Heather Thomas

One of them I was pretty sure had been gnawed on, that it was impossible to read all the words.

We passed a nurse log with three little saplings, and my mom gave her usual reaction, a cloying smile.

A nurse log is a fallen tree that starts to rot, and seedlings take root there to get a boost up closer to sunlight, and to gobble nutrients from the decaying wood.

My mom, who is a nurse, very much views herself as my perfectly nurturing life giver.

I know she is hoping that one of these days I'll break down and compare her to a nurse log.

I give my own usual reaction, which is to roll my eyes.

I'd be more likely to offer a different botanical comparison.

She's more like a stringler fig vine.

Or maybe a kudzu.

As far as the nurse log, there's a lesson I take from that, too.

Get a jump on the competition by pillaging the bones of the dead.

After the nurse log, we kept heading generally uphill, looking for a campground called Drake Plateau that was supposed to be a few miles in.

I thought we'd come across more intact signs.

But eventually we realized that we didn't know where we were going, and we should probably go back to the car and try to find a trail map.

Then we realized we didn't know how to get back to the car either.

The trail that we thought we were taking back down petered out altogether.

I didn't start to get really worried until we pulled out our compasses.

They didn't agree, and the direction needle spun lazily around in a slow circle while I was standing still.

This mountain didn't like us any better than the passing drivers did.

Not sure what else to do, we started walking again, and then we came to a rushing brook, and we were both relieved to see a man sitting on the edge of it.