Once I took a walk with my mom in a soon-to-be forgotten forest.

When I first heard the news about this forest being cleared away to make room for yet another new housing development, I was almost in tears.

Call me a tree hugger, call me an ignorant anti-establishment teenager -- but I can't help but feel a pang of remorse every time I seen a sign like I did that day when I took that walk.

It was big, blue, and in fancy lettering advertised "luxury homes" on "scenic lots." To me, all it said was "about to destroy natural beauty."

My first instinct when I saw that sign was to rebel with a strongly-worded letter to the company that was responsible for the construction, or maybe even protest on the day that they would clear out the forest. My friends and I would tie ourselves to the trees if we had to -- we would not lose another piece of wilderness (we might even make the papers, which would be cool).

My mother told me that that was probably not a very smart idea, as the construction company was the one with the good lawyers and big bulldozers.

She suggested instead that we take a walk and relish our time in this forest, relish seeing it as we drove to our house, relish the fact that we were not yet completely surrounded by houses, that we were not yet completely swallowed by the suburbs.

Still rather upset, I agreed to take a walk in the forgotten forest. She was probably right about not being able to budge the big construction company.

We walked through the woods, golden light dappling through emerald leaves. The forest was beautiful. The walk would have been perfect if the ground hadn't been dotted with survey stakes tied with brightly-colored ribbon, marking the area that would soon look completely different (I couldn't help but pull up a few stakes along the way, doing whatever I could to delay the process).

When I got home, feeling a little better, I wondered about my neighborhood. Had it all been woods, once, too? Would I even recognize it without hundred-thousand-dollar houses around every corner, wild and unaffected by suburban sprawl?

I suddenly wished I could see Clarksville 30, 20 or even only 15 years ago. I wanted to see how it had changed, how good schools and a strategic location between Baltimore and Washington D.C. can turn a small rural town into one of the richest places in the country.

I'd love to see the River Hill Village Center without a Giant superstore looming over it; without teenagers hanging around with no where else to go. I'd love to visit my old elementary school and see what it looked like when it was brand new. I'd love to walk past the places I drive every day, busy going somewhere else. Would half of those places even be there?

How long it will take before all the forests, all the farmland, all the open space in Clarksville are gone and forgotten? I hope they never are.

Once I took a walk by myself in a small wood that I will never forget. It's not nearly as large or magnificent as the almost forgotten forest I took a similar walk in with my mother, but it has a special meaning to me.

You see, forests are more than just beautiful places. For me, they're a symbol of childhood, especially this small one beside my house that I took a walk in by myself. I can't imagine my childhood without these woods; it's where some of my fondest early memories were made. Playing and exploring with the neighborhood kids, building forts, catching frogs, narrowly escaping eccentric neighbors and their Great Danes.

To imagine children growing up without such memories is as tragic as a big blue sign with fancy lettering announcing the destruction of yet another place of true and pure solace in this area.

But it's not all tragedy and despair for woodlands in Clarksville. There are still places like the Middle Patuxent Environmental Area that protect the forests from suburban expansion. Peace and a connection with nature can still be enjoyed. Memories yet to be made can still await the generations who grow up in our forgotten forests.

Sophie Keane is a freshman at River Hill High School. You can reach her at cdumler@theviewnewspapers.com.

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