The Pines: Lapham Peak - Spring of '86
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The tires spit gravel as they turned off Cty Hwy C, sunlight bouncing off the windshield in streaks. A wave of dust rolled behind them, fading into the trees like a secret. Windows down, hair flying, and the whole truck shook with the sound of four voices belting out:
“Let your love flow, like a mountain stream…”
Virginia threw her head back laughing, off-key but committed. Cheyenne harmonized badly from the back seat, Daniel pounding the dashboard like a drum. And in the driver’s seat, Asher smiled—his voice low and steady, eyes on the trees ahead like they were opening just for them.
The cassette crackled as the song shifted, but no one cared. The moment was already sealed.
They’d graduated just six days ago—barely—but time was already slipping in a way they couldn’t pin yet. This trip? It wasn’t planned. It was more like a feeling that had built and built until it had to happen.
“Chey, did you seriously bring four bags of candy and no socks?” Virginia asked, twisting in her seat.
Cheyenne held up a pack of Twizzlers like a victory flag. “Socks are temporary. Sugar is forever.” Blech.
Daniel grinned. “Remind me not to hike behind you.”
Asher leaned out the window, letting the air hit him full in the face. He hadn’t said much since they left, but that was just Asher. All was good.
The trees grew thicker. Sunlight turned green as they passed beneath the first big canopy. The truck slowed at the edge of the trailhead. They all got quiet for a second, not out of reverence but instinct—like they were stepping into something sacred without needing to say it.
They parked. Slung packs over their shoulders. Laughed a lot. And the forest swallowed their noise like it was hungry for it.
By the time they reached the old site near the pond tucked just inside the beautiful Kettle Moraine Forest—the sun was yawning its way down behind the trees. Tents popped up, firewood gathered, and after a few false starts, Daniel gave up on lighting the fire. Asher crouched beside it, struck one clean flick of the Zippo, and the flame bloomed. Asher chuckled.
Later, they sat in a half-circle, passing and sipping off an old dusty bottle of whiskey, passed with love—the joint sparked and moved with equal emotion. They didn’t say anything profound. They didn’t need to. The vibe was perfect.
Virginia looked out toward the water. “This is it, isn’t it? Like, we’ll look back and remember this.”
Cheyenne stretched her legs toward the fire. “I already am.”
Asher didn’t speak. He just leaned back, arms behind his head, eyes on the stars. His silence wasn’t empty—it carried a kind of knowing, like he could see something in the sky the rest of them hadn’t noticed yet.
And Friday burned on—wild, weightless, and full of the kind of laughter that sticks to your clothes like campfire smoke. Timeless.
Saturday
Sunlight hit the tents like a slow drum. Soft at first. Then louder. No alarms, no parents—just the sound of birds arguing in the trees and someone’s stomach growling like it was trying to send a message.
Daniel was already half-dressed and poking at a pan over the fire pit. “Who wants questionable eggs?”
Cheyenne emerged wrapped in her sleeping bag like a burrito. “Define questionable.”
“They’re eggs,” he said. “But also, it might be soup.”
Virginia cracked one eye open from inside the hammock. “We’re gonna die out here.”
“Nah,” Daniel said, flipping the eggs with confidence they didn’t deserve. “We’ll just get stronger.”
Asher wandered back from the woods with kindling in one hand and a calm look on his face like he’d been up for hours. No one asked where he went. He just added the wood to the fire and handed Virginia a wildflower he must’ve picked along the trail, and said "here, this is for you".
She took it without a word and tucked it behind her ear.
That morning blurred into afternoon like it wanted to stay a little longer. They hiked up to the tower, Daniel narrating the entire thing like a nature documentary, Cheyenne throwing pinecones at him every time he got dramatic.
When they reached the top, the view was beautiful. Trees for miles. Sky so blue it made your teeth ache. And the pines stood tall below, like they had always been waiting for them.
Cheyenne laid flat on her back on the top tower planks. “If I die here, tell my parents I died doing what I loved—being overly dramatic and underprepared.”
Virginia took a Polaroid. Daniel tried to photobomb it. Asher just stood at the top, hands in his pockets, smiling—soaking it all in like he knew it’d matter more later.
Back at camp, they swam in the pond. Clothes, no clothes—it didn’t matter. They were free in a way that had nothing to do with being wild and everything to do with being real.
That night, the fire danced taller. Stories got louder. Stars spilled everywhere. Daniel rolled another joint, passed it around, and they laughed into the night.
They cried a little too—but only the kind you pretend is just smoke in your eyes.
Daniel pulled out his dad’s old acoustic guitar. Played three terrible chords. But he felt it so it was cool.
“Beautiful,” Cheyenne said, deadpan. “Truly.”
But no one told him to stop.
Virginia leaned into Asher’s shoulder again. This time he didn’t flinch. Just stayed there. Still and quiet like the trees. Somehow more there than anyone else.
And the night swelled into something bigger than any of them had words for.
It was perfect.
Sunday
Morning came soft.
A low mist rolled off the lake, catching in the needles of the pines like it didn’t want to leave either. The fire had gone cold. So had the coffee. But no one rushed. No one really spoke.
It was that kind of quiet where even the birds seem to know something’s ending.
Cheyenne stood barefoot at the edge of the pond, hoodie pulled over her mess of curls, watching a pair of cranes glide across the glassy surface. Daniel wandered behind her, snapping a twig every few steps like it was on purpose. Asher sat cross-legged on the big flat rock, sketching something in a little notebook no one was ever supposed to ask about. And Virginia? She just lay in the hammock, eyes half-shut, face turned toward the sun like it might give her answers.
They didn’t talk about packing up.
They didn’t talk about the drive home.
Because real goodbyes never announce themselves—they sneak in, slow and silent, like fog over warm water.
Eventually, they moved. Folding tarps. Shaking out sleeping bags. Tucking away all the pieces of the weekend like a ceremony. Daniel and Cheyenne argued lightheartedly over who forgot to cap the bug spray. Asher rolled up the tent with that same even pace he always had. Virginia wandered off for one last look at the lake.
And when she came back, eyes a little shinier than before, no one said a word. They just knew.
They hiked out quieter than they’d come in. The birds chirped. Wind shuffled the branches. And behind them, the tower sat undisturbed—still holding their laughter like an echo.
Back at the truck, they stood around it like they’d forgotten how to say goodbye.
Daniel pulled Cheyenne into a bear hug, muttering something about her owing him new socks. Virginia leaned into Asher’s shoulder for a second longer than usual, then slapped his arm and said, “Don’t disappear again.” He didn’t answer. Just gave that slow nod he always gave when he meant I won’t—but I might. Mischief, memory, and something else flickering just behind his eyes.
Doors slammed. Engine rumbled.
And as they pulled away, a voice rose from the back seat—half-sung, half-laughed:
“Let your love flow, like a mountain stream…”
This time, no one joined in.
They just listened. Letting the moment hang in the cab like smoke from last night’s fire.
Because some songs hit different after the end. And some summers never really end at all.
Somewhere in the Pines, that summer still lives—wild, quiet, and forever young.
Written for those who know that youth isn’t a time—it’s a feeling. And the best moments don’t just pass. They stay. Like smoke in your clothes. Like pine needles in your boots. Like stories told years later with a smile in your chest.
God Bless.
— Asher Daniel Grand, LLC