I laughed and thought of Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz when she’d questioned the right path to take through the woods, and the wicked trees clawed at her along the way. Then we all stepped out into the field of poppies and set our sights on Oz.

     Okay…there were no poppies, and Oz was Mill Creek, but the sun was out, and the trails ahead were dry. If we hadn’t been burdened with backpacks, I’m sure we would have linked arms and skipped across the meadow with voices of Munchkins playing in our heads.

     The group slowly stretched out through the woods as the more experienced backpackers trudged ahead to locate our camp for the night. The trail blazes became more confusing, and our leaders began to leave arrows drawn in the sand for those of us ‘trailing’ behind. Our group, comprised of engineers, teachers, tradesmen, and young entrepreneurs, provided a perfect analogy to the diversity of the trail. The water, the deep sand, the pine forest, and even the changes in elevation were each unique and seemed to have found their place in life. We began to slowly find respect in the challenges they posed.

     We reached Mill Creek County Park and found it completely to ourselves. There were hot showers and grassy lawns where I sat in the sun to dry my hair and soothe my aching feet from a full day in new hiking boots. We had left some of our cars at this first night’s destination, so a chosen few of us were spoiled as we ate succulent steaks and pulled on warmer clothing to sit by the fire - sharing our loot with the rest of the group. I went to bed earlier than the others, just needing a good night’s sleep after the restless one the night before. I layered my clothing differently this time, added hand warmers to my sleeping bag, and cinched it tightly around my head. I had set up my tent just a few feet from the bathhouse for the inevitable trips during the night, and I felt cozy and warm - happy that I just might have figured this out.

     I was abruptly awakened from a deep sleep when a pack of wild coyotes whizzed by my tent. It soon became obvious there was a farm nearby as the dogs went into a complete frenzy, the rooster mistook the huge full moon for the sunrise, and the cow decided to moo just because she could. And then every degree of heat somehow began to escape from my sleeping bag, and I was, again, freezing in my tent. I think it was just before sunrise as I softly sang my own version of Emmylou Harris.“…and the coldest hour is just before dawn…”. As daylight finally found us, we unzipped our tents to discover a thin sheet of ice covering the outside. So we made a fire, then took a little extra time for everything to dry before figuring out how to get it all stuffed in our backpacks the same way it came out the day before. We talked about the ‘wildness’ of the night, and several of us had the revelation that we could leave our backpacks in the cars and hike the next ten miles with simply our trekking poles.

     A small amount of guilt found its way into my consciousness since the whole idea of this was to challenge myself. But I was still feeling the effects of the day before, two sleepless nights, and I had several more adventures planned for the weeks ahead. So I opted for the trekking poles and never looked back. And I was completely in awe of those who still stayed way ahead of me with fully loaded backpacks. I focused on the rhythm of my steps and imagined myself by the end of the summer being like the others—a seasoned backpacker with muscular legs…tight glutes…sunkissed skin.

     As we approached the last few miles of our journey, it was as if we magically crossed over into the foothills of the mountains. There were beautiful sandy bottom streams and tiny waterfalls. We were actually climbing hills, and our straight trails through the pine forests became narrow paths emulating winding road switchbacks flanked by mountain laurel. Thick tree roots provided steps as the elevations climbed higher, and we were forced to do the same. In contrast to the sprayed-on trail blazes we found on the trees, hand-carved wooden signs now marked the way home to Poinsett State Park with names like Whippoorwill and Coquina brightly painted in tropical colors. And the warm sun had coaxed families and day hikers onto the trails as this lazy Sunday afternoon lingered, and we finally made our way across the dam to our very real ‘Land of Oz.’

     Logistics made it difficult for everyone to gather as a group at the end, but we said our goodbyes and hugged those we could. I had picked up quite a few balls of my dignity during these 20 miles of hiking and backpacking, and my surroundings were becoming more aesthetically pleasing. But more importantly, I was beginning to gain a more beautiful perspective of myself and my new life in the great outdoors.