WALK A CROOKED MILE

Have you ever driven along a highway, particularly one weaving through the mountains and wondered what kind of trail passed this way a century ago.

I remember crossing the desert from Arizona to California and thinking about the settlers moving west. What took us a day must have taken them a week or more. The only water was what they carried with them on the wagons. I think about the thousands, mostly children, who died in the desert. Their graves now lost with the shifting of the sands and the earth. I'm sure their families marked them with a piece of wood or a pile of stones, meaning to come back someday and remove the remains to their new home. Many became so caught up in their new lives that they never came back. Even if they had the chance of finding those desolate graves would be almost impossible.

I have walked many trails in many places in my lifetime. The one that stays with me most is a section of the Appalachian Trail that I hiked the fall after I came home from the war. Beyond the natural wonders, I remember the people. They lived in cabins without the so call necessities of life, like water in the house or electricity. Behind the cabin was the little "phone booth" house with the moon cut in the door, sometimes called the "necessary" or "out house."

I learned very quickly to yell out as I approached a cabin. Dressed as I was in my army khakis, I looked a lot like a lawman or "revenooer." However, after the word got out that I was OK, I was made welcome wherever I went. In fact some folks thought I'd make a pretty good catch for one of the local girls.

We went back as a family in 1970 and visited in Cade's Cove.Some families still lived around the cove. I understand that the government was buying up the land and eventually planed to turn it into a sort of outdoor museum of mountain life. I hope they did.

Of course I didn't have too far to go to walk a crooked trail and commune with nature. From 1960 to 1965 my family lived at LaBoiteaux Woods Nature Center in College Hill. One of my assigned tasks as resident staff member was to patrol the trails, after hours. My two older children Mike and Debbie loved to go with me. Mike was always the forward scout. No matter how many times we walked those trails he was always out front. When we came to a fork he would look back at his sister and me and wait for my signal as to which trail to take. Debbie was a good hiker but when we turned homeward and the trail became mostly up hill, she suddenly wanted a "horsie back" ride on my shoulders. I taught my children that if they got lost or confused, to sit down on the side of the trail and wait for me. They knew I would always come and find them. I also taught them not to hide and jump out at daddy. I was still too close to the army than and the war was still fresh in my mind. I did not want to react and hurt one of them by accident. Before my legs went bad a walk at LaBoiteaux was always a part of Mike's visit home regardless of the season.

I spent my teen years at California Woods over on the east side where my father was caretaker. I always wondered how I was going to give my children that wonderful experience but as always the "Powers That Be," arranged for me to do just that. After Tina was born the quarters at LaBoiteaux were too small, so we bought our first real home. Unfortunately she missed much of that out door experience.

Route 32 to East Fork Lake and further to Burr Oak Lodge is as straight as an arrow. Sometimes the scenery is beautiful, but it makes one a bit weary when driving such a stretch alone. I'd rather have the crooked roads that have descended from the old warrior trails and wagon trails from east to west. From civilization to the land north and west of the river Ohio.