Over the River and Through the Woods…

The memories of exploring the creeks and forest trails of the Shawnee State Forest in southern Ohio with my siblings shaped who I am today.

The woods and gurgle of the creek, the birds’ songs and cousin’s laughter live on in me.

Going to Grandma’s meant more than good cooking, rounds of solitaire, and reuniting with family. It meant escaping into the woods and hills, exploring.

Fishing over the bridge into the shallow creek. Avoiding rattlesnakes and cotton mouths.

When we lived in Kentucky, it was literally over the river (Ohio) and through the woods, (the Shawnee) to Grandmother’s house.

My Dad spent his youth in the scout camp at the beginning of the Shawnee.

There was something mystical and comforting about the woods. A feeling of carrying on my dad’s greatest childhood memories, of connecting to my grandparents, great grandpa, aunts and uncles who had the Shawnee as an integral part their lives.

As if being there defined who we were as a family.

As kids, we loved to explore. I can still hear the clap of the screen door as we dashed out to play, seconds after arriving.

After we moved to Florida, we’d escape to the Shawnee whenever we could. Getting a driver’s license meant we didn’t have to wait for mom and dad to take us.

The crackle of car tires on Grandma’s gravel drive. The hush of the forest at night. The pure darkness of a moonless night. We have all left a piece of ourselves in the Shawnee.

And the Shawnee has left pieces of it’s heart in us.

I still miss it.

One of our favorite adventures was to drive out to the fire tower and climb to the top.

Standing there, over looking the hills and valley, I could only imagine the faces and voices of the first settlers in the Ohio valley. Their bravery and courage allowed me some most treasured memories.

I was Laura Ingalls Wilder.

We’re all connected in some way, aren’t we? To the past, the present and the future.

What you and I do today creates avenues for memories, for laughter in the woods, for fishing in shallow creeks for the generations who come behind.

Not just our own kin. But everyone.

My Grandmother was born and raised in Portsmouth. Learned the songs of birds, the names of wild flowers in the Shawnee. And she introduced it to me and my siblings.

There’s not one of my siblings who doesn’t treasure our memories there. Not one of my cousins. All one of us has to say is, “I miss Grandma’s,” and the others sigh, nodding in ascent.

I feel blessed to have known the Shawnee. To have grown up in her shade and by her rocky shores, and to carry her still in my heart.