The Upside of Getting Lost

I was in the woods with my family and we'd lost our way. My phone was dead. It was getting dark. How could this possibly be a good thing?

- Liann Bobechko

I know my way around the woods pretty well.

I can walk the path to the lake near our house in the dark without a flashlight my feet know the way. Around my family's cabin in Ontario, there are more than 100 acres to explore, crossed by deer trails, creeks and valleys. I've been tromping over that land for my whole life, so it was a shock when I got lost last winter.

Late one bright, frigid afternoon in February, my two daughters, ages 9 and 12, my husband, Steve, and I strapped on our snowshoes and headed northwest from the house. While making our way up the long, gradual slope, we stopped to look at the convoluted trails of mice running between trees, to investigate lichen and bracket fungi, and to adjust the kids' snowshoes when they came loose.

As the shadows started to lengthen, we moved farther up, clambering around fallen trees. Weariness began to outpace enthusiasm. At the top of the ridge, we came to a stand of hemlock, where we discovered a couple of deer beds under the delicate branches.

When had the animals last been there? Would a fawn snuggle up on its own in a small spot or beside its mama in a big one? We knew there were wolves around; we'd seen the remains of their deer kill a few weeks earlier.

In the shade of the dense cover, our feet and fingers started to feel cold. We decided to head back, but rather than backtracking, we'd make a loop and trek down the steep side of the hill.

I had a general sense that ahead lay the creek that leads to the valley, so we trudged onward, trusting that the stream would funnel us to the road, where the going would be easier.

We made our way down the hillside, into the glow of dusk, leaping from boulders into the deep, powdery snow, shouting and laughing. We picked up sticks and became Jedi, exploring our way through a strange, frozen planet.