New neighbors Andi and Hayden don't get off to the best start - and neither do their dogs. When the hostility between their pets, Bart and Rosie, leads to noisy barking, Andi and Hayden must solve their pet's tension or risk eviction from their apar...
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I stare at my phone. Diana and Micah sent a reminder about my decision. I don't blame them after the day we had.
"All good?" Andi asks.
It registers that I stopped in the center of our trail. "Uh, yeah. I'm just having trouble committing to that business expansion I told you about." I slip my phone back into my pocket. "Nothing to worry about right now."
Later, though? Yes.
Andi nods, turning back around.
She and I continue our trek through a tunnel of lush green trees, our bodies lathered in sunscreen, bug spray, and heated gold warmth. Streams of light trickle through the thick canopy cracks, warming us. The air is humid, musty, and saturated with dense earthy stenches. Sticks rest along the dirt trail, crunching below our sneakers. The snaps, mixed with rustling trees, sporadic bird chirps, and Andi's thoughtful hmms, have made for a peaceful night.
Andi walks a few steps ahead of me. Her short ponytail swishes against her neck, the ends dusting the small backpack strapped to her shoulders. Like she's guiding us through the center of the Amazon rainforest, she holds a printed trail map and compass tight between her fingers, glancing down every few minutes to ensure we're walking in the right direction.
So far, she's done well. We've been walking for fifteen minutes and haven't gotten lost. Granted, there aren't many chances to get lost. Our trail doesn't intersect with others and isn't touristy; Andi's research surfaced a hidden gem. We haven't encountered any people, only thick, bushy trees, wildflowers, occasional glimpses of lake water (since the trail runs parallel to Lake Michigan), and forest life creeping along the path's edges, threatening to strike.
You can tell the path was once managed well but has succumbed to tree roots and brush. They narrow the path, so we have to walk one by one.
With only an hour to hike (when figuring in the driving distance from Ralia), Andi chose a path that wasn't long. Still, it's no beginner trail. We've navigated steep inclines, gradual hills, and tree roots. I'm a seasoned hiker, so it hasn't been hard. Andi's done well, too. She told me she attends a bi-monthly pilates class, and that's why she's so stealthy.
I enjoy difficult hikes. I find turns, inclines, declines, and rough bumps more immersive. It demands involvement, appreciation for the environment, and alertness. When paths are straightforward, it's easier to travel them passively or for the environment to blur. So, since I'm able-bodied and healthy, I always utilize my preference.
I'm glad Andi has that preference, too.
Only holding snacks, water, and an extra memory card, my backpack is light. The majority of weight hangs around my neck, encapsulating in my camera. Through each step, it thumps against my t-shirt-covered chest, but, since it's not the big, clunky camera I use at the studio, and instead a small, portable one—only a small rectangular with a short, protruding lens—it's not too heavy.
