When I was younger, hiking was mostly about the view at the top.
I paid attention to mileage, whether I was keeping up with my husband (my only hiking partner at the time) and getting a share-worthy photo at the top.
Now, almost 25 years later, I still love a good view – but I notice entirely different things on trail... and somehow it’s made hiking a richer experience.
Just today, while out for my first walk since surgery (I had to rest for a full week), I came upon quite an unexpected scene.
I heard a rustling.
Then I heard it again.
As I rounded the next bend, there were at least 5 squirrels running in all directions.
Up trees.
Across the trail.
Chasing each other over the rock walls.
They were chittering and sprinting about, and I couldn’t help but laugh (silently of course, since I’m on voice rest) at the scene they created.
25-year-old me would have snapped a photo and kept going. I had a destination in mind and a pace to keep.
It’s not natural for me to slow down. It’s a skill I’m still building.
Today I stopped, tapped my husband on the shoulder to look and stood there and just watched for a minute. The destination wasn’t as important as seeing if I could figure out the squirrel gossip!
It’s small moments like these that make a trail for me these days.
I pay more attention to what stage the forest is in.
Watching the first ferns unfurl from tiny fiddleheads to a huge carpet covering the forest floor over the course of a few weeks.
Fresh green spring growth on the evergreens.
The smell of the forest after a good rain.
The way the leaves push into the trail, crowding you like a friend.
And then, just like that, fall arrives and it all changes again.
It’s one of my favorite parts about New England – we get four full seasons, and each one has its gems.
I don’t just visit the trail anymore – I’m watching it change over years as I continue to hike in the same spots over and over.
And while I love a good animal sighting (safely of course!), sometimes it’s just as cool to see the signs that an animal was there.
Tracks in the Spring mud.
Freshly nibbled plants in Summer.
Recently I stopped to study a tree I couldn’t quite figure out. When I got closer, it looked like a woodpecker had been practicing on it—big holes scattered everywhere. Twenty-five-year-old me probably would have walked right past it.
A turkey feather mid trail.
The sound of something rustling in the Fall leaves. Around here, chipmunks can sound like bears.
The woods feel alive when I’m looking for evidence of animals instead of waiting for a bear to walk across the trail. And I honestly don’t want to encounter one that close up!
That energy is something I have yet to replicate in any other place in my life.
My family laughs because I somehow spot wildlife everywhere we go. I get ridiculously excited every single time, but maybe I’ve just learned to pay attention.
At 25 I filled every silent moment, feeling like I had to take up space verbally to matter.
Feeling the need to prove myself in some way in every interaction.
I’m not exactly sure when that changed. Maybe being a nurse has something to do with it. Maybe getting older. Maybe being more comfortable with who I am at my core. But somewhere along the way I stopped feeling responsible for filling every silence.
Now I intentionally stop.
No headphones.
No conversation.
Just listening to the wind rustle the leaves, the birds calling out to each other and my own heavy breathing (IYKYK).
These quiet spaces have become part of the reason why I hike.
I seek them out. I don’t always want a completely silent hike, but I know when I need it, hiking in the woods is one of those places I can always count on quiet.
Two years ago, success meant a harder hike.
Longer.
More elevation.
Rock scrabbles (I still hate these).
But today? I see wins differently.
Wins might look like:
I felt stronger today than yesterday.
My back didn’t hurt today.
I remembered to bring enough water.
I showed up to a trail prepared.
I simply made time to go in a busy season of life.
Progress looks different in midlife.
It FEELS different.
I am proud of the changes I’ve made and am not afraid to say it!
One of my favorite things is watching people experience the same trail in completely different ways.
I always find myself quietly rooting for people on the trail. Even though I’m in my own world most of the time, I am dialed in to what is going on around me. I love to say hi and keep on trucking, but I’m definitely noticing all the people as I go.
On any given hike you might see a:
Solo female hiker living her best life
Mom with kids who are screeching at the frog they just found in the water
Trail runner bopping along to their own music
Dog owner chasing after a dog smiling all the way up
There isn’t one “right” way to enjoy the trail! Plus there are a million types of people you might meet.
One thing that has surprised me is how ordinary hikes have become some of my favorite memories.
Not epic adventures.
My trip to Grand Teton National Park was unforgettable (and still one of my favorite adventures), but so were some of the hikes out my back door.
I did get chased by a bison though... and that hasn’t happened on my local trail... yet!
Just a Tuesday afternoon.
A local trail.
An hour after dinner.
Those small moments have become the ones I miss when life gets busy. And they add up to lots of everyday adventures anyway.
This might be one of the quiet gifts of getting older. We stop rushing past the details and remember that life is actually what is happening now.
The summit is still spectacular.
But somewhere along the way, the walk itself became the reason I came.
Thanks for spending a little time with me today.
See you next Sunday.
— Kaci
Loved this!!
We really do get wiser as we get older!!🤗🤣
Kaci, great post! As we get older we appreciate our surroundings more!