In Our Own Backyard

As I spend time thinking about just what we will need for the day's hike, I am reminded of the many times we have made this trip to one of our favorite destinations. Hocking Hills sits in the Southeastern region of Ohio and is the beginning of a long chain of foothills to the great Appalachian mountains. It is a beautiful area littered with cave after cave and trails that open up onto splendid scenes of waterfalls. It has been a long and cold winter and for the first time in what feels like forever, we have caught a break. The boys are bickering over who gets to carry what pack. The camel packs are new, so I have plenty of helpers for lugging the water in and out. This time of year the facilities at the parks will not have running water, so we will go prepared. Cameras, dogs, kids and leashes all get loaded into the car and off we go.

 

The roads are winding and I am always struck with the same emotions when I enter these hills, wonder and excitement course through me as I take each curve with caution and delight, “How lucky we are to have this here...in our own backyard!” Speeding is really not an option and already you can see signs of summer because we run into people at the supply stores who are gathering gear to head out and camp.

Native Americans once inhabited this region, and why not, the caves are cool and would provide awesome shelter. The boys often dream of sleeping in the caves, but that thought only leaves me looking up and wondering just how much guano we would be covered with by morning. I see the delight and excitement in their eyes each and every time we visit the area. I remind them that they were very young when we first stumbled upon this local treasure. Our oldest, now nearly 14 had been a toddler and our middle son newly born rode strapped to my husband in a backpack when we first ventured down to this area. I remember looking at each other sharing the same disbelief, had we crossed into Kentucky? Ohio had hills, cliffs and caves?

Maybe I was jaded to believe that Ohio is.... well, farms and Cleveland. I am left wondering why this prejudice still resides in me as we unload at our first destination. Let's say for now, it is deep seeded, and since I was born in the land to the north that shall not be named, well, that is just how my inner self thought of this place. I had only driven through Ohio enroute to visit family or sandy beaches. Where I come from, splendor can be found in a vast open wilderness, the greatest of lakes and little ones too. Ohio, to me, seemed rural at best. But I find myself amazed time and time again as I struggle with the opinions of my youth standing in stark contrast to the scenery before me. The juxtaposition causes me to pause each and every time and I have a small chuckle to myself. Will I never learn?

As we head down the trail, we pass small pavilions set up with the usual charcoal style barbeque pits. Long ago, steps had been cut and placed to make the descent on some of the steepest parts of the trail easier to traverse. The boys begin to run and their excitement carries them farther and farther ahead of me, down hill at an alarming speed. It occurs to me that it was an easier, less stressful hike when they were fastened securely in a backpack, or held firmly by the hand. I yell ahead for them to slow down, and they do, once I remind them that a fall from one ledge might be crippling at best. I wonder to myself if I can convince them to hold my hand still. Then I realize as they do, that they know these hills, they are familiar if only vaguely now with these trails, their twists and turns and rocky outcroppings. As we reach the bottom of the first set of steps, a section immediately runs down to our left between two huge rock faces. It is narrow and I convince them to let me take their pictures. 

As I take in the sights and smells around me, the memories start to fill me. My gypsy soul, the one that causes me to lust for travel to far off and mysterious places, seems contented and quelled here. I look at the boys, hoping they will share the same delight for adventures that I do. They are from here, I realize. Not from central Ohio, but from here, from these parks. This wilderness is a part of them. When they look back on their childhood and all of the places we have lived, the constant will be this place. This beautiful, wonderful place already holds a special meaning for them. Time after time we have clambered over these rocks, and haunted these vast caves. No matter where our adventures took us, where we spent our time, we always came back to this place, this region. For a gypsy like myself, it brings a tear to my eye to think that in spite of myself, my children feel a connection to this place, a place of grandeur and splendor. A connection that runs deeper than anything I could have hoped for!

Time moves so quickly, and as I watch them climb one after the other down the stairs and disappear around the rock's face, my heart pains at how they have grown. I remember the backpack years with fondness. I remember how their weight had to be balanced as we traversed the trials ourselves. I look around me and realize that yes, indeed, I could not stop their forward motion, nor did I want to. I realize that at least here, for just a minute, I could pause and let myself be shown a picture of their past, present and future all intertwining with this place. A place we will always return to.

I collect my thoughts and follow them down, anxious to catch up with them, their voices carrying while their echoes bounce from one wall to another. They delight in their echoes, just like when they were very small, and I laugh. Some things never change, and that makes me happy.