An Afternoon Hike in the Wetlands

Last week we packed a bag and hit a trail about 30 miles north of here. It felt good. The last time we were able to get out was back in April, and you haven’t even seen that yet. Because life.

That afternoon was teeming with life. Lush, and green, and thick, and just soo much life everywhere. I instantly regretted not throwing my wildflower guide into our pack, as lovely tiny flowers were all over, carpeting our walk. Spotted knapweed, bird’s-foot trefoil, common mullein, and pineapple-weed grew all around us, and that’s only what I could identify from memory!

Frogs jumped from our path and a small beaver (maybe muskrat) dipped into the dike among the cattails. At one point we both froze with our breath in our throats as a large osprey lifted himself from a tree branch in front of us and soared low and away. 

What was that?! Was that an eagle?! I was beaming.

There were obvious signs no one had been by to maintain the trail in quite some time. We attempted to continue the full mile, but weren’t outfitted for the tall grass irritating my uncovered feet and Chris’ uncovered legs. Though I adore summer grass and advocate private buff sun sessions, I wasn’t in a hurry to surprise any sleeping field snakes. When we spotted a small garter snake sunning along the path back to our Jeep, I knew I made a good decision.

Tonight we’re heading back for the ledges, a place we visited in the winter on our very first hike. Maybe we’ll pack some wine. Maybe we’ll see new wildflowers. I’ll be sure to pack my guide.

Hiking Lake Lansing

Chris had been gone an entire week building up his store, which meant I had the house to myself! That was only cool for about eight hours. I missed him terribly and our pets have this stressful habit of acting out when there’s a long-term change. Daddy’s missing, and I’m not cool with it. And so, over one of our late-night phone calls, we planned to have a day to ourselves when he got back, and take our next hike.

The drive to the lake was my favorite. We headed out on an early Sunday morning, when many homes were still sleeping or getting around for church service. With a coffee to-go, we had the roads to ourselves as it curved around the lake, passing only active adults and moms running solo or with partners in fun neon fitwear. 

We parked the car by the lake, and walked to other side of the road for the trailhead. A young couple headed out in front of us, in cozy warm sweats and a thermos of coffee. They had brought their silky golden retriever and cocker spaniel with them, and I was jumping inside to be sharing the trail. They soon lost us, however. They knew these trails, and knew them well.

The preserve was 530 acres, giving our minds an easy escape. The trail was mild, but winding, and we stopped frequently to read the interpretive signs. We learned the patches of tall grasses in marshes aren’t tall grasses at all, but invasive phragmites threatening the health of wetlands.

A runner went by, with her unleashed dog running behind her. I love that—dogs so loyal and trained they're rockstars off the leash. He (or she) went right by the two of us as if we weren't there, totally undistracted by all the sights and smells. Chris and I gawked at each other, wondering what that life's like. Our dog adopts anyone as her own. You run by? She'll turn right around and run along with you, excited by her new pal.

Along the way, we spotted squirrels, chipmunks, and an awesome wood pecker tapping a tree for breakfast. We also crossed paths with an arborist, who told us he loved walking through here seasonally, just to observe change in the trees. He said there would be a crown gall coming up ahead, so big it's hard to miss. I felt like a child on a scavenger hunt the moment we spotted it. The growth was huge, and equally mystifying as it was sad.

At one point, we realized we missed our original turn-off! Every lost-in-the-woods joke started rolling out, and we laughed about starving, looping the same path until dark.

Everything was cool though, and we soon hit our turn-off and came across a deer bed near the end of the trail. Growing up in a northern forest, I was used to finding them when we'd play, and deer alone wasn't rare as you can imagine. In fact, it was so ordinary, we all grew up subconsciously driving with our eyes peeled so as not to hit any leaping into the road. Now after several years of city living, looking at that bed brought me such peace, such a warm, fuzzy feeling, and I was excited to show Chris who hadn't seen one before.

I’m finding a major draw to hiking is the act of being submerged in a natural area. With nothing to do but watch your footing and look in every direction around you, there’s a mental freedom I wasn't expecting. I simply wasn’t tuning in to the insane agenda that was on my desk back at home. Again, you don't need any hiking gear to get out in the wild. Heck, I was hiking in the coziest Uggs I own. The gear will come with time, so right now it's about being alone together—getting away from our current overcrowded life and reconnecting with each other.

Read more about why we started hiking here.

Hiking Grand Ledge

A few weeks ago, Chris and I had a wake-up call. After taking a promotion, he’d begun a two-hour commute to work and I, of course, would be stuck in the studio at the university during the rare hours he was home. Quite suddenly, we weren''t seeing each other. We felt blindsided. It was a thunderous shock to our companionship. 

I remember one afternoon, crazy enough, we happened to be home briefly at the same time. We passed each other in the kitchen, so I grabbed him; looked deeply up into his eyes for the connection. To just look at him. Grinning, we kept saying over and over, “Hi, hello,” while we just held each other, acknowledging one another's presence before breaking away—I, madly gathering my bag for class; Chris running downstairs to pull out a laundry load before his shift.

And just like that, it was time to readjust. We needed to find a balance.

We were both yearning to reconnect, to have some us time, to run away unplugged. So we started hiking. Without any specific gear, without true hiking boots, or poles, or body-temp regulated clothing, we just went. We didn’t need any of those things. All we needed was each other and the earth.

Excitedly, we drove out to Grand Ledge to kick off our newfound recreation.

The ledges were beautiful. We kept laughing at ourselves; why didn’t we do this sooner? The rock formations and cliffs broke the mold of our city dweller view. The sights were so out of the ordinary we felt like we had traversed hours away. It was a beautiful gift—our mad, individual agendas. We wouldn’t have ever known what we were missing.

These trips have become sacred. Our second hike was closer to home, and we’re adamantly planning our third. Chris has since purchased a pair of boots (as I will be shortly), but we didn’t need a thing to begin. Very slowly, our hikes will become longer, the locations more remote, and we may even carry our beds on our backs one day (I'm loving the sound of that!).

We’re still adjusting to this new schedule of ours, but it’s getting easier, as everything does over time. It makes the moments we do share all the more gratifying, all the more profound.