Following a Path

There is something primal about following a path. The narrow trail of dirt worn by countless hooves or feet, or the vague darkening in the grass where stems have been tamped down and broken. Snow makes camouflage impossible as feet in a variety of shapes track back and forth along the same natural highway.

Whether made by deer, rabbits, or people, there is an expectation that a trail goes somewhere: a cozy hideaway to hunker down for the night, or a watering hole, or a place by the shore where the fishin' is good. There may be a point where you have to turn back, because that isn't a trail meant for you. But you can be sure that if something passed that way often enough to leave a trail, there is something worthwhile at the end of it.

 

You place one foot directly in front of the other, watching carefully for ankle-twisting holes or rocks. In warmer months add snakes, insects and other critters to the hazards. You may need to avoid low branches, poison ivy, scat or the gruesome remains of someone's recent meal. It is a lesson in mindfulness, for if your attention wanders you may inadvertently end up with a rabbit's-eye view of your surroundings.

At the South Sycamore Wetlands, paths criss-cross the grasses and reeds surrounding the basins. Being human, I default to assuming they were made by other humans: birdwatchers visiting the waterfowl that hang out, or city workers doing a bit of maintenance. It is also easy to imagine deer, having seen ample evidence of them out and about in the area. The identities of other trailblazers that may share these pathways--rabbits, beaver, foxes?--I must leave to more experienced naturalists for the time being. 

 

The trails bring me down close to the water, closer than I've ventured in the summer, when the soft, sloggy ground drives me back with a never-fulfilled promise to return with better shoes. One path branches off into a clump of trees that looks, to my sheltered eye, as if it would be a comfy place to stay out of the cold. Here and there I am forced to prance gracelessly over a deep fissure, or mince around a clump of thorny stems.

 

Path walks are an engaging way to move about as humans did in the fairly recent past, and as our animal friends still do. You will probably get a little dirtier than you would on a sidewalk, and you will almost certainly find yourself dispersing seeds from a variety of plants into your home upon your return, but the little adventure of following a trail "there and back again" is a certainly a satisfying way to spend the afternoon.