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This summer, we've spent a lot of time leaving home. Last month, we packed up the Airstream for a 12-day trip through the Finger Lakes in New York and on to Cleveland. Then we we're back in it again, this time for another 12 days at Point Judith here in Rhode Island. The kayaks were along for the ride, and we've been spending a good part of the summer doing exactly what we bought the Airstream to do. And I've been enjoying it. But every time I come home, I also notice everything I haven't been doing. The woods have a way of keeping track. The trail from our house toward the creek is becoming difficult to find beneath the ferns. Our driveway entrance is getting overgrown. The firewood pile is getting smaller while trees I've been stockpiling are still waiting to be cut and split. Last summer felt different. We spent more time working around the property. Cutting wood. Gardening. Clearing trails. Having fires. Just being out there. This summer has been filled with work and travel, and I've caught myself feeling anxious about everything at home that isn't getting done. A friend reminded me recently that there really isn't a rush. None of this is a leaking roof. The trail can be cleared later. The wood can be cut. The weeds can be pulled. Spending part of the summer traveling isn't something I should feel guilty about because there are chores waiting at home. I know that. I'm just not always very good at remembering it. Maybe part of owning a piece of land is accepting that it will never really be finished. There will always be another tree to deal with, another section that needs attention, another season of growth changing something I thought I had under control. And while I've been away thinking about what I'm not getting done, the woods haven't been waiting for me. They've just kept going. The ferns grew into the trail. Trees dropped branches. Plants filled open spaces. And animals moved through places where I wasn't there to see them. That last part has me especially curious. I've spent years walking through our woods, photographing things that catch my attention and slowly learning more about this piece of land. But everything I've seen has depended on one thing. I had to be there. I'm starting to put trail cameras around the property to see what happens when I'm not. I want to know what walks these trails, what visits the creek, and what happens in the middle of the night. I'm also planning to share some of what I discover through video, another way for A Walk in My Woods to grow beyond the photographs and words I've been sharing here. There's something fitting about starting that now. I've spent part of this summer thinking about all the things I haven't been doing in our woods. Maybe I should spend a little more time appreciating everything that's been happening without me. The trails will get cleared. The firewood will get cut. The weeds will get pulled. But none of it has to happen today. For now, there are still a few weeks of summer left. And some places worth going.
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