Time Outdoors: A late-summer day’s dream

It was a perfect late-August afternoon. Bright and warm, with no humidity. Outside, the blues and greens of the sky and the trees seemed extra sharp and crisp. Alone in the house, I stared at my computer. My daughters were at White Pond with my wife, enjoying their last day of summer vacation.

All over Acton, pencil cases were being labeled and new backpacks tried on. The first day of school was standing by — bells poised to ring with precision the next morning, signaling the end of another summer break. Camp and fireflies and family time giving way to wake-up routines and bus schedules and packing lunches and soccer practice.

After an “Are you coming?” call and distracting myself by wandering out to check on the tomatoes a couple times, I gave in. With a towel in my basket, I pedaled off toward White Pond.

Riding my bike makes me feel young again. Time slips away, and I am free. The air parts for me as I pedal along — not knowing if I am 6 or 56. Childhood memories seem to rise up and merge with the present, as a vague feeling of flying takes over. Gliding along, it feels glorious.

From our house, the route takes me through the Thoreau School neighborhood and then down Pine Street over the Assabet, to access the rail trail. The road down to the river is steep enough to get the adrenaline flowing. I change the gears and pedal hard, building momentum. As I cross the Assabet at full speed, I glance to my right.

A moment in time

The scene flashes by in an instant, but I catch all the details, because I know what I am looking at — like a glitch that stops time and allows me to take in every aspect of the moment.

A blue bike is lying in the tall grass on the riverbank, dropped by its owner in the excitement of arrival.

The river bottom itself is stunning, with deep greens and browns and logs scattered about. A boy is fishing and has just finished a cast. The ripples of the hook and bobber landing are spreading. Water like glass holds reflections of blue sky and a lush green overcanopy.

I know this boy — this scene. By himself and feeling invincible. No one to instruct or guide or tell him what to do. Alone on his adventure, free to explore and make mistakes and learn from the magical world of that place he’d discovered. Deer tracks in the mud, worms under the rocks, the tug of a sunfish on a fishing rod tended and maintained and understood by the boy. His fishing rod.

I was him once and connected instantly with the power and beauty of what he was likely feeling and seeing and doing, literally as it flashed by. It was something about the way he was standing, still and intent that conveyed some of this. My memories of being young and free rushed back from the past and filled in any missing details of the glimpse I got.

Cornfields and lily pads

I crested the hill and turned on Upland, breathing hard from the effort. As I biked toward the cool waters of White Pond, I smiled at the sight of the boy and marveled at the beauty of our town.

Cornfields soon bracketed the bike path, and then the life-filled lily pad swamp near the new middle school. Up the slight hill toward Powdermill Road, the maples and oaks took back over, the air cooling and light becoming mottled.

Past neat houses and lawns, before yet another field of pumpkins and corn on the corner. The land unburdened by homes, tilled and sown, as it has been for centuries. The rich soil of Musketaquid still giving us farm-to-table bounty.

And finally, the pond itself. Clear and the water “silky” smooth, with access paid for and well maintained by the town, by us. Swimming in a kettle pond like White Pond is an almost spiritual experience after a bike ride on a warm day.

I find my girls, and we play for a while. I tell them I’m swimming out, and I find myself floating, looking up at the high cirrus clouds. By keeping my ears underwater, I can hear my breathing, and I focus on it.

I flip through the pages of my life — the decisions that brought me here, to this place, in this present moment. I picture the boy by the river, and I am thankful I looked over at that instant and that there are still wild places nearby that children can ride bikes to and feel free. And parents that let them.

To walk the open fields and meadows of Acton. To sit deep in the woods and watch and listen and feel calm in a mixed-up world. To ride your bike and see the trees and the sky and feel the wind and the rush of excitement as you fly down a hill. To float in a pond and listen to your own breathing. To sit by a river and cast a line. The freedom you feel in those moments is nature’s gift. And it never gets old.

Wilson Kerr lives in Acton and is an avid outdoorsman and amateur naturalist. This monthly column is written to help grow awareness of the wonders of nature. In this increasingly fast-paced and technology-packed world, it is important to stop and take in the beauty of our area and the animals that inhabit it. The author hopes this column will be read by families and used as a teaching tool and that you will spend more … Time Outdoors.