Though Northwood was part of the city, and featured row homes, it had a suburban feel to it. This was because there were plenty of open areas surrounding the houses. There were several fields and small tree lined parks within walking distance of our home. Eventually houses took over some of them, but a few are still there today.

The best undeveloped area, for our gang, was the woods. The woods served to divide an older section of Northwood from us, the new guys in town. It wasn’t very wide, maybe a quarter mile at most. It was perhaps around two miles long, though the part we traveled was less than a mile. The stream that ran through its center also varied in width, but for most of its length one could wade across it without getting their knees wet.

Though the center of the woods was quite level, years of erosion had taken a toll on its sides. To gain entry to almost any part of the woods you needed to negotiate a steep incline. The safest way to do this was to scuttle down crab-like on your butt. But if you were unfortunate enough to be caught attempting that maneuver, at the very least you were likely to have an unflattering nickname for the remainder of your adolescence.

So we would tackle the hill in a dignified upright position, knowing full well that by the time we reached the bottom we’d be running ungainly, arms flailing, just trying to keep our balance.

Once the woods leveled out, there was much to explore. On the northern side, near the entry point, was an impressive swampy area. We mostly avoided this territory for obvious reasons. Occasionally one of the guys would attempt to navigate it only to get bogged down in the muck. It was always easy to spot the kid who dared to explore the swamp. His legs would be muddy and quite often he’d be missing a tennis shoe. Most of us were content enough to stay on the trail that led from the incline to the stream. 

Once at the stream, the options seemed endless. You could head upstream, where the woods and the stream widened out, or you could venture downstream, where the stream was shallow enough in spots to bathe in (if you wanted to risk a tetanus shot).

The problem with hiking upstream was that it wasn’t long before the woods came to an abrupt undignified end at a large storm drain. However, if you went downstream, the woods seemed to go on forever. I can’t recall ever walking to the end of the woods in that direction. I seem to remember that something in the unfamiliar territory would always spook us into turning back before we got that far.

Sometimes we’d venture into the woods for an hour or two, but usually, during the summer, we’d make a day of it. Lunches were packed, mothers were given instructions on the distribution of our comic books and baseball cards should tragedy strike, Band-Aids were stuffed in pants pockets, and off we’d go into the warm morning sun.

The woods was also a fascinating place at night. Our night expeditions were always short. Invariably something would happen that would scare us to the degree that we would be sent scurrying up the hill to the well lit streets. Sometimes a well told ghost story would do the trick. At other times we’d see things. Small glowing lights dancing around the swamp were regular occurrances at night and moving shadows lurked everywhere. Nor was it uncommon to hear strange animal like noises. One night our gang heard a howling sound in the distance that served to quickly send us packing, vowing that we’d never return.

During the cold winter months, the woods rarely drew our attention. Sometimes after a heavy snowfall we’d hike through it, and a couple of the hills were used for sledding.

But the woods was first and foremost a summer escape. Like a thoughtful friend, it would always be patient enough to hold its surprises until then.