The feeder trail was long, hot and dusty. It was early July and the smell of pine was sharp from the heat. My thirteen-year-old nephew and I walked under the power lines. Power companies clearcut land but generously allow trails on their property. The cost of these trails was high. I shuddered, despite the heat and picked up the pace as I imagined the air buzzing with electricity.

When we finally reached the main trail, we entered a cool, dark realm. The trees were tall and the canopy thick. Moss covered the fallen trees and the ground was dense with ferns. Sounds were muffled and everything was moist and green.

As we got our bearings, I confessed that I imagine the forest is my playground. The Manistee River Trail crosses creeks and runs along the river. We stay on the trail out of respect for Nature but HOW we move along the trail is up to us, I explained. When a tree has fallen, we can go over it or under it. We can run, walk or belly crawl. There aren’t many rules, I said. Fisher flashed me a smile and was off. He balanced on the fallen trees, zigzagging along, running ahead, then sprinting back. Every stick became a weapon, wielded and explained, a sword, dagger, spear, sickle, axe and arrow. He quoted the Art of War, an interesting contrast to his peaceful humanitarian spirit. I mean, he puts water in a puddle behind his house for the frogs. And he reads The Art of War? Sun Tzu’s text from 500 BC? At thirteen?

We chatted in a comfortable circular way that only a pair of active distracted minds can. And he ate. “Fueled by sugar,” he said. We laughed when he told me the hummingbird is his spirit animal. I walked along the trail at a steady pace as my hiking partner covered double the distance, embracing the playground. We talked the whole time.

After a long while, Fisher asked, “Deda? Can we just be quiet?” I was puzzled yet proud. Maybe I should have simply said yes and continued to walk quietly, but I couldn’t resist telling him about Thich Nhat Hahn and mindful walking. Fisher was intrigued, so we walked in mindful silence. The silence slowed our pace and I followed him for a long time. Eventually, we passed a group that spoke to us. I smiled and held up my hand in greeting. Fish was ahead of me and didn’t see my response. He was uncomfortable with their greeting being met with silence, so we ended our experiment but continued with a new sense of calm.

When I read the Art of War, I wondered if the enemy might be within us, not evil but a lack of discipline. I thought about this as we covered the remainder of our eleven-mile hike.

“Know thy self, know thy enemy. A thousand battles, a thousand victories.” Sun Tzu The Art of War

We found our limits and retreated. We moved until we were exhausted. We talked until we needed silence. We walked with weapons and later mindfully. We walked silently until it excluded others. We explored the extremes.

When we reached the car, we made coffee and hot chocolate and drank it quietly, sitting in the grass. I looked at Fisher and smiled. Victory.