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For roughly half the children in Amy Saville’s kindergarten class, this will be their first foray into the forest.

It seems odd in a place where there is one person for every ten acres, some 60 percent of which is forested, that so many children have never set foot in the woods.

“Will there be snakes?” Elizabeth Reamy asks me, as if the stranger among them might be more truthful than the teacher, who just told the class they wouldn’t see any snakes.

“I don’t like the woods,” Chloey O’Bier announces, slowing her steps.

Nariah Bowers has grabbed the teacher’s hand and is shaking like a leaf.

The forest has long held mystery. It is the place, after all, where Hansel and Gretel lost their way and where Little Red Riding Hood encountered the Big Bad Wolf.

It’s not surprising, then, that these children should see the dark tunnel of branches and leaves ahead as foreboding. This image is not aided by the spider web that dangles across our path.

Physical Education teacher Nancy Burgess takes the lead with a long stick she uses to fend off the webs. She points to natural wonders, like the dried up mushrooms just off the trail as we round the first bend, or the leaves beginning to take on their fall color.

Some of the boys are clearly more excited. Andrew Jenkins has dressed from head-to-toe in camouflage for the occasion and is leading the class just behind the teacher.

Patrick Lewis keeps repeating, “This is awesome!” as he stumbles over roots and sticks in his excitement.

We pass a giant old ash tree, and Ms. Burgess stops in her tracks. She throws up her hand, eager kindergartners piling up behind her.

“SHHH,” she says. “Listen . . . I think I hear a woodpecker.”

The entire class is utterly frozen in their footsteps and as silent as if they’d been turned to stone.

We stand like that for a few minutes, not so much as a leaf crackling beneath a foot, bending our ears in every direction.

We don’t hear the woodpecker but we do hear the woods talking to us – the wind in the trees overhead, the branches groaning, and those unidentifiable sounds in between.

It’s a bit late in the season for the raucous cacophony of birds, bugs and frogs that would have drowned our eardrums a few months ago. Most have abandoned ship with the promise of colder days around the corner, leaving behind the trees with only the wind for company.

We see signs of summer’s busier days around every bend though: trunks gnawed on by the beavers who live in the stream below, bark mangled by rutting deer, holes in the banks that once made home to small rodents.

Even the most timid among us have relaxed. The chatter resumes, and children skip up and down the rolling trail, too distracted to realize that they are exercising.

We jump over logs and leap over small rivulets that may carry water in wetter seasons.

Ocean Kelly and Elizabeth Reamy hold hands and walk side by side down the path singing: “We’re going into the jungle,” a song, I think, they had just made up.

We stop again to look around, and this time the children raise their hands eagerly to call out the colors they see: yellow, green, orange, red, blue and brown.

As we approach the overlook to the stream below, we begin to feel large round raindrops fall, scattered between the leaves. Though we are kept dry by the canopy of trees, the children are suddenly reminded of their vulnerability out here amongst all things natural.

“Why is God making it rain?” Chloe Porter asks, warily.

Ms. Burgess promises that nobody will melt, and if they do, she vows to carry them home. We gather under a large tree for shelter and look out over a tall marsh at the headwaters of Crabbe Mill Creek.

“The beaver lives down there somewhere,” Ms. Burgess says, “but I don’t know exactly where.”

We scan the grass and stream below for signs of life. From here we can see the remains of smaller trees that were successfully carted away.

Whether it’s the promise of a wild creature lurking just below or the inevitability of getting hit by a raindrop, brave camouflaged Andrew is suddenly on the brink of tears.

“I want to go back,” he says, lips trembling. A ripple of concern runs through the class to see their young leader so overcome.

“We are,” Ms. Burgess promises, “taking his hand. Nobody will be left behind.”

The moment feels pivotal. The whole group dynamic could collapse here on this overlook with crocodile tears falling from the sky.

A quietness returns as we head back up the hill and join with a wider trail that will lead us back to the school.

Luis Verdugo, one of those venturing into the woods for the first time today, points to a small fork in the trail.

“I want to go THAT way!” he says.

He sees possibility in the roads less traveled, the adventures lurking around the next bend. I share his desire to explore further.

But, the majority of the group, shaken by that moment back at the lookout, is ready once again for the familiar hum of florescent lights and the cool of the air conditioning back at school.

As the light of the meadow beyond announces the trail’s end ahead, the class picks up the pace to a full screaming sprint.

“We made it!” they cry, running through the grass, arms stretched to the sky.

The drizzle has ceased momentarily, and we make our way through the cool humidity back to the school building, chatting on the way.

“That was awesome,” Patrick concludes.

“Can we do that every week?” Coley Lawson asks.

“Yeah!” several classmates agree.

It may be spring before these seasoned kindergartners return to the woods with their P.E. class.

During their tenure at Northumberland schools, however, they may visit the trail again with their science class, on a field trip with the Audobon society, with the Boy Scouts, or even with the cross-country team.

Completed two years ago, the nature trail is still evolving, said Superintendent Clint Stables. It has been improved by two sturdy bridges and a set of stairs built by Bob Parker and his Boy Scouts.

Sections are being widened to link the trail up with the new high school track for cross country meets.

A $7,000 grant from the Chesapeake Bay License Plate Fund is paying for a sheltered outdoor classroom on the trail, which volunteers from NAPS are helping to design and build.

Stables said he hopes to one day have placards identifying the various plants and trees along the trail, and maybe even some history of the ravine.

For Northumberland students, the nature trail is a pathway of opportunity, exploration and experience.