Sometimes a walk in the woods is all you need to reset your perspective

When I was in my twenties and extremely bored, I came across a book by humorist Bill Bryson called A Walk in the Woods. As I remember it, the author and a very sad and angry friend, neither of whom was equipped for long-distance hiking, decided to thru-hike the Appalachian Trail. It is a very funny and entertaining book, but it did make hiking seem extremely miserable. So, while I was somewhat interested in the concept of taking on a big mountain hike, it’s not something I ever seriously considered.

Until a couple of weeks ago.

Just kidding. There’s no way I’m hiking the Appalachian Trail anytime soon or probably ever, but I did take a walk with my seven-year-old son at the nature preserve where he and his older brother attend an eco-camp in the summers. It was a Friday morning when we sallied forth. A school day, but I had promised to let Bennett take a day off and he was finally collecting on that promise.

He deserved it. He’s a hard worker, rarely complains about having to go to school, and after the last few years we’ve had, it’s literally the least I could do for him.

As we walk along the trails on this almost summer-like morning, around a small pond choked with greenery, the sun hot on our skin, he talks much faster than our feet move. His word-to-step ratio is approaching world record level.

He points out where the gopher tortoise lives, where they made a lean-to at eco-camp last summer, where they saw a rattlesnake, and very casually without breaking stride, where a camper almost passed out from dehydration.

Just as I’m about to follow up on that last one, he lets out a small gasp midsentence, and my heart rate spikes as I turn toward him, expecting to see a rattlesnake curling around his feet.

“Daddy, this is the PERFECT walking stick,” he says, lifting a stick off the ground that, I’m not going to lie, does look pretty ideal. He holds it at arm’s length to admire it for a moment before striding onward down the sandy, pine tree-lined path and launching into a somewhat speculative commentary on the possible origins of the Boy Scouts.

It’s little secret that my middle child is our rock. We’ve had a lot going on this year with our youngest starting school for the first time and our oldest struggling with a chronic illness. Through it all, our boy with the fresh, new, very punk rock haircut, inquisitive mind, and huge heart, has been relentlessly reliable. He does well in school, faces the world with few fears, and makes everyone smile. Often, he is the one I don’t feel like I need to worry about. At least, not quite so obsessively.

We spent about an hour exploring, looking for animal tracks, reminiscing, and stumbling across a big cat in its natural habitat.

“Hmm,” my son said. “I don’t remember that being there.”

When we made it back to the car, we were both a little exhausted and ready to pick up provisions from a drive-through. Perhaps we’re not quite ready for mountaineering yet?

Our little walk in the woods certainly wasn’t as glamorous or life-changing as a thru-hike on the Appalachian Trail, but sometimes the things that matter most in this life aren’t spectacular. The same goes for people. Having someone in your life who is reliable, steady, overflowing with information (some real, some dubious), caring, and a truly world-class finder of walking sticks? Now that’s something worth celebrating.

I’ll meander with him any day.