Spring Sunday afternoons seem perfect for rambling in the woods, stretching our legs, deep-breathing scrumptious air and exercising dogs who long for the woods as much as we do.
This time we ventured to a part of our favorite state park that I'd never explored.
The Rugged Mountain Man had once cross country skied here, but the rest of us only became familiar with it at our forest-schooling co-op session last fall.
Though this part of the lake is drained, I still felt the envy of the the kayakers I saw there on that magical fall morning last year.
The evening sun made up for the lack of water and kayaks on this splendid Sunday afternoon.
Curiosity over this water crossing was what drew me to this trail to begin with.
I do love a good bridge; they're quite possibly as poetic as a bend in the road.
Don't be fooled by the calm picturesque nature of this snapshot. We were all marveling at Jake, romping through mud 12 inches in depth and then scrambling to get out of the way as he greeted us to shake the mud away.
There's always the draw of the view. What's over the noll? What is beyond the tree-lined crest? Blossom3 couldn't resist the urge to see.
We found ourselves at the peak of a local sledding hill, a place where I sledded as a child. I told the stories again; the one where my brother hit an unknown ramp on the first run down and vaulted 8 feet in the air, while my dad sprinted down the hill to check if he was okay. Despite having the wind knocked out of him, he was.
After soaking up the stillness on the bench, the Blossoms decided that sledding hills are terrific for rolling log-style down, since no sleds or snow could be fabricated at the time.
We hustled back to the truck to beat the setting sun and closing gates, delighted to have rambled the afternoon away.
