Some of the NCT follows country roads. It’s annoying but reality. If one wants to hike this trail, roads are part of the deal. I knew this when I parked in Marshall last weekend. The trail started in the woods but soon led to B Drive N and followed the road for miles. And miles. It was hot.
I was happy to get some distance covered but was not enthusiastic about hiking that particular section. I put one foot in front of the other. Sometimes that is all I can do.
The road was dusty. When I stepped off the tarmac to get out of the way of pickup trucks driving way too fast, the wildflowers and grasses were spiky, dry and crunchy under my feet. The sandy stretches in the hot sun hid grasshoppers which leaped, chattered and spun, like animated whirligigs. When I looked down the road, I saw patches of shade from the trees. Those shady spots held coolness. The coolness became the reward for moving forward. I found a rhythm, moving through the heat of the sun from one shady place to the next. It was a typical late-summer Michigan day and reminded me of my childhood.
When I was a kid, we lived in Minnesota and spent summers at our cottage on a lake in Barry Country, Michigan. My brother and I had a lot of freedom. There was an old mill that we could easily reach on foot or by boat if we worked a bit to get our canoe or rowboat through a viaduct that connected the lake we lived on to the millpond. The rules were simple: stay together, go home for meals and when the sun went down
I loved being at the mill. The area was densely wooded, dark and cool, even in the late summer. There were bats at night and lots of birds and other critters during the day. A large variety and quantity of trees and bushes made paths essential to move through the area. It was easier to get there via water. The pond was narrow, deep and cold. The edges were very steep. Older kids attached thick ropes to the large tree limbs. One could stand on the steep bank of the pond, hold onto the knotted rope, lift their feet and swing over the water. When the rope and rider paused at the height of the arc, the rope was released and the rider dropped into the cool depths. It was exhilarating. Some kids could swing over the pond and back, landing squarely on their feet. They could ride the rope without dropping. I could not. I didn’t stop trying.
One fall afternoon, I was sitting in an apple tree near the millpond, drying out after another failed attempt to fling myself over the pond without swimming. I looked at the apples hanging around me and wondered if they were apples like those in the fruit bowl at home. They didn’t really look like the ones at home. The shape was not perfect, the surface was bumpy, and some marks looked suspiciously wormy. I took a small bite anyway. I was thrilled with the taste. “These trees have snacks!” I squealed to myself. Maybe I could live in the woods? Did I really have to go home? I mean, I loved home, but I loved the woods too! My young brain suddenly and completely understood the importance of living a life connected with Nature. Nature is where the magic is. That was the moment I fell in love with Michigan.