Beginnings

There are beginnings. And then there are renewed beginnings. With the simmering summer weather bumping up against the colors of autumn, one October Saturday Dan and I decide to hike the Three Sisters Wilderness Obsidian Trail. Driving up the old Mc Kenzie Pass Highway, I become like a child in a candy store, oohing and aahing at the lush green and deliciously rich pastel forests flying by our car window. To elevate my mood, just take me up amongst our elegant, reaching for the sky trees and ever abundant fauna. Though the drive is a long one for a day hike, the time speeds by with our chatter and our remembrances. We brought the daughter on her first camping trip at Paradise Camp Ground when she was only two. Later we all hiked to Mathews' Lake and boated on Scott Lake. But we never took our daughter on this Three Sisters hike. For this was and is a hike for the two of us.

We reach the trail head parking spaces and are surprised to see them nearly full. Have we secretly wished to have the trail and its memories all to ourselves? At the start of the pine needle path we stand and pause. Our sixty plus year old feet have brought us through a million miles together. With our next steps we bring the past and present together. When were we here last? I calculate nearly thirty-five years ago. Dan's face is full of disbelief as I share my news: “I was twenty-nine” I state, “and you were twenty-six. We were at the very beginning of our relationship. And to think,” I continue, “our daughter's girl friend is twenty-six and she is twenty three.”

With each foot print embedded upon the leaf mulched path, I wish I could pause the passing of time. We had back packs then and were with a group of friends aiming to camp at the base of the Middle Sister and to climb her the next morning. New residents of the Pacific Northwest, we became enthusiastic adventurers into her pristine back country. We hear rustling up ahead and soft human sounds. Rounding the slightly elevated bend, we meet up with images of our former selves, a large group of young people. We stop to chat. High schoolers from Sisters, they are returning from a three day science camp with lit up smiles and abundant, left-over energy. The blessings of youth! We share how we once back packed this trail when we were in our twenties. One of the girl's gives us a precious exclamation of “ahh.”

“How far to the trail head,” asks one boy. “Not far,” we reply, “we've only been walking a short while.”

Yes, it does seem as though Dan and I have been together only a short while. Yet thirty-five years have sped by. We have lived together, been a part, reunited and gotten married, bought a house, raised a daughter, hiked, camped, traveled. We have agreed and disagreed, laughed and cried and always no matter what we have loved each other. The trail is heading straight up and I am sweating, inwardly cursing and putting one foot in front of the other. Where are those damn Obsidian Cliffs and the view of the Sisters? It was Dan's idea to come here and at the moment I am wondering if I'll make it. The higher altitude mountain air is dragging me down. But I want to please Dan. I want to be together doing this repeat and showing our younger selves we're continuing to be vibrant. I want to be here joking, reminiscing, loving this man I am with despite life's occasional struggles.

Each time I think I see the boulder path up ahead, it disappears amongst the thicket of trees. Dan's famous hiking lines, “It flattens out up here or it's just around the corner,” are proving fickle. I smell the pine perfume, look up through the canopy of branches and recharge my energy. Then finally, the granite rock-walled ascending path comes into view. We climb along an edge that takes us slowly up above the firs we've left behind. After several switchbacks we round a corner and there spread out before us is a panoramic glimpse of the North and Middle Sister on our left and the sheer obsidian cliffs on our right.

This is it, we tell ourselves. This is the very spot where we had our picture taken with our packs thirty-five years ago. Dan holds out his cell phone, we break into happy smiles and he snaps our picture. Though our hair is gray, our bodies a bit sturdier and worn, our faces are the same. Our eyes meet and we kiss. We find a place to sit and lunch while being serenely cradled inside nature's bounty. The trail in front of us descends down into meadows and we think about walking farther, but remind ourselves that going down means coming up again. We are content to be where we are.

During these past few years I have struggled with our empty nest. How I dearly loved raising our daughter and being a mother. But as we sit and eat, I am reminded about all those pre-parenting years. Our love of nature, our appreciation of the beauty found in the Pacific Northwest, our love of being together has never faltered.

Dan takes a few more pictures as we continue to linger at this breathtaking sight. There is a no-rush, patient silence between us. Without words we know we don't want to leave this spot. We want to sit here forever side by side. And haven't we done just that? Three decades isn't forever but it is a long, long time.

Eventually, we stuff our garbage into the day pack, put the water bottles in the mesh side pockets and help our creaking bodies stand up. We give one last panoramic glance, say good-bye to the Sisters and the cliffs and put our feet upon the return path. Going down is easier. Maybe the first thirty years are only the first beginning, I think. Maybe these second three decades will be even richer. Because I love being with this man, I know this is true. I am content.

© 2012