Robert Frost portrayed spring as a fleeting, beautiful and deeply spiritual season. He wanted people to appreciate the moment and not worry about the future. Frost was known for his poems and writing about spring. He found the awakening world to be his inspiration to enjoy life.

For myself, springtime of the year is when I like to take my camera into the woods and photograph the fresh green colors of the trees with their new leaves. The floor of the forest under the green canopy is alive with wildflowers. Indian Paintbrushes, Dutchman’s Breeches, Trilliums and small violets, flowers I call Johnny-Jump-Ups in colors of blue, yellow and white. My return to the springtime woods has always reminded me of my youth growing up in Wetzel County.

Back in the sixties, the kids in my neighborhood often went exploring as a passage to our world of imagination. In those days it was exploring if we had not been there in the last couple of days. Maybe kids today still go exploring in magical hidden places in Wetzel County, or perhaps hand held games, motorized scooters and TV with one hundred and fifty cable channels have replaced those walks in hidden places. I guess growing up in a place called Circle Drive, we figured Indians or maybe Lewis Wetzel had walked barefoot in those secret hideaways we had found in the nearby deep woods.

Like most kids, we figured the youngest members of the neighborhood were going to ruin all our fun if they tagged along with us older kids. If we got the chance we would run off and leave them behind as they went to tell our Mothers. We figured no sense in dragging little kids along that would start crying if an Indian or bear would jump out from behind a tree. This was true if we were going exploring in a place we knew as Rock Run. It was deep in the woods far from civilization, but we could still hear our parents if they wanted us to come home.

The springtime of the year was always a great time to go on a trek in the big woods. You could wade through spring fed streams, cold and clear, still running fast from the winter snows. Under rocks at the stream’s edge, were colorful spring lizards. Each one’s colors were uniquely different. Some with black shiny bodies, some with yellow spots or red with white spots. Their small delicate bodies felt cold as we held them gently in our warm hands. They would wiggle and squirm trying to escape until you place them back on the ground next to the cold stream.

We would climb around waterfalls and try to see what hidden things might be under the falls… could it be a passage to a world yet undiscovered? Often we would sit on green moss covered rocks that felt soft and velvety and talk about the world as kids could only see it.

The woods would take on that special green color when the sunlight is filtered through the new leaves of the tall Oak trees. Even today it is hard to believe the gray colors of winter can change into a lush green forest.

Sometimes we found large stands of wild flowers called May Apples. ‘May Apples’ have two stems that reach up with large round leaves on each stem. In the center of the plant is a white flower that turns into a small round fruit called a May Apple. In those days our imaginations told us they looked like small creatures coming up from the ground with their two arms held up over their heads trying to scare us away. To us kids they were May Apple Trolls, creatures we had to vanquish to protect our secret world. Each of us would find a stick and magically turn it into a sword, and valiantly fend off their savage attack. Our imaginary swords would fill the silent woods with swishing sounds as they cut through the still air.

Sometimes we just sat there in the green woods, and listened to the waterfalls and the sounds of the birds in the trees. Somehow it seemed we were in a secret place only kids could find. Then in the distance we would hear my Mom whistle, that was the signal that it was time to return home for the day. My Mom’s whistle has called more kids home to eat than any dinner bell ever could.

Several years ago I wondered what had happened to our secret woods we had found so many years ago. So, on a warm day, Mary and I returned to that place where as a kid, I would let my imagination find wonderful hidden places. As I walked down the path to find the secret world of my youth, I soon realized time, and progress had been there. The big green woods of my youth were gone. The great trees had been cut down and turned into building materials for homes. Long gone were the towering Oaks that were the green guardians of the quiet woods. The soft green light that filtered through the leaves was now replaced with the hot sun shining down on a forest floor, brown and barren soil. No longer did the soft moss grow on the rocks alongside the streambed. The bright sun was too hot for the soft green growth to survive. Weeds now grew tall and thick where the spring flowers had dominated the hillsides so many years ago. Gone were the Indian Paintbrushes, Dutchman’s Breeches, Trilliums and Johnny-Jump-Ups. The quiet silence of the woods is broken by the sound of a weed eater humming in the distance.

What of the May Apple Trolls we vanquished so many years ago? They are no longer in the place of my youth, reaching up to welcome my return. They have long since gone on to other secret places and left me with only their memory. Perhaps somewhere tinted by soft green light, filtered by the leaves of the tall oak trees, is a warm, hidden valley where young explorers can find joy and memories, as we did so long ago in Wetzel County. So, this spring when I take my camera to the woods, and raise it to my eye, I hope to glimpse the lost world of my childhood, as I look through the lens.