By: Stephanie Reynolds
My watch buzzed with a message from my first-born, female heir. “Do you want to hit the trail Sat. morning?” I could read the weariness and determination in her text. You know when you’re worn thin but want to use whatever scraps of energy you have to make a change–even if just for an afternoon–and you want someone to do it with you?
I understood the assignment. “Ooooo! Sounds great! Where/how far/Richard Martin or Swan Creek?” I replied. Not just because I want to be supportive but also…trails. And trails mean “Low carb diets are for at home. On the trail we need gummi bears.” Consider me sold.
We decided to hit the north end of Richard Martin, starting in Elkmont. On Saturday, she arrived at the house early, and I was running late, so between the two of us we were on time, just after 9 a.m.
We started off with quiet, introverted drive, assuring each other that we would not be offended if the other person needed to pop in earbuds and just be alone with their thoughts. Oh, we didn’t need to now, we reassured each other. “But just in case you need to, I understand.”
The rules of engagement agreed upon, we headed up the trail. “How long has this been paved?” my girl asked. “I don’t remember it.”
“It’s been awhile. It’s for accessibility.” It also makes a very pleasant path for strollers and the unsteady. I love how the Richard Martin Trail offers something for everyone: gravel and dirt for horses and trail runners, pavement for wheelchairs, strollers, and those who need sure footing. We want everyone on the trails regardless of their mode of transportation, and eleven miles is long enough to make space for all.
“I know I can listen to music, but I don’t really want to,” my girl said suddenly. “I’m enjoying hearing the birdsong.”
“Me too!” I agreed enthusiastically. The birds’ “dawn chorus” was lasting well into the morning. Perhaps they, too, thought a mild and overcast Saturday perfect to ease into slowly. Maybe (if I am being fanciful) they knew that two introverts would love nothing more than to hear them sing on the trail.
As I type this, I think of how profound it was to hear their concert. I don’t know about you, but it is hard for me to shake off modern life. I get restless when I am trying to relax. I find myself reaching for my phone to check “Very Important Things ™” about 48 seconds after I decide I’m taking a down day.
But because we had the birdsong, each other, and spotty reception, it was easy to keep our phones in our pockets.
At first, our chat was pleasantly prosaic—food, trees, shopping. “We need to buy new insoles for our race.” “I don’t know whether to eat this now or wait” “I love how those bushes don’t lose their leaves—do you see them? They make the forest look lacy.” Chatter was pleasant and one-noted at the ending of the dawn chorus encore. The birds took their bow and flew off into forest and field.
And still we walked. One foot in front of the other. Miles lasted as interminably as the old abutments holding the covered bridge we crossed—beautiful and enduring and worn. As exercise fatigues the legs, it also fatigues our defenses. Suddenly, conversation turned thoughtful, deep, and heavy with burden and blessing. Shopping and shoes gave way to faith, eternity, and how to love humans as they heal, with careful hands so one doesn’t cut themselves on another’s sharp edges, and how to smooth down our sharp edges in turn.
At some point as we walked, the trail stopped only leading back to Elkmont. The trail also walked me back, gently, to a long-ago part of me, and I remembered. Yes, I was 54 and it was Alabama, and 2026. But suddenly, I was also me as a child with no cell phone, no chores, nothing to do but look at rocks and scuff dust and just be outside under a lightly laden sky.
If I had tried to rest my body at home, my mind would never have relaxed. It would have made my weary bones get off the couch and into the kitchen, then the laundry room, then the bedroom to put away clothes. There were articles to write and food to cook and emails to check.
Even if I made myself sit, my mind wouldn’t have put down the electric hum of machine and to-do lists. The hum would have turned into clanging, persistent ringing that left me more tired at the end of my “rest” than I was before.
But on the trail…ahh, on the trail…there is nothing to do but walk. Breathe. Talk. Be. Love. Pray. To go back to a time when you explored the world until the streetlights came on. Curiously watched a ladybug. Stared at the clouds and the cows and the flowers. The trail will tire your body but renew your mind.
As I was writing this article, I asked my girl if she had anything to mention about our walk. She strained in thought, hungry and knee deep in her workday. Then she said in three words that which I have taken a whole article to convey:
“I was refreshed.”
By: Stephanie Reynolds
Athens-Limestone Tourism Association
