I did something new today.
Instead of interviewing trail builders, I went out with one and built a trail.
Shh. I can’t tell you where it was because it’s my own secret trail, and I’m sorry to inform you that you are not invited. Maybe it was in Arizona. Maybe New Mexico, California, or Hawaii. I’ll only say this: it was thrilling.
I spend a lot of time on trails, and I deeply love them. This was different though. I was the one who wanted the trail, and it ran about half a mile to a body of water I love. No tools were used, which astonished me. We worked in a beautiful place, under a heartbreakingly blue sky dotted with white puffy clouds, in a setting so quiet and peaceful it was easy to imagine a healthy world.
The trail builder was like a construction worker with high confidence and skill. He expertly chose the route, staying focused as we walked each section back and forth a number of times to "set it." We carefully chose where to start and end the trail. I picked pretty rocks to place at key turns while I watched him working, an expert work in the field.
I wasn’t the one deciding most of the route, but I did get to put in my two cents. “Nope, too steep!” or “Whoa, that’s too close to the crumbly death ledge!” I also got to name the trail, which is equally secret.
There was a lot of shuffling going on, a skill I quickly learned I am not especially good at. There was snapping of random branches, moving rocks, and digging dirt away with our shoes to clear out the crumbling stuff. There was yelling for our dog helper, who was more than a pretty face and who picked our line a lot of the time. There was rock stacking, cactus relocating, and the general kind of quiet improvisation that makes trail building feel half like work and half like wizardry. It took three hours.
I get it now: the play and joy of creation, the magic of naming a thing you love. At the end, I was dusty, tired, hungry, with a cactus needle in my shoe. But I can’t wait to go hike my new trail.
Meow.
