A much-valued return to the trails
Newton’s First Law of Motion tells us that a body in motion tends to stay in motion (unless acted on by an outside force) and a body at rest tends to stay at rest (also unless acted on by an outside force).
Before January, I would have called myself a body in motion. I exercised nearly every day, often vigorously, and was adventuring outdoors nearly every weekend. But after my appendix ruptured (the outside force) in late January, I became a body at rest. It has been surprisingly hard to find the force to get back in motion again.
Two weekends ago, I was finally out in the woods again, albeit just at the Lisha Kill Natural Area in Niskayuna, where there are about two miles of trails.
The Lisha Kill is seldom uncrowded, and we managed to snag one of the last open parking spots on a Sunday afternoon. I would not call the preserve wilderness — it’s too small and too easy to reach — but the pretty 140 acres in suburbia do rate as a woodland oasis. Clearly, we were not the only people to feel that way.
The Nature Conservancy bought the land for the Lisha Kill in the mid-1960s after local residents, including conservationist Paul Schaefer, then living on nearby St. David’s Lane, organized to prevent Route 7 from
being built through the rugged ravine. While developers saw a route for a highway, Schaefer saw acres of old-growth forest — towering white pines and hemlocks — and a beautiful stream. (I’ve been told it’s not true old-growth forest, as much of the land served at one time as a wood lot for local farmers, but some of the trees there are 200300 years old).
I have been visiting the Lisha Kill for about four decades — I remember splashing in the stream as a kid and balancing on the fallen remains of a huge tree. As a teenager, I explored there with friends, making our first forays into the woods independent of parents. One friend and I ventured across the stream to explore the far side (about half of the preserve’s land is on the southern side of the stream, but there is no longer a marked trail there); we got lost and ended up making a long walk back to the car via Route 7. Now that I’m a parent, the Lisha Kill has become an easy place for short family hikes and is a great spot for meeting local friends for distanced visits.
It was chilly out two weekends ago, and the trails were coated in hardpacked snow. Some steeper sections of trail were icy and we were glad for our microspikes. The sunlight, filtering through the trees and landing on my face, felt like a benediction, the crisp air on my cheeks a frosty kiss. We walked for less than an hour, but it felt fantastic.
This time, it was my child throwing rocks in the stream and balancing on logs. I admired fungus growing on tree trunks and animal tracks in the snow. At the little beachy area where the trail comes closest to the Lisha Kill — the stream that flows through the preserve and gives it its name — we found an ice bridge over the water and a line of snowshoe tracks leading to the other side. We made our way across and followed the tracks up a long, sloping hill. Mindful of my last experience on that side of the preserve decades ago, we opted to turn around not long after we started, though it would be hard to get lost with a trail so plainly etched in the snow.
Near the end of our hike, I walked a little too briskly up one incline and was reminded that I am not quite recovered. But the day in the bright sunshine, with fresh air in my lungs and woods all around me, finally made me feel as if I was back in motion again. My biggest challenge now, I hope, is to hang on to the feelings of gratitude and joy as outings become just a regular part of my life again.