Life is Better in Hiking Boots - Part 1
“The poetry of the earth is never dead. In every walk with nature one receives far more than he seeks.”
John Muir
The kitchen smelled of grease and salt, my Mom standing at the electric fryer adding the chicken pieces one by one. This could only mean one thing - we were headed out for a picnic. Dad was packing up the car with the necessary blankets, picnic basket, frisbees and balls. My two older sisters, Ann and Beth, were waiting patiently in the kitchen while Dave and I ran around excitedly. As my Mom gently placed the finished chicken in the cooler, Ann grabbed the hot casserole of beans which she would carry on her lap on the way to the Forest Preserves. We all piled into the hot car and quickly rolled the windows down - the only air conditioner we had back in the 60’s. The station wagon filled with the smell of the freshly fried chicken as we settled in for the half hour ride. Pulling into the parking lot I jumped out of the car and helped carry all of the picnic paraphernalia to the picnic tables across the way. Several other families had already reserved their spots by throwing their tablecloths over the worn wooden tables. We did the same and settled in for a day in the cool of the trees surrounded by the nature of the midwest.
Beth and I headed down one of the many trails, running and laughing and occasionally hiding from each other behind the trees. The pungent smell of dirt and evergreens mixed with the sight of the wildflowers along the trails sung to me. The freedom that the woods offered brought me peace and any problems on my mind were blown away into the breeze rustling through the trees. Exploring the woods we found raccoon tracks and deer scat and we imagined the animals hiding in dark corners as we disturbed their sanctuary. Our stomachs rumbled with the first signs of hunger so we headed back to the picnic area where our family was already putting out a spread that would rival Thanksgiving — Fried Chicken, Baked Beans, Cole Slaw, Deviled Eggs, Watermelon and Cake for Dessert. My Mom would put a piece of meat to the side to occupy the yellow jackets that were always a part of this nature experience. Nevertheless the few that were not tricked would serve to annoy us during what was otherwise a perfect picnic. After lunch the balls and frisbees would come out, sometimes we were able to get a whiffle ball game going. Other times we would lie on the blankets like lizards in the sun. If the creek was running we would spend the afternoon damming it up with sticks and rocks seeing how deep we could get it before the water would break through the weak spot that we hadn’t quite plugged. My Mom and Dad would relax in their lawn chairs watching us run around and play looking like they could settle into this day for eternity. As the sun begins its descent we all reluctantly pack up the car and head home. I sit contemplatively in the back looking out the window feeling that “being outside all day feeling” as we drive away from the woods and back to our town, our neighborhood, our little red house on the end of the street.
These are my first memories of the joy of nature.