Into the Woods

Weekends are a challenge.

If there are no activities or employment planned, the boys spend a lot of time immersed in their screens.

"You don't know what it's like to be a teenager in the 21st century, mom," Elder tells me with an eyeroll.

He's right. Back in the stone ages when I was a teenager, I spent a lot of my time on my bike, riding through whatever woods I could find in my city environs (Pennypack's bike trail was a frequent route, taking me out to the country line), or just taking in the urban sights in the grittier neighborhoods.

I never knew exactly where I was going; I had a pretty good sense of direction and trusted that the road would take me interesting places.

Which sometimes got a lot more interesting than I bargained for.

So, thirty-mumble years later, we loaded up our bikes, thinking we'd take a little ride, visit my friend's brewery, and maybe go out to dinner later.

We looked at the route on a map. Elder was doubtful that we'd be able to do it in the timeline I framed out. And I mistook his doubt/reasonable judgment for recalcitrance. And what resulted was an adventure.

It began innocently enough. We took a little detour to see my friend and sample some beer while younger showed elder around the fort, the sensory area my friends built in their tap room. When we got to the trail, Elder wanted to go right.  I went left. Hubby and I didn't blink when the asphalt gave way to rugged terrain.

Nor did we blink as the rugged trail stretched ahead, sometime necessitating us to get off our bikes and walk.  Younger was encouraged ahead by dogs he met on the trail. And annoyed that I didn't pull out my phone to record the moments.  I heard a quail--briefly, in the meadow--the first time since my summers in Rio Grande, NJ decades ago. Then, elder yelling silenced him. Poor bird.

We glided along the causeway, admiring the twilight over the reservoir, watching people casting their fishing lines into the dusk. The red trail gave way to blue. And then the trail got tougher.

And then darkness fell faster than we could peddle. We dismounted, pulled out our phones, turned on the flashlights, and found ourselves in the night woods.  Nighthawks and screech owls provided a steady counterpoint to our footsteps in the woods. To our left, we watched the opposite shoreline recede into darkness.

Elder fretted about being locked in the park. Younger wondered aloud if we would ever get back to our car. I wondered to myself if hubby would divorce me for not thinking this outing through.

I discovered later that he was as delighted as I was for the unexpected adventure.  Because it was pretty damned incredible being out there in the woods, both of us reminded of our adventures in our pre-kid days, hiking, fishing and birding in Long Island, North Carolina, Nova Scotia, and dozens of times and places in between. The stars stood out in brilliant relief against the midnight blue sky.  A lightning bug lit our way in the woods.

In a previous life, Elder would have been an explorer. He studied the park map confidently and assured us he knew the quickest way back to the car. And armed with his directions, we moved forward, first along a country road, then back into the meadows, across a field, and a loon called, giving us a little extra boost and direction.

The meadow gave way to a field, then the park entrance again. And the car awaited us a few hundred yards beyond that.  It was well after 10 by the time we were on our way home.

Elder promises this will never happen again.

But that was eight hours they were off screens. :)