The first time I saw it, there was grass growing down the middle, it was rutted with 4x4 tire tracks from trucks that flew through the mud holes after a spring rain. barely wide enough for two cars to pass; one had to swerve into the brush on the side and motion for the other to come through.

We measure the seasons by it - waiting patiently each spring for the first green leaves to pop open with the promise of another summer. Each October, it is marked by fallen leaves, still clinging to the colors of another season passed.

In winter, it becomes the obstacle between us and the rest of the world. We wait for the snowplow driver to roar his way down, piling the snowbanks as high as the car windows by February. Once or twice each winter, everything turns to ice and we skate down its hills all the way to the lake.

I've traveled it so many times I know its hills and curves like an old friend. I measure time by the number of woodpecker holes and piles of wood chips at the bottom of the dead trees. I've walked it when I was angry, crying, frustrated, when I needed a break from motherhood. I've used it to leash train all our dogs and we had a few cats that would come along.

We've searched it for lost hunters, broke down truck drivers and stuck snowmobilers. I've trucked it with babies on my back, in wagons, on skis and in sleds. Those babies first taste of freedom came as teenagers on bikes as they traveled the curves and hills by themselves.

When I turn off the pavement and hit the sand and stones, I take a deep breath and let it out slow. I ease my foot off the accelerator. I slow down past the lake, taking in a sunset, some fishermen or a full moon reflected across the mirror surface. I head around the curves and up the hills into the woods, taking in the sweet scent of wild cherry blossoms in spring, or the fresh smell of the woods after a summer rain, or the unbelievable quiet of a winter's night.

Another deep breath...I know I'm on the road home.

Secluded, remote woods setting with huge oak trees. Owner built real log cabin. Deer and bear sittings are common.