It is a funny thing how often people find me and ask if I’m on the ADT when I’m not. I rerouted around the dirt trails because of the rain and found myself talking to a man named Troy in the middle of the road. He was incredibly excited to find another hiker and reminisced about the last hiker he’d met. He told me he lived up the road and that he’d love to hear more of my stories if I had time to spare. He gave me brief directions on what house was his and drove off. His excitement was contagious and I was determined to find his house but experience told me that it never is as simple as it should be. I walked up the hill and looked around. He said he’d be waiting on the porch but all the porches were unoccupied. There was a fork in the road ahead of me and I vaguely remembered Troy’s directions. All I could remember was driveway on the left, green something.., and don’t go down the hill you’d normally go down. The road name changed if I went straight, which didn’t seem right, so I wandered down the hill on the right side of the fork. I didn’t see a familiar looking car so I went back up the hill and asked a man if he knew Troy. Nope. I couldn’t give up, I was too darn excited. I turned around and then walked straight at the left fork. The houses were further a part and I told myself if after I checked the first house on both sides of me and still had no luck then I’d turn around and keep walking my route. Still no luck. I turned around and started walking back, defeated, but then I saw Troy driving towards me. He came to rescue me from my misdirection! Through his windshield I could see him shaking his head and laughing. All I could say was that I was determined to find his house and needed to explore all my options. He wanted me to 
meet his family so he drove me back to his house, one house further down the hill than I’d walked, where I was greeted by a dog the size of a horse, a great dane/mastiff mix. I presented his kids with a riddle: if there are two fathers and two sons fishing and they each catch a fish, how are there only three fish?? Don’t worry, I won’t ruin the fun by telling you the answer. As the evening grew nearer, a thunderstorm rolled across the sky and it soon began to rain. Troy generously offered me a place to stay for the night and I was fortunate to evade the rain.
I was warned of the heroine epidemic of nearby towns and how the bigger city just 10 miles away had a large missing female population. Luckily, I wasn’t headed in that direction. I walked through the rain and avoided dirt trails. I saw no need to slip and slide in the mud trying to traverse a hill. I walked until dusk and decided to approach an older woman that had just arrived home. As I walked up the long driveway I called to her, “Excuse me, ma’am.” She couldn’t hear me. I called to her several more times before she finally turned around. I asked to camp in her yard but she looked distraught. She proceeded to tell me that the house was her son’s and she was only there to grab a few things before she went back to the hospital. Her son had just been in a car accident. My heart sank. I didn’t want to trouble her with anything extra but she said she thought it’d be alright. She’d try to let her son and his wife know I was there. Her only request was that I moved further away from the house and closer to the cemetery. Easily done. Before I walked toward the tree line, I told her I’d pray for her son. I saw her spirit raise slightly as she told me thank you and “that’s all we can do.” I pitched my tent next to a small wooded area, blocking the view of my tent from the road but leaving it exposed on the otherside. I prepared dinner and noticed a black SUV parked in the cemetery parking lot. I had an inkling that I’d get a visit from the police sooner rather than later. Next thing I knew, two police SUV’s were driving down the field toward my tent. I calmly got up from my things to greet them but also gave them distance. One of them asked for my identification and why I was walking. As I began to answer he smoothly turned on his body camera. My train of thought was lost and I became distracted with my thoughts of wondering what I sounded like on the video. After they deemed me harmless, the one told me that this situation was definitely not what he expected. His body language had became more friendly and open and he briefly told me a little bit about his journey purposefully being homeless in Arkansas for 2 months. I had so many questions to ask him but he had no time for conversations. The rest of the night I wasn’t bothered by anyone but I could see car headlights driving through the cemetery and knew they were investigating me. I felt bad because I knew the police were continuously being called about me and I didn’t want to waste their time or energy.
My tent was soaking wet. All the rain had froze during the night and the beautiful, sunny morning was melting it. I decided to check my route once more before I left and I had a new idea. Instead of walking to the next town the ADT would take me through, I looked at a direct route to Sinking Springs. I had grown frustrated with the Buckeye Trail shenanigans and random loops so when Google maps showed it was 26 miles, I didn’t think twice. The first thing that popped into my head was, “I can do that.” So, I started walking and for roughly eight and a half hours I dodged cars, fought the wind, and kept moving. I’d plop on the ground to rest and note my dehydration. I knew that once I got to my destination I could take care of my needs. With a limp on my right side, from the continuous uneven walking on pavement, I walked into town to the dollar store to resupply. I could pee, hydrate, resupply, and ask for a location to set up my tent. The women at the counter were lively and welcoming. When I paid, I inquired about a place to camp and the man behind me in line said I could set up in his yard. Problem solved. The man was rough looking but I wasn’t concerned. I’d observed his interactions with the women that worked there and they seemed to know him. The women were around my age and they were joking with him and seemed perfectly at ease with the idea of me setting up on his lawn. With that, I waited until he paid to introduce myself to him. His name was Donny. He drove us about a mile out of town where he introduced me to his cats and dogs and told me I could set up anywhere on the property. I wanted to watch the sunset so I chose the top of a small mound and got lost looking into the horizon. Donny had work to do so I only briefly got to talk to him but he gave me the low down on everything. There was an eighteen foot black snake that lived on the property that had been there before he moved there. It was harmless and probably wouldn’t adventure to where my tent was set up. He informed me that there was a neighboring woman in her 70’s that checked up on him and watched over his property. If I saw her in the morning, I should tell her that he knew I was there. Then, he told me he was proud of what I was doing. It felt good to hear that. I wanted to learn more about his story but as I said before, he had work to do. I went back to my mound and listened to the birds and felt the sun’s warmth on my skin. I went to sleep excited for a relaxing, peaceful morning.
“Who’s in there?!” were the confrontational words I woke up to at 7am. I was confused and disoriented. That wasn’t Donny’s voice, he had already gone to work. I then remembered the older woman he’d mentioned, his “guardian angel.” I told her Donny knew I was there and she went off on a thousand accusatory questions. “How do you know Donny?” “And he was just okay letting a random person on his lawn?” She immediately let me know I wasn’t welcome, the complete opposite thing Donny had told me the night before. She yelled at me that she was going to inform the sheriff and that I needed to be gone. The only thing I could muster up, in a pleading tone, to say was “Please talk to Donny first.” I heard a truck engine start and drive off. I sat there in my tent, crying, while beginning to pack up my things. The whole interaction had occurred while I was in my tent. I never unzipped the rain fly and the woman knew nothing about me, only my voice. I was grateful however that she knew not to cross the boundary of touching my property, my livelihood, my home. I was upset and angry. I had permission to be there, I was welcomed, and Donny was proud of my journey. Yet, my existence infuriated her. I sat outside my tent and made breakfast. Obstinance grew within me. I would take as long as I needed to to get ready. A truck drove back on to the property and parked. Another truck pulled into the driveway and a man got out to talk to the woman. They talked for a few minutes and then the man left and she walked back over to me. I tried to hide that I’d been crying. I had to be strong because I knew more verbal abuse was coming. As she walked onto my mound I told her, “Good morning.” She ignored me and immediately said, “You think this is cute? You want everyone to notice what you’re doing? Because they are and it isn’t cute.” I tried to defend myself in the beginning but I knew she was set in her opinions so I simply responded with, “Okay.” A part of me wanted to push her buttons and make her more livid but I opted to not be reactive and to try to be kind to her. She tried to take blows at me from every direction and it seemed she couldn’t decide what she wanted to insult: the nomadic lifestyle or the fact that a woman was doing it. “I know people like you.” “Some of us work for a living.” Before she left for the second time, she made sure to tell me that she’d notified the sheriff and warned me “to not go back that way,” as she pointed to the acreage that Donny said he didn’t care if I went on. With one final statement, “I’ll be watching you,” she jumped back in her truck and drove away. As I continued to pack my things she reappeared in her truck and sat and waited. Watching me. As I left the property, I waved goodbye to her as she stared at me through the rearview mirror. I was upset and felt drained. The people in town were kind and I wouldn’t let the livid, old woman ruin my perception of that. I knew her heart was in the right place; it just wasn’t on my side. 
Despite the evening, I was eager to get to the Serpent Mound (one of the major, historical mounds). I had been walking for over a week with this one destination in mind yet when I got there I was disappointed. I walked the lap around the mound and climbed the watch tower but the visitor center was closed along with all the information about the mound. I did what I knew how to do and I kept walking. I decided to skip a hundred mile loop of the Buckeye Trail and head straight for Batavia. I was low spirited and hurting but I kept walking. As I walked down a back road, a family said they saw me walking earlier and asked if I’d like to join them for lunch. Heck yea! Bean and ham soup with corn bread. Pat and Bill lived at the house and they had family visiting them. I got to see the joyous interactions surrounding the baby and I realized that the love around me was helping to rejuvenate me. Bill brought out his county maps and began brainstorming what route he thought was best to take. Even though I had my route planned, I embraced the joy that he received from looking at the maps. He reminded me of Papa Smurf and when we all went to bed he yelled to the entire household goodnight. He said it individually to each family member: his wife, the dog, the cat, and then there was my name. “Goodnight, Amanda.”