Fair Hill Nature Center was had always seemed a world apart; when you crossed the road bordering my warren-like, wooded neighborhood and then ducked the brush that lined the other side, like ducking coats in the wardrobe, and emerged into vibrant, open space. From that entrance out of the brush you stood along a well-trod dirt path that wound through an enormous field that rose and fell gently. Going left on the path sent you into woods filled with switchbacks and a trail that snaked up and down a series of hills. The one time my friends and I attempted it while out running, we emerged from the other side of the woods at a fork in the road uncertain which trail to take and chose the center, which turned out not to be an actual trail at all but a deer path. We ended up running through the woods on the narrow side of a cliff, breathlessly tripping over roots, none of us daring to stop.
But going right on that first was the course I was far more familiar with. I loved it best in fall, when running after school would set the light just right against the trees, the leaves ablaze with their new colors. I loved it too when a storm threatened and the sky crowded in gray and close, making details sharper, more cinematic. The trail cut a swath through long grasses, and at the end of the field cut through a brief patch of woods, the path becoming steep and gravelly. On the other side of the woods the path skirted around the bottom of another field before coming to a small creek that you have to hop rocks to cross. After another stretch of woods, another field, and then woods, there was a big uphill path through a final field before you reached a bridge over the road that bisected the nature center. That was usually the point at which we turned back and went home.
The entire area was always teeming with life: birds calling, tadpoles sitting in pools beside the trails, and, if we ran close enough to dusk, deer grazing and foxes slipping through the trees. Looking at Fair Hill through Google Earth, however, was an absolutely lifeless experience. The land was nearly flat, the colors muted, and all the rich detail was pressed out of the environment. The place I love so much for its uniqueness looks exactly the same as any old stretch of fields from Google Earth. I traveled the entire length of my usual path, but there wasn’t much to see. Even the bird’s-eye view lacked detail, although I was pleased that I could make out the trail itself.
Katharine: to be sure, there are limitations to what we can do through digital tools, but try to recall how we defined “virtual.” Is there a way you can leverage digital tools to create the exhilarating effect you describe in your early paragraphs? I think you may need to look beyond Google Earth or this particular place to do so, but it may be worth another try.