Meadows, Mushrooms and Moss

 

 

I was a quarter of the way to La Crosse when I realized that I was supposed to turn on Homer Road and head back in to the woods along East Burns Valley Road.  So I whipped the car around and exceeded the speed limit and ran a couple of traffic lights later than I should have during the yellow, but I wasn't the only car pulling in late to Family Night.  I pulled through the gate and backed in on the grassy slope that was probably not legal parking area and walked into what appeared to be an empty Camp Wenonah.  I headed in the direction of the barn tucked in to the damp valley and complained under my breath that there was nobody there to greet and direct parents.  And when I came around the corner and found all the other parents sitting with their children on wooden bleachers watching a skit taking place between me and them, I ducked out of sight and waited for the applause before scurrying across the bridge and sitting next to Sam.  His face lit up and he put his hand on my leg and leaned in to me.

After each of the age groups did a quick song and then a quick skit (Sam's group did a joke about an invisible bench that he had shown me earlier in the week), we were set free to explore the camp with our children.  Everyone else headed to the high ropes course, but Sam and I took a sharp right and headed deep in to the woods so he could should me the teepees and animal houses.  Yellow wildflowers and moss grew along the trail, and the fiddleheads were mostly open and shimmering in the low sun filtering through the trees.

Sam showed me tree houses and mushrooms and flowers and moss, each time telling me a little story or fact about that particular piece of wilderness.  On the way back down I asked him what he wanted to do next and he told me about a hike up to the bluffs where you could see way down.  I said I wasn't sure we had time, but we could maybe hike part of it.  Back in the center of camp the other families played some ball game in a court and started building a fire and watched children on the ropes course, and Sam and I began a steep ascent behind the firepit.

 

The trail was steep and moss-covered and as I climbed I wondered if it was a good idea to push those muscles 12 hours before I'd be running a steep hill for Ragnar, but the smell was intoxicating and Sammy said "Mom, I love this!" and I knew there was nothing I'd rather be doing.  Sam pointed out buckets mounted on trees that they tossed balls at during their long hikes, and he made sure I noticed the steep terrain and the way the water had washed away sections of the valley.  He showed me more mushrooms and big leaves and rocks that sparkled like diamonds.  And when we heard noises in the woods Sam stood a little closer and asked me what that sound was.  But we kept climbing and climbing and climbing.  And as we got closer to the top and the sunlight lit up the trail ahead of us, Sam ran ahead.  "There it is.  There it is."  He knew just where the trail split and he told me what was in each direction and we decided to stay left and visit the meadow at the top.

 

"I love trails, Mom," he told me.  "We need to spend more time on trails."

 

Amen.