I am standing in my driveway in the dark. The moon is not yet up. The evening is pushing past 10pm. I’m here because I’ve been waiting for the stars to come back into view since they’ve been hidden by what seems like endless days of clouds and rain.

I have always been an outside person. I had a job once that required me to work in a tiny 10×10 office with no windows. Shuffling paper piles. Talking on the phone. Pushing a pen. I lasted 5 months. I lasted that long only because I hate to quit something I start. But I quit, and I left good money to go cut grass and dig holes for a living.

Being outside is better for me, and the dividends can sometimes mean more than the money.

If you missed it last night, you should have seen the sky. Brilliant. Majestic. Inspirational. Orion was flashing his sword. Cassiopeia was pointing toward the Andromeda Galaxy. The seven sisters of Pleiades were dancing to the sway of the universe.

I even stepped outside early this morning to catch a view of the Big Dipper. It was hidden below the tree line last night. Before dawn, it was standing tall and high and proud. This is the one celestial shape I could recognize when I was a boy. It didn’t require as much imagination as the other constellations. As a Tenderfoot, I learned the two stars in the Dipper that point to the North Star.

I used to spend hours out under the night sky by myself. Not just on clear nights. Not just to look at the stars. But just to be “out there.” A young boy out for a walk to see what might be discovered.

I had a little red kerosene lantern like the one Timmy would use to follow Lassie into the abandoned mine looking to save the day. I’d raise the globe, light the wick, and I’d be gone.

The world is different by lantern light. Even familiar places take on a whole other face when you see it by the light of a flame. The dark gets tangled up in the light that dances at the edge of its reach. Your own shadow looms large against the trees as you pass by. A bubble of yellow glow floats along with you as you walk across the pasture.

I think of my ancestors who coon hunted by lantern light. I only heard a few stories, the details of which escape me now, but the images I created in my mind to go along with those stories stay with me. At times they worked in the fields all day and stayed in the woods all night.

When a man walks at night, he cannot see much with his eyes, but he sees completely with his mind. When he hears his dogs come up on a scent, he can tell if it’s a cold trail or a fresh one. By the sound he can tell which one bellows first and which one follows. He can “see” them on the slope beyond the creek they call Walker Branch. He knows by instinct where his dogs will head next, and he walks off in a direction the dogs have not yet gone toward.

By lantern light, they cross fences. They saunter through pastures in no hurry because the dogs are quiet. They cannot see very far at all. The darkness absorbs the light right ahead of each step, but they can see far enough to place a foot on a flat stone to get across the creek.

Sometimes they stop to be quiet and listen. Hoping to hear a hard and loud bellow. But the dogs remain quiet. What they do hear is the world around them. The peepers are out after a spring rain. Two owls converse from across the hillside.

They kneel beside the creek to cup their hands and take a drink. The lantern sits on an old stump. They talk in whispers.

“It’s gonna be chilly by morning.”

“Let’s go over by the old Whitfield place and get out of this wind for a spell.”

The old farm has been abandoned since old man Whitfield died nearly ten years ago. They spent many a day here when their dads and Mr. Whitfield farmed together.

They build a fire by the old well house to warm themselves.

Though the night around them is dark, they know how to find everything in their minds. The house facing the road. The barn and feed lot. The old garden spot. The steps to the back porch. The outlines are hidden, so their memories become their eyes.

What I gathered from the old stories is that being out in the woods at night was not so much about the hunting, as it was about being free and feeling alive. To get to know the sounds and smells. To be able to identify where you are with very little to go on. To know that it’s possible to get lost on your own farm if a fog moves in. To remember those who walked the old path before you. To appreciate those who walk it with you.

Sometimes a man takes a walk to get somewhere. There’s a place he needs to be, and he heads out with a purpose to his step and direction. The destination is the only goal.

Sometimes a man takes a walk just to remember he’s alive. To meander along a creek or to pass through a stand of old growth trees is to connect, at some level, with his soul. To be quiet in the woods is to hear a familiar Small Voice. A walk of this kind is like a drink of fresh water from a deep well.

I would take my little red lantern and walk down to the lake beyond the second pasture. I walked slowly. Maybe I’d pick up a rock and hurl it off into the dark just to hear it hit something. Close to the lake I might find a frog. At the shoreline, we had a boulder of a rock that stood over the water maybe four feet. I would sometimes go there and sit.

The world would fold in around me.

I miss that.

I think a person ought to just go out sometime and talk a walk. I’m not talking about exercising. I’m not talking about hiking some 5-mile trail so you can be an outdoorsman. I’m not talking about counting your steps so your watch will make you feel appreciated.

I’m talking about what I’ve heard another person call communion.

A good aimless walk in the woods away from the trails and away from responsibilities has a way of clearing the mind and reminding us of what matters. Very little talking. Just listening. Absorbing. Acknowledging. Resetting. Enjoying.

My ancestors would never have said it like this. They were coon hunting. But this is what they did. It was the way they lived.

Me? I need a good walk. I don’t have to go in the dark.

But I still have that little red lantern just in case.