Edie Perkins is an athlete, adventurer, and handcyclist. Edie traded running shoes for wheels after being struck by a car while on a bike ride in 2017. She is now paralyzed from the chest down and uses a wheelchair (or handcycle!) to get around. Since her injury, she has dedicated herself to empowering others with disabilities, advocating for access to recreational spaces, and helping people get active through adaptive sports.
In this post, Edie shares her trip to Raven Ridge in Charlotte, VT.
Even though I’ve lived in Vermont for four years, I still feel like there’s so much of the state I haven’t discovered. This summer and fall, I’ve made it a personal goal to get out more and explore the beauty that makes Vermont so special.
The woods have always been my happy place. That hasn’t changed, even though how I experience them now looks very different. In 2017, a car hit me while I was on a bike ride, breaking my neck, back, and ribs. I’ve been paralyzed from the chest down ever since. While that reality has made outdoor access more challenging, it hasn’t changed my love of being in nature—or my determination to find ways to keep exploring.
Fortunately, Vermont has been making real strides in improving accessibility in outdoor spaces. Check out the Trail Accessibility Hub (TAH), an incredible new resource that provides land managers with trail assessments, information, and guidance on making their spaces accessible to all. I’ve recently been using Trail Finder to locate wheelchair-friendly trails, and it’s opened up new possibilities for me.
My first destination was Raven Ridge, a preserve managed by The Nature Conservancy of Vermont.
My GPS did a fine job getting me to a small and slightly nondescript (there is a sign) parking area on the side of the road. There were a few cars parked, and an open “Reserved Parking” for people with disabilities spot. The parking area is hard-packed dirt and easy to maneuver on. The entrance to Raven Ridge is on the opposite side of the street from the parking area; and the visibility to cross is clear.
The trail begins with a five-foot-wide boardwalk. Level, sturdy, and lined with bumpers, it glides over a marsh thick with cattails and tall grasses. From there, the views open to fields and rolling hills dotted with farmhouses in the distance.
The boardwalk leads into the forest, where the surface becomes a packed gravel path. The open views give way to a canopy of trees—cedar, maple, birch, and endless pines—while moss, ferns, and new growth carpet the forest floor. Small breaks in the tree cover let in glimpses of blue sky.
As you move through the woods, there is a slight rise. The incline is mild, though if you’re pushing a wheelchair like I am, you’ll definitely feel it. Benches along the way offer resting spots. A trail kiosk promises “The Oven”—a spot that porcupines inhabit, caves, and sweeping Champlain Valley views. I was ready for it all… but here’s the catch, those features aren’t accessible with an everyday wheelchair.
The accessible path ends at a viewing platform overlooking a beaver pond. My first thought was, That’s it? The accessible section felt short—less than a mile—and as someone who enjoys longer hikes, I was tempted to wish for more. But since I’d made the trip, I decided to slow down and really take in the setting.
That’s when the details emerged: the chorus of birds, the low hum of crickets, the splash of a frog. We noticed the variations in the trees, the textures of the moss, and how the light shifted through the leaves. We spotted a beaver dam in the distance. We even thought we saw beavers. But it turned out they were ducks.
On the way back, we moved even slower. Every sound and sight seemed sharper.
Raven Ridge may not offer a long or challenging hike for wheelchair users, but it offers something just as valuable: a quiet, beautiful space to pause, breathe, and connect. When we visited, we didn’t see another soul, which made the moment feel even more peaceful. Sure, I missed out on the caves, ridges, and grand valley views, but I still left with a sense of connection—to the place, to the season, and to the wild creatures that call it home.
Success! A new password has been emailed to you.
