One fall afternoon when I was 16, visiting Mohican State Park and using a tall walking stick from a tree branch, I hiked some of the most beautiful terrain in Ohio. I trekked at least ten miles, following marked trails and, in the deep wood, making my own. Late in the day I happened upon a tiny valley with a fallen tree a few yards from a narrow creek. There I sat, as the sun glinted through the trees and fell behind the hillside, leaving me in deep shadow. A magnificent moment.
Years later I retraced the Mohican landscape—this time in the hills and vales of memory. It took longer than hiking the actual foothills, but it led further; to the discovery of new ideas and insights.
