July 12

In Michigan

There are trails here that wind from one cottage to the next, sometimes down to the shore. The woodland paths have been trod for generations, traversing small brooks that outlet from the lake and navigating over tree roots and mossy stretches, where the coolness of the canopy affords a pleasant walk when the summer warmth has set in.

These are the trails of my childhood, where freedom and exploration began out the doorstep, as I sought out my friends down the shore to share in my summer adventures.

There were secret paths that we created, made by forays into some hidden fort within the trees or to access the beach, shell strewn and in the company of emergent frogs.

Many of these paths have vanished with the years, and even some of the main trails have gone fallow with the passing of generations. It seems that children explore less outdoors, and the highways of my own use are returning to the wild slowly, most only a memory now.