We walk down a different path or wade in a new creek or drive up to the top of the mountain on a different road. Stretching our legs further and further away from the front door.
If we walked far enough on the trail that crosses behind our house we'd end up in Quebec. Except we can't walk too far in that direction because it's bear season (BEARS!) so we stop at the bridge and then walk the other way. But this winter, when the bears (ACK! BEARS!) are hibernating, we can snowshoe our way to Canada. Or at least past the bridge.
They run and run.
And by they I mean the kids and the dog, who, thankfully, found a stream or three to plunge into after meeting up with this mudhole. They run and yell and whoop. In fact, I'm betting that the bears have hightailed it north for some peace and quiet by now.
