My Journey to the Trail

by K. Bos, 7.22.2021 updated

I grew up in Ohio with a little pond at the base of our backyard hill. In the fall, I ran around playing games like Kick-the-Can; in winter, I was a figure skater twirling over the ice; in the spring, a carpenter, building forts anywhere I could find; and in the summer, a swimmer who mostly sunbathed when not playing Hide-and-Go-Seek around the raft my dad built with the neighborhood dads.

There were no cell phones back then, so when I was not in school, watching Happy Days, or studying in my grandpa’s oversized stuffed chair, I spent all my time outdoors till the sun went down. I seem to remember my mom calling me to come in at dusk, but I stand corrected by my sister who says we came in on our own terms when it was too dark to see!

As I grew older, I never lost my love of movement, but slowly walking began to replace skating and the outdoor games. People often ask me if I still skate today and the answer is YES! — when I can. But, in truth, whenever I skate indoors, which is where most rinks are these days, I long to be out in nature.

As the years went by and we grew up, my sister moved to Colorado, and I moved away from Ohio, landing in Michigan, North Carolina, and Virginia. But I never lost my love of movement and play that we had as children, or the land that we called home.

By 1999, I was living in Charlottesville and had long since become a regular walker. I trekked through my neighborhood for three years till a friend in the neighborhood asked if I wanted to try out the Trail. I can remember being barely able to make it to the first bridge; I was weak from a health odyssey and did not have much stamina. After a few months, I could finally walk the winding bridges without feeling dizzy.

In 2001, my dad gave me a camera for Christmas, which ended up sitting in the box for over a year. With his prompting, I finally got it out and took some pictures. The first image I shot was of a bench on the Trail. When l realized that little point-and-shoot had a big heart and a good-enough lens, I knew I would be going back for a long time.

“The happiest people I know are those who are following the same likes they had when they were children…”

….Sharon Matola as told to Gregg Levoy, Callings.

I think I can prove him right. Out on the Trail, I often feel the same sense of joy I felt running through the evergreen forest or skating on my childhood pond. And I can frequently be caught in FASHION BOS attire and in the same kind of skirts I wore on ice. You are the fanciest dresser out here, people often say. I never felt the need to put on sweats to enter a forest. Actually, the exact opposite is true. I must arrive in suitable attire for the hundred-year old trees that line the path.

Every time I am out here, I see you, folks tell me. And I only come out every few months! they add. You must walk twice a day, don’t you? That is rare these days, but it does seem that I sync up with old friends and new ones over time.

Well, you know, you may sleep at your house, but this here is your home, one friend announced. And I like to think I have many guests stopping by.

Lately, I have been having a recurring vision of myself doing what is called, in yoga, the child’s pose. In the dream, I am nestled on the ground in front of the old trees near the path. I am sure the Trail in all its beauty has become my earth mother after the loss of my own mom in 2006. I have tried walking at other parks, but it’s as if some kind of homing instinct always leads me back.

Some 16,000+ miles later, walking almost daily for the past 19 years (with the longest lapse being 3 months during quarantine), I am grateful I have a place I can call home.

With deepest gratitude, I want to thank the Foundation for the Saunders-Monticello Trail and the joy, beauty, friendship, and creative inspiration it has brought me over so many years. I hope the words and images in this site reflect my appreciation.

All photographs above and on this site, unless otherwise noted, are by Karrie Bos.

Courtesy of the Thomas Jefferson Foundation at Monticello.