I’ve walked it a hundred times before – from the parking lot, across a busy street, down the long wooded path, and then simply go left. And keep left. Until I’m back at the parking lot. Simple.

Before Sam was born and I just needed to clear my head, when I had a keynote to write for the conference and wanted some quiet to gather up my thoughts, if the board of directors was getting on my case, I’d be out there on the loop. And when I felt like hearing the birds and watching the sun peak through a speckled leaf cover, when I wanted to feel the breath of freedom, I would walk that loop. It was my loop. Did it a hundred times. Maybe more than a hundred.

So today came as a surprise.

I set out from the lot, crossed the street and looked both ways because Jen tells me I should do that, and proceeded down the path, full speed ahead. But then there was this: the left turn to bring me around the loop was not there. I’m telling you, it was gone. I kept on going, searching for the path, until the trail just stopped. So, I retraced my steps looking for a marker and wouldn’t you know it, it wasn’t there. Did they make a change somehow? I saw the stone wall that lined the entire way and it was unbroken. Could they have added more stones to that ancient wall?

I needed to pick up the pace as the sun was dropping in the sky and the shadows were thickening up. I wondered where the trail had gone.

Should I go back to the car now or keep on searching for the missing left turn? And then I saw it… a slight dip in the stone wall. Maybe that’s precisely where they added the new section, the one covering up the missing trail. It was easy to cross over it and then out to where the old path must have been. They did a great job covering it up. There was heavy brush now, as though the trail had never been there at all.

This was going to be a challenge, but I knew I was up for it. I had hiked into the Grand Canyon, across countless desert trails in the American West, and I had even trekked over the mountains in Scotland. I’m less fit these days, the old joints stiffen up pretty quickly, and way-finding is tougher than it used to be. Jen worries about that part of it.

Man, they covered up this trail something good. The opening in the brush should have been coming up but it looked like muddy flats over there. Where was the trail? I’m glad I had the light on my phone; I figured I would probably need it to get back to the car. I think my phone saved the car location but I can never figure out how to set that up – maybe it does it automatically? Why is it so much more complicated than it used to be?

Looking down at my phone, I saw missed calls. Lots of them. From Jen. And some other ones too. She probably wanted me to stop to pick up dinner on my way home, to remind me to get something soft for Sam; her teeth are really starting to come in now. I decided to check all those messages later because I knew I had to save the battery for the flashlight. 

So, I paused for a while to catch my breath, to rest on an old stump – funny, it’s one I never noticed here before – and to figure out what to do next. And that’s when the strangest thing happened. The surprising thing.

I heard dogs barking. And some voices. I wondered what could possibly be going on in these woods. It had gotten dark while I was sitting there and bright lights popped in and out between the trees like in a Spielberg movie. The barking got much louder and whatever was happening out there was getting closer.

Suddenly, all their lights were pointed straight at me. I was lit up under the trees and the dogs wouldn’t shut up. A man was holding a black Moody Blues shirt in his hands. I have one just like that!

There was a clatter, a commotion. I heard the men talking to each other and I think one of them called somebody on his phone. The one with the Moody Blues shirt approached me and asked if I was ok. Of course I was ok, I told him that I was in my peaceful place, the trail loop, the one that I’d been on a hundred times. Maybe more than a hundred.

He handed me a bottle of water and I definitely appreciated that. He was a nice man. He helped me stand up and then they all walked with me back to the car. They didn’t have to do that but their flashlights helped a lot. The dogs weren’t barking any more.

And then I noticed Jen standing there in the parking lot. She ran over to me and gave me a great hug. I told her I could pick up dinner now if she liked. And that I’d get the soft food for the baby. She said it was ok and that she would take care of it.

Then, a few minutes later, I heard Jen talking to another woman, saying: “It’s time. I’m going to call Dr. Morrison and do the paperwork. I can’t live like this anymore.” 

What did that mean?

And then, the other woman looked at me. Her eyes were piercing, as though she knew me somehow. I think Jen called her Samantha. And the lady called Jen mom.

That’s nice… Jen has a daughter.