The Lost Key

How a Mistake in the Wilderness Opened the Door to Something Better

Of course, the final hundred steps were through shin-deep water. That’s always the irony of backpacking. You can dodge ticks, poison ivy, torrential rain, and treacherous crossings—but nature still finds a way to make sure you don’t escape without one last kick in the pants. No matter how carefully I’d tried to dry my boots over the past few days, they were destined to go home waterlogged.

But on this day, nature wouldn’t get the last laugh.

As we walked toward the Hemlock Grove parking lot off the Sheltowee Trace Trail, straddling the border of Tennessee and Kentucky, I fished through my backpack for the key fob. Since we’d staged our vehicles at different trailheads—my car at the endpoint—it was crucial to find it. Without that key, we were stuck, and the other vehicle was over an hour away. After meticulously tearing through everything in my pack, I came to the sickening realization: I had left the fob in my other bag.

If I had a tail, it would’ve been between my legs. All I could do was apologize and accept the situation.

Thinking quickly, we came up with a plan. Two of the guys would hike twenty minutes to a nearby campground, while the other two of us waited by the only other car in the parking lot, just in case someone returned. Within minutes, they had a generous offer from a family leaving the campground—one of them could ride along to retrieve his car.

All we had to do was wait a couple of hours for him to get to his car and then drive back to us (and hope—really hope—that my key fob was in the other bag).

I’m pretty sure I forgot to mention that we didn’t have cell service. We hadn’t had coverage in four days. Oh, and Hemlock Grove? It’s located on a single gravel road in the middle of nowhere. There was a small shelter with picnic tables, and as I looked around, I was instantly transported back to my childhood in the ’80s. My mom would open the door to the morning sun and say, “You kids aren’t staying in the house.” That was our cue to go outside and do something—anything—besides hang around indoors. Which meant a lot of boredom, thinking, creativity, playing, and general mischief.

The three of us stood in the gravel road when one of the guys asked, “Do you think the next car that comes around the corner will be him?” Each of us gave a yes or no, and then we waited… and waited… and waited to see who would be right. As the two-and-a-half-hour mark approached, we began constructing elaborate theories about what was taking so long. Some were reasonable—he was just driving carefully on the gravel. Others, less so—like maybe the man was a serial killer and his family was just a front for his heinous crimes. Eventually, the guys even used rocks to set up a miniature make-shift game of Kubb to pass the time.

And then, finally, our friend came rolling around the corner, driving slowly and carefully on the loose stones.

I’ll be honest. I miss that kind of simplicity. I miss it for younger generations. Boredom might seem like a snooze compared to the constant dopamine hits we’re now addicted to—but buried within boredom is the quiet magic of the universe: it cultivates imagination, creates space for creativity, invites connection, and offers moments of solitude to reflect on what we’d otherwise overlook.

I didn’t want to leave my key in the wrong pack—but I’m glad I did.

Question

When was the last time I allowed boredom- or an unexpected disruption- to become a doorway to creativity, connection, or peace?

Peace,

Brandon

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