Yesterday’s walk was through the woods with two young hikers, ages 6 and 4. They could almost match their grandparents’ strides but they wanted to stop a lot, especially by the creek.

Our first stream bed foray was early on, when they begged to jump down and see the water. We complied, and found it dry enough to follow the bed for a few paces, dodging the few wet patches. We noted the bedrock and the roots of a giant oak, now exposed by erosion.

After finding a convenient way up to dry ground, we tramped along the path, looking for deer, which were strangely absent — probably at our house nibbling ground cover. The children waved their sticks and chatted so loudly that I’m sure all the forest animals were hiding, having heard us coming a mile away.

Our second dip down the creek’s bank came after we discovered a new plank bridge and tap-danced on it. This was a larger tributary, with plenty of water for stirring and even a sandy bottom, near where tadpoles swim in spring.

When we made the turn for home, their grandfather and I were more grateful than they were. Their energy seems unlimited, ours is not.