world are real, but so are wondrous beauty and great joy. To find them, one might have to take a hike.