The Secret of the Stairs in the Woods: A few thoughts on my birthday this year

I almost skipped writing this. There hasn’t been time for me to indulge in deep reflections as I turn another year older. Most of my attention has been focused on our commercial building renovation. We threw ourselves back into project lists and long nights and all the things we had reprieve from when our old farmhouse reached a mostly finished and very livable level back in 2019.

In wrapping up the house, I didn’t really feel like we would experience all of this again- the highs and lows, the excitement and the exhaustion, the decisions that never stop having to be made… I also never thought, like really thought I would be opening a business in the town that I am. Not that it’s something too daunting or impractical, being an entrepreneur is in my blood. It’s just something I always put out of sight- out of mind. I was too busy accomplishing other goals to really let myself think about what it would be if I tried. But sometimes you do things because you have to. Out of fear or failure or to protect what you aren’t willing to give up…

Let’s just say I never saw myself spending so much time in this particular small town- in the place where I went to school and the town both my parents grew up in.

Because I didn’t grow up on these streets, I grew up a country girl…

Barefoot in the fields, running through the foxtails, dipping my toes in the creek.

Living my best summer days until the sun went down.

And yet here I am.

Putting on hold the previous plan to create a showroom in our barn to renovate a commercial property instead.

It’s a switching of gears for me, for sure. I find the paved sidewalks too hot, too confining. In between cleaning, hauling, hammering and paint- I want to wander.

But I did find a compromise. A little solace. A trail behind the Elementary school, steps away from our property.

Just blocks from the house my dad spent his childhood.

These trails are winding and they twist through the trees following an old sand bottom trout creek over bridges and to a set of familiar steps behind the place I would have attended the first 6 years of my formal education.

The day I found the steps- they stopped me in my tracks. A flood of memories came back to me, and it was if I could hear the echos of school children on a playground. And since I had never been on this side of the steps before I had this sensation, like being on the other side of the looking glass. The snippet of a day stored somewhere in my mind was revived.

There was a small group of us that often played tag together in the school yard. In this memory we became interested in a red paint foot print left on a discarded piece of concrete just past the edge of the trees. We weren’t allowed in the woods during recess but that didn’t stop us from hovering right near the opening.

A group of curious kids trying to entertain themselves. Young as we were we wanted a mystery to solve- “that foot is too big to be a human foot. It must be a big foot!” Kids and their imaginations. We forget how fun it was to be silly. To believe in outlandish things with such vigor. We were convinced. It was all we could talk about. Things were said like- “my dad has big feet and that’s way bigger than his.” Honestly, I wish the foot print was still there to confirm my suspicions. I’m confident it was made by a fairly regular sized foot. But this is why my generation had movies like “The Goonies” and “Stand by Me.” We craved intrigue and we didn’t hesitate to set out on an adventure of the unknown.

As I continued to walk through the woods on the days when I needed a break from construction, I noticed that I was always alone. The echo of school children playing was only in my mind, a memory. I hoped to see them, like a vision of my younger self, but they never appeared.

I’ve also taken that walk with my Dad and listened to his stories of fishing the creek as a child, of hunting partridge, building forts and of staying out “until the street lights came on.” I love hearing these stories, I love imagining my 76 year-old father as a little towheaded boy in the late 50’s. What a time to be alive in this small town.

And it is amazing how much can change from one generation to the next. My parents valued nature and the outdoors and independence. They moved us to the country where I grew up loving every minute of exploring the barnyard and climbing trees. They gave us a little more than what they had. Meanwhile, most of today’s youth are content in the safety of their homes, their fenced in yards, with their entertainment at their fingertips.

I think that is why I keep finding myself drawn further into the past rather than being seduced by the modernity of everything. I am not sure if that is a normal thing, a turning point when the world you knew becomes too foreign or if it is a “me” thing as I reject technological conveniences in favor of prehistoric-like ideals such as “dvd players” and “pen and paper.”

This ache I have to honor my wholesome upbringing and a world that is changing fast is also at the heart of our new venture. Old cars, preserving hobbies, getting your hands dirty…making stuff.

Nostalgia.

Family.

Our building is a good shell for this. It’s not too precious or too pretty to withstand the wear and tear of real projects. It honors the intent of the building when my family bought it but also appeases a growing community by adapting a business plan.

It all sounds good on paper, but I was still questioning if this is the small town I wanted to be tied to. Sure, I left my country life occasionally in the summer for a week of vacation bible school and my many many trips to the library. But town was never like home. It wasn’t the place that had my memories, that had my heart. It was the place I watched my parents build a business.

But sometimes you do things because you have to…to protect what you aren’t willing to give up…

And that’s when I heard those words in my head- and I realize that the thing I’m not willing to give up is not even mine…it’s theirs. Their childhoods, their teenage years, their story of falling in love and getting married and buying a house in the country. It all started here. In this town. And as I age, and they age, and we all face an uncertain amount of time, there are places buried in the woods (like the steps to the school) that know a different version of us, that hold these memories. That remind us who we were before we had to grow up to follow rules and rationalize the size of footprints. It’s my connection to them from the other side of the looking glass, like a time traveler, imagining this place through their eyes. And for that reason it has given me a new appreciation for this place, or rather this opportunity.

After years of watching my parents build a business-

They will have the opportunity to watch me…build mine.