hippie shack

Down my road, an old dirt road, there is a cool place. I go there rarely, to keep it special. here's how to get there… 

there is a bridge on my road that crosses over the old Flute Reed River, a small river, well known among the locals. It snakes about our tiny town, crossing my road three times before it finally dumps itself into Lake Superior. Most of us have to cross it a few times just to get anywhere.

Before you cross the bridge, turn right, and you will come upon an old CCC camp. An old stone wall runs on the edge of a clearing for about fifty fee. Off to the right of the clearing, someone planted rows of spruces long ago, now tall and ancient. To the left, there is a path that runs along the Flute Reed for a ways, then turns slowly off to the right. before long, there is a path on the left of the main trail, among the bushes. It goes steeply down, crosses a brook, then goes steadily up for a ways. 

Part of the way down the trail, there is a gated path on the left. That path leads to a different place with a different story...
 To the right, across from the gated path, there is an even smaller trail. Coincidentally, the gated path takes the attention off of the hidden path, and even if you were to notice it, you could easily mistake it for a deer path.

This trail is short. Cross a stream, go under the young birch that is quite living, but been bent over the trail in an arch. There is a faded, broken child’s toy, a tiny motorcycle, on a pile of dirt. You can tell that it was once red, but it is now a pale pinkish orange. If you weren’t looking for the old van through the thick trees, you would miss it and keep going a little further, until you came to the “hippie shack.”

hippie van:

                                                                       
                                                                            hippie shack:

Who knows who once lived here? There are some small hints as to what type of people they were. The toy, a poster of Ringo Starr, some books that explore a wide variety of profound subjects.

I’m sure some people do know who lived here, but I don’t really want to know, unless it’s as romantic as I like to imagine that it is. This place is probably not as secret as like to think, but a girl can dream.