By Steve Flairty
NKyTribune columnist
Several years back, Bill Bryson authored a book called A Walk in the Woods. In it, he gave the reader a humorous look at him and his friend’s not-ready-for-prime-time attempt to hike a significant section of America’s challenging 2,200-mile Appalachian Trail.
Fatigue, the elements, and simply being away from home comforts combined to bring extreme irritability to each and nearly brought them to fisticuffs.
I love being amongst the trees, especially during the fall season around Kentucky, and my wife and I plan to soon take a day trip to the mountains of eastern Kentucky to enjoy the woodland leaves and their beauty. Recently, the fall colors and the Bryson book got me thinking about how important being in the woods has been for me, starting at an early age.
And just as Bryson’s incursion into the woods proved eventful, I recall some interesting times that came my way, too.
Growing up on the southern side of Grants Lick in Campbell County, I often found my way back into a heavily forested area not far from Vater’s Playground, a local baseball/softball park well-known to the locals. Turns out, I played on a Knothole League at the park, but usually saw more real action in the woods nearby.
Those woods possessed some of the best wild grapevines I ever came across. They reminded me a lot of the Johnny Weismuller’s Tarzan grapevines I saw my hero swing on in old movies on TV. That meant that I had to take my turns doing the same.
One day, an attempt at swinging across a fairly deep creek bed, one bank to the other, resulted in some sore bones on my ultra-skinny body after the vine broke in mid-air. It could have been worse, as I was by myself that day and not within yelling distance of help. I lived, though, and I learned to temper my hero worship of Tarzan and consider the consequences of irrational exuberance.
Incidentally, I don’t see as many of the vines around woodlands today, and a naturalist friend told me there has been an effort to rid these invasive vines out, which, he said, are harmful. I’ll leave that discussion for another day…or to the experts.
A couple of times, overnight camping trips in the woods turned into near disasters. A few years after the grapevine experience, a middle of the night rainstorm occurred as I led a group of teen youths on a church retreat I’d organized in a place about a mile behind our family farm in Claryville.
We (about a dozen, I recall) had such a good time under the trees eating hot dogs and chips, hearing the crunching of the leaves as we walked around our camp site, and listening to each other share faith issues. But when the rain and wind came, it meant all of us scrambled to reload the wagon, to pull it using the tractor upwards to the top of the hill, then back down the other side to get home. On that occasion, a night under the stars became merely one of waking up in our own beds and me having a story to write about nearly 50 years later.
In my 20s, I worked one summer as a counselor for special needs adults at Camp Wesley Woods in southeastern Clark County. On our schedule was an overnight camp-out at a clearing on the other side of a heavily wooded area. We staffers must have been lax about checking the weather forecast for that night; or, maybe we had some bad luck.
The trip from camp through the woodlands was steep, up and down terrain. It took, as I recall, about 45 minutes to navigate with the campers and our equipment. Our reward for the trouble was, like years ago, waking up in our beds (actually, our bunks) and another story to write about several decades later.
Here’s how it happened. When the storm started that very early morning, there was another factor for us to consider. The windy, rainy weather came on and it was accompanied by what sounded like the roar of a freight train, a sign of a tornado (as I am told). That development energized the staff to move the whole bunch of us back to Camp Wesley Woods.
It was a fast and furious affair. Today, going back to headquarters doesn’t make as much sense to me. It wasn’t as if the camp would be a whole lot safer, but it seemed so then.
Anyway, we mobilized the group and made it back to Wesley Woods safely, quite wet. And the tornado that concerned us? It was confirmed soon afterward that the freight train we heard actually was a freight train—or, at least some kind of train—that passed through the area. Some who are familiar with the area might educate me on the details of rail system there.
My walks in the woods over the years wax memorable, but I’d just as soon be like Thoreau and do some life contemplating and enjoy a little peace while I’m at it.
Craig’s web site is found here and Bill’s is located here.
Steve Flairty is a teacher, public speaker and an author of six books: a biography of former Kentucky Afield host Tim Farmer and five in the Kentucky’s Everyday Heroes series, including a kids’ version. Steve’s “Kentucky’s Everyday Heroes #4,” was released in 2015. Steve is a senior correspondent for Kentucky Monthly, a weekly NKyTribune columnist and a member of the Kentucky Humanities Council Speakers Bureau. Contact him at sflairty2001@yahoo.com or visit his Facebook page, “Kentucky in Common: Word Sketches in Tribute.” (Steve’s photo by Connie McDonald)
This column first appeared in November 2016.
