Wisconsin 1 Step at a Time

...We were walking out of this little park and heading for the Elementary School on the side street when it happened. I saw a storm grate in the grass and was keeping a wary eye on it to make sure it didn't run out in front of me. It was a beautiful yet already very warm morning with no fog to obscure my sight. The grass was a nice dark and healthy green and was probably due for a cut. Carri was walking just to my left while that sneaky storm grate lay like a snake in the grass. I kept watching that predatory grate while I made my way to the left of it. I was giving it a wide berth passing at least 2 yards away from it. Concentrating a little too much on not being trapped by the obvious yet quite sneaky grate. The next moments blur together but I can recreate them in my mind almost exactly as they happened. My left foot began to sink. There was a round drop off hiding in the grass, about 5 inches or so around and maybe 3 inches deep. Almost any other person in the world would have either missed it completely or caught less or more of it so they would walk over it just fine. I on the other hand completely dropped into the hole with the front half of my foot. Since I was watching the grate this was a complete surprise. As my foot sank my balance was thrown off causing my knee to begin buckling forward. The foot was stuck in the hole so the ankle had no way out. I felt snap after snap after snap (Those who've fallen this way know exactly what I'm saying) in both the knee and the ankle as I not so gently crashed to the ground. There I was on the ground instantly knowing the vacation was over.

...One unforgettable walk was through the neighborhood where my Dad grew up. We started out at East Washington Avenue, a few blocks down from the capitol square. Two huge peacocks were there, strutting their stuff as we walked by, heading to Orton Park. These metal birds were at least fifteen feet tall and actually didn’t move at all when we went by.

Soon we found ourselves in front of the memory filled house on Rutledge Street, where many stories flowed out of Dad’s mind for us to share. His memories of his childhood home were strong and created more and more ideas about his history there. We probably stood in front of the house for ten minutes, pointing and musing about the home. It was surprising that nobody tried to chase us off, thinking we were crazy folk or simply casing the place. We crossed the bridge at my granddad’s favorite fishing spot, to reach Clemmons Avenue where the next house of interest stopped us. At one time, it had been Mom and Dad’s first home and, as such, really brought out the stories. We got to hear about the undertaker who owned the home next to the “suicide” beach, where kids kept drowning. We also heard about the Midwest’s Number One Safecracker, who had enough dynamite in his garage and basement to level the neighborhood, if it went off.

...The fun hike became a survival contest because we had no idea what difficulty might lie ahead, and also no idea how much farther it was back to the normal walking trail. If in fact we were still heading towards it.

Megan went up ahead to scout, as I struggled a little getting over some tree roots. She wanted to get an idea how much farther we had to go, however, she couldn’t see the end. Then the route disappeared, it had been a tough climb but until then we could tell where to go. There were several directions we could go in but nothing was obviously the correct direction. The trail had meandered to the left and the right up until now, so we were not sure if it was going that way now or straight ahead. I called out to her, “Where’s the trail Megan?” And we shared a very nervous laugh. There was some low brush scattered about, some downed trees strewn around, but mostly it was an open forest floor. Suddenly we were lost on the Ridge Trail.