A Walk With Nature

 

 I woke up with little ambition for the day, until I saw that gorgeous blue sky and bountiful sunshine booming through the window (this has been a rare sight around here). It was as if the day was calling my name. I quickly gathered my newly acquired local guide books and while choking down a protein shake, skimmed through the worn pages. I was bouncing ideas off  of my dear friend who has been staying with me. “We could go to the coastal range and maybe get a view of the ocean?” “We could go to the gorge.” “How about Mary’s Peak again?” All of these ideas led to the discovery that my friend was going to tap out of the hike for today as she was still recovering from our snowshoe adventure from the previous day. I set the books down…looked out of the window again…and began to get dressed. I rearranged a few appointments, grabbed my big dog, loaded up my gear, and I was off to the mountains.

Did I just make a mistake?

I wondered this over and over during my two hour drive to the mountains. I have not been alone with my own thoughts for this long since the night of November 29^th.  I have been surrounded my loved ones for every moment of every day since I stepped out of that Blackhawk helicopter on November 30^th. Am I strong enough to be left alone with my own thoughts like this?

What did I just do?

I know I could always turn the car around and return to what is known and what is comfortable. But then again, how will I know if I don’t attempt the uncomfortable. Am I merely afraid of my own thoughts? Do I want to avoid the sadness? What am I afraid of? I am asking myself all these questions, while continuing to drive toward my destination, Maxwell Butte. Some may say that matters were made even worse during this drive for my poor car doesn’t even have a radio. It was purely me, myself, and I…oh, and  my dog, Ingrid, too but she’s not much of a talker.

What have I gotten myself into?

I finally make it out of the city and start weaving  and winding into the mountains. Ahead, in the distance, Mt. Jefferson appears. It is stark white against a cloudless blue sky. It is enchanting. I cannot take my eyes off of it. It has me, my everything. Then, as suddenly as it appeared, Mt Jefferson has ducked behind another ridgeline. I continue my trek, passing small towns along the way. Small towns that have so many memories for me. Tommy and I stopped to use a bathroom at this gas station on our way to Bend. Tommy and I stumbled into this food mart on blistered feet just shy of midnight after our first Mt. Jefferson attempt looking for anything with salt and water. Tommy and I ate lunch here with his best friend and new wife the day after their wedding. Tommy and I rented jet skis and frolicked on this lake…showing me all of his favorite spots from childhood, all the while Mt. Jefferson looked over us from a distance. Tommy and I got our last coffee and breakfast at this coffee shop…some of the last people to have seen us together alive and well. Tommy and I have shared many a meals at this diner and amazing bread sticks from this pizza parlor. Oh, and remember the weird clam bake they were advertising for at that convenience store out in the middle of nowhere? And the time we seriously contemplated moving out to help run that cute little restaurant?

Oh, Why have I decided to come out here alone?

Back on the mission….Maxwell Butte, here we come! I know what is coming ahead in the very near future. It is the road that will take me to the trailhead where Tommy and I started our hike together. The road looks clear. Just a few weeks ago, this road was covered in snow, making it impossible to reach the trailhead by vehicle. Without thinking, my hand flicks my blinker on. I turn. Maxwell Butte is still up ahead on the highway. I put Maxwell Butte to the back of my mind. I know have blinders on…and they are focused on getting to the trailhead. If I can get to the trailhead, maybe today’s hike in the glorious sunshine can lead me to my tent. My tent…where I spent the last night with my husband as a lovingly wedded couple. Maybe I could return home with that sacred tent of mine. Oh the possibilities! Four miles in to a seven mile road, I halt. The snow has become too thick on the road for me to safely continue. I slowly back up and turn around. Yet another let down.

Why am I here?

“That’s okay,” I tell myself, “there is always the other approach trail.” That’s right! I could always go up the Pamelia Lake Trail and connect with the PCT from there. I start doing calculations in my head. Mileage. Time. Elevation. Based off of the elevation of the two trailheads, I should be able to reach Pamelia Lake Trailhead by vehicle and then I will march on from there with Ingrid as my trusty sidekick. HOPE. Not even one mile up the road, I run into snow too thick for me to challenge. DESPAIR. I back up, turn around and park the car. I will just hike from hear then. I gear up and Ingrid and I are off.

 

I am amongst the very forest, the very path that I have once walked with the love of my life. All the while telling stories to one another, laughing, loving, hugging, and stopping every once in awhile for a quick kiss. This time it is just me and our dog. Tears roll down my cheek. My heart hurts. I take a few deep breaths and find the beauty that surrounds me, the beauty that envelopes me like one of Tommy’s hugs. I am okay. I can do this. One foot in front of the other. I got this. The tears come and go. That heaviness in my chest returns as if it were an old friend and I continue to put one foot in front of the other.

I did not recover my tent today. I did not make it to Maxwell Butte. I did find my inner strength. Strength to face the unknown. Strength to face the pain. Strength to allow myself the tears and to accept them.  Strength to realize that I am loved. Strength to realize that I am never truly alone.

 

P.S. I love you, Tommy.