Stories from the Trail

Field Notes on Moving Through the Wild

Introducing……

My early copies of this anthology came yesterday, and I’m so happy with how they’ve turned out. My co-editor and publisher,

Connor Wolfe

, has done a fantastic job on the design (both cover and interior), and through the pages wind a trail of stories from a wide array of perspectives. It’s a blessing to have the sort of working relationship with a publishing house that says yes to ideas, and it’s an additional multitude of blessings to have brilliant writers who say yes to sharing their words with the project. I had a lot of fun putting this together, and I’m excited for you to read it—it’s officially out in August, so when you order now, the book should be in your hands before too long.

Here’s to saying yes to the next invitation (from yourself or somebody else) to head out on wander through the wild.

What follows is the introduction of the book, which you can think of as your literary trailhead.

Growing up, it wasn’t a vacation unless we spent multiple hours moving in some fashion through a wild space–the family motto was “why sit and relax when you could hike for hours (usually at least a few miles further than intended)?” Time on the trail defined my childhood and young adult years. My family of six walked together over miles and miles of trails: through tall grass prairies in South Dakota, along the shoreline of Lake Superior, up scree fields in the Colorado Rockies, across wide valleys in Yellowstone, and over rocky outcroppings to the tide pools and beaches of Acadia National Park in Maine. Walking together (sometimes even when my brothers and I didn’t necessarily WANT to walk together, or walk at all…) was foundational in my development as a human. We’d load up the camping box that dad built on the back of an old trailer and drive to a different wilderness destination each summer where we’d pitch the six person tent and explore the area primarily on foot. “Power pills” in the form of tiny wild blueberries got my youngest brother up a mountain in Maine during black fly season when he was four. Countless games of “I Spy” or various riddles kept us kids entertained when the miles got long enroute to Black Elk Peak in the Black Hills. Our pace as a family unit evolved from one of my folks carrying at least one kid to the three oldest running so far ahead on the trail we were feared lost to the woods. I learned to pay attention to my surroundings, what berries were edible, and how to give my legs a rest by doing dad’s special “lock step” up the big hills. No matter where we went, whether it was a day trip close to home or spending a week or more at a far off destination, we hiked. Walking through wildness was, and still is, part of what makes a place come alive. All that time on the trail has been an instrumental part of figuring out what it means to be truly alive and present in this life. 

[Here’s a glimpse into some time on the trail in the 1990s—most of the photos of me and my brothers as little kids are at my folks’ place, but I did find some from when I was a teenager…]

Yellowstone, 1994

Turkey Run State Park (Indiana), 1995

Arches National Park, 1996

What you’re about to enter is a collection of writing about wayfinding, specifically, hiking–what a walk (or roll, depending on the ambulatory needs of the hiker) through the woods, across a prairie, over a desert, or up a mountain has to offer in terms of reflections, hard-earned lessons, and stories. These are essays about and poetic interpretations of specific experiences out on the trail, hiking as a lifestyle choice, and reflections that bring to light how time moving through the natural world has added to each writer’s life – and thus their contribution to the world – for good. 

Some of the authors in these pages didn’t discover hiking until later in life, some grew up on the trails, and some have had to change how they interact with moving through the outdoors. But no matter how they traverse the trails, or when they discovered that doing so was important to life, what they share is a love for navigating nature on their own terms. They inspire me to keep going outside and finding new trails, and to continue exploring the familiar trails that are close to home. I think they’ll inspire you, too. 

So we ask you, reader, as we move together into these pages which are a bit of a winding trail system themselves: Why do you move through wild spaces, why does it matter, and how have you evolved as a result of doing so? Remember that your stories about navigating through the wild, from those rooted in urban areas to those that come about in remote backcountry, are just as important as any shared here.  Keep them close, share them, and let them nourish the story of the human collective so we can all take the steps necessary to fully experience life on this fine planet.

With contributions from

Chris La Tray

,

The Open-Air Life

(Linda McGurk), Krissy Kludt, Ana Maria Spagna, Stephen Trimble, Iris Graville, Derick Lugo, Abby Braithwaite,

Meghan J. Ward

, Michael Garrigan, River Maria Urke, and Holly Scherer, it’s an anthology to keep handy for when you need literary excursion through the woods.

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There are a few events in the works as we get this book out, so here’s some info in case you’d like to attend one:

Vintage Books Live! - a virtual event on August 20th, at 7pm PT/9pm CT will feature several contributors, and I’ll be there as well to talk about the books beginnings. Join us for the live stream at the store’s YouTube channel!

And mark your calendars for October 21 if you have reason to be in the Minneapolis, MN area—Chris LaTray, Krissy Kludt, and I will be at Moon Palace Books at 6:30pm for a dialogue about the anthology, other recent work (Remember to order/bring your copy of Becoming Little Shell which is due out at the same time as Stories from the Trail and Chris can sign that one for you too…) and other things we’re thinking about at that point in the year. Event is in person, and Minneapolis is usually very lovely to visit in mid-October.