The green sign labeled “Fillmore County” stuck out among the low-hanging gray clouds as mist floated in the air. A horse and buggy clopped down a gravel road parallel to the highway. Although I had no concrete evidence, I had a suspicion that we had entered the great state of Minnesota. Sure enough, a wooden Minnesota-shaped “Welcome to Minnesota” sign presented itself a few miles down the road. As though the sign manifested change, the scenery had switched from flat cornfields and tall, icy oaks to rolling hills and thick pines. 

 

“Another 30 minutes of driving and we’ll be there,” I confirmed with Anna. Our final stop of the day was Forestville State Park in Minnesota. Per Google, it had hilly hikes, thick forests, and even a cave. I had never traveled to Minnesota before, but even in the first five minutes of driving, the change intrigued me. How could two bordering states contrast so greatly? I thought. And how did I let myself go so long without coming here?

 

Anna’s direction-giving led us astray, but we located the park after a few wrong turns. A large downhill took us to the entrance. We set out in search of Maple Ridge Trail, the supposed largest and most luscious route in the area, according to user reviews. Ten minutes of curvy roads later, we stumbled upon the trailhead. We entered the trail and followed the markers for nearly a quarter mile until they suddenly disappeared.

 

The path transformed from wide limestone to narrow dirt. The brush poked at our feet, and the wind tickled our faces. A “Caution: Bears” sign lined the side of the path, making my heart skip a beat. As if on cue, a branch snapped a few feet to my right, and I jumped in fear. This couldn’t be the large and luscious trail we were promised, I thought. Judging by Anna’s puzzled glance at me, she thought the same thing. After walking the narrow segment for a while, we approached a crossroads.

 

“This wasn’t supposed to be on the Maple Ridge Trail,” I informed Anna. We checked the map again. To our astonishment, we were nearly a mile from the trailhead. 

 

“We walked the wrong way!” Anna exclaimed. How on Earth did we get lost? I wondered.  We’re four hours from home. What if we stay lost? With the weight of confusion and defeat on our shoulders, we retraced our steps back to the original trailhead.

 

For the next thirty minutes, we bickered and contemplated where the actual trailhead was. During those thirty minutes, we discovered residential cabins, a campground, two dead squirrels, and an amphitheater. Yet, we still hadn’t located the trailhead after all that time.

 

Suddenly, Anna yelled, “Over here!”

 

Sure enough, Anna had found marker thirteen, the spot that signified the beginning of Maple Ridge Trail, according to the perplexing map. I swung my head to the right to glace up the trail. A half-mile climb waited for us menacingly, straight uphill with no clear end. Although I was confident about the hike up, I hesitated a bit. Anna loved to hike with me, but she’d never done any hill like this. I turned to face her. 

 

“Do you really want to do this?”

 

“Duh, of course,” she said. “I didn’t drive four hours just to look at a trail. We’re going to hike it.”

 

We began climbing the steep slope. Unlike the first trail, Maple Ridge provided stable footing, a wide path, and clear trail markers. Ten minutes later, we finally reached the top of the hill. We paused for a moment to catch our breath. Our quads screamed and our calves ached.

 

Anna tapped my shoulder, mustered some oxygen, and gasped, “Look!”

 

I faced the vast forest in front of me. Beautiful brown maple trees towered over us. A creek sloshed and flowed with the breeze. Birds who forgot to migrate south chirped at the beauty of the forest. I couldn’t believe I had never made it to this incredible state. Although it bordered Iowa, I never made the time or plans to visit. Why don’t people explore the world around them? I wondered. It’s so vast and diverse and beautiful.

 

Half a mile later, we reached the end of the path. From the forest, a few white flowers peeked out from the brush, as though offering a glimmer of hope for the cold winter. The ice-cold creek flowed loudly, greeting and congratulating us for finding our way. We spent time touching the cool water, walking across the creek, and snapping pictures. We cherished the gorgeous scenery around us for a while before heading back. 

 

When we reached the car and began heading home, Anna and I reflected on our day. The thrill of exploration overpowered us. As we exited the Land of 10,000 Lakes, we promised to come back to explore and adventure even more.

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