A Hike wtih Laura on the Lehigh Valley Trail

Last Monday, the air finally warmed, and the snow that blanketed our town all month melted quickly away, filling the local creek with brown, turbulent water. Even the birds seemed convinced that spring was coming. Behind the house, my daughter and I found snowbells pushing their heads through the shrinking snow banks. As with all things in spring, we began to wake up earlier with the desire to create something new in the world.

For my friend, Laura, and me, that meant almost simultaneously deciding that we were ready to write – or more importantly – to be writers. Laura went to Ithaca to look into opportunities for travel writing and applied for freelance work, and I finally started this blog – my first foray into the public domain of written expression. Through the week we talked about our goals and brainstormed how we could get published. Laura is more experienced – and I learn a lot simply from listening to her experiences. I am older and probably more fearless. Somehow we drive each other forward.

Rather than sit inside to brainstorm about what to write or how to get published, we decided to walk along the Lehigh Valley Trail and breath in the early spring air. The trail runs along the former tracks of the old local railroad through forests, fields, and farms. On Saturday, St. Patrick’s Day, we planned to walk and talk about writing.

By late Friday afternoon the skies were gray and the first few flakes of snow started blowing randomly this way and that like some confused tourist who’d taken a wrong turn. Even so, I never would have guessed that we would all wake up on St. Patrick’s Day to 10 inches of fresh snow. We found ourselves ready for a St. Patrick’s Day walk on a cold, snow laden day.

Laura and I put on snow shoes and stomped on down the Lehigh Valley Trail anyway. The forest floor was brittle with ice, and the tree branches drooped with clumps of snow that looked more like cotton ready to be picked. With the exception of a few startled deer, we had the trail to ourselves to meander free of distraction in the cold air. And meander we did, one footstep at a time across the snow covered path. It took well over two hours to walk 5 miles, and by the last half mile our legs were sore, and we had talked ourselves into silence.

Neither of us went home to write the Great American Novel. In fact, I took a nap. But, we tossed around ideas and fed on each other’s thoughts until we came up with our next steps. And that is all we need for now. Until spring finally takes hold.