wilderness

Sometimes, I remember I have a car and I decide to do something fun with it rather that just worry about where I’m going to park when I come back. Upon consulting friends who were in-the-know about fairies in New Jersey, I decided to drive the girls to Milburn to visit the magical South Mountain Fairy Trail. I was told to keep our expectations low.

I chose not to share where we’d be going, because I dislike answering the same questions over and over when I don’t know the answer, which is, in fact, much of the time (example from today: “Mom, who invented peanut butter?” — followed immediately by, “Who invented perfume?” I don’t know. I don’t know.)

We are in a moment of dissatisfaction. No more gifts to open. The tree isn’t taking water anymore. We are now in the long haul of winter, chugging toward the next childhood magical-moment which is…a ways off. Nevermind that they’re surrounded by newness, with the wrappings off and the packages open. In the cold light of morning, it’s all the same. New, lovely things in piles around the apartment. It’s hard to come down from Christmas.

So we drive through the water in two underground tunnels to get to Jersey. The land of fairy shacks, trampled by both time and the zeal of pandemic-era outdoorschildren.

I’m told by my friends to go in the wrong way, to take the trail backwards, in order to preserve the magic of surprise, so when we arrive and are lucky enough to grab a parking spot, I hurry the kids to the porta-potties — because mom has to pee! — and back again so they don’t see the signs at the trailhead.

Up the parking lot hill and into the forest we go — a muddy path dotted by icy patches, still not melted yet because this isn’t the city, after all. Things take longer to thaw in New Jersey. The hikers, emboldened by their recent obsession with Hilda on Netflix, are eager to go off the path. I say “Go! As long as you can see me, you can go as far as you like.” It’s not long before P is screaming for me to help her walk atop a log she can most certainly balance on without difficulty. There is a thawing out of children too — life in the apartment freezes us and we have be reminded of and remember all the things we are able to do.

We come upon a constructed waterfall, as promised by friends, and the girls are transfixed. It’s not long before games emerge. Pull the dry hollow reeds from the ground it’s easy and climb up to the top to throw them down watch the water take them away. Or, take a hollow reed, surprisingly strong! and poke out pieces of ice chuck them onto the rocks below over and over.

The land is claimed easily and they ask can we eat our lunch up here?! just before a large group pulls up to take a photo. This doesn’t take long and now that we live there at the top of these concrete falls, we pull out our pb and js (Who invented peanut butter?) and eat. After, P gets the longest reed she can find and dislodges a huge piece of ice, turning it over in the still water. Later we climb a steep hill, using long roots as handles on our way up. P goes up and down twice in the time it takes M and me to make one pass. Finally we walk on — along the icy creek and down the trail towards potential magic.

I won’t spoil it for you.

Maybe you’d like to visit the South Mountain Fairy Trail, but I’ll tell you, the reviews are in: “This is the best hike I’ve ever been on!”

Just keep the secret.
Go in the back way.

And expect nothing.