A Walk around a Lake

All too often, there is a strange glue that binds me to my house.  In particular, my kitchen, my washing machine, my inside clutter, my outside clutter, even the elusive higher purpose manifested in my computer.  But during my mornings with John, I work hard to push us out the door, and I am never sorry.

Recently, we ventured to Coot Lake.  It is a trail to avoid in heat or high winds, but on a clear blue sky day, it is transcendent.  In fact, John looks fittingly philosophical in every picture - peering into the distance, surveying the land, contemplating the sky.  In reality, he is probably looking for dragons or thinking about a rock in his shoe or counting the seconds before he will ask for an "uppie."

Actually, he was quite proud to walk the whole way.

10 Minutes of Beautiful

John and I went for a hike today.  It is the activity that comes to my mind when I really want to be with him.  On a trail, I know that I will feel nourished and full and able to appreciate him without daily-life distractions.

We escaped to the ever-dependable beauty of Chautauqua and trekked across the low-lying trails for... about 10 minutes.  At that point, he was ready to head home to his trains.

Mind you, I took pictures that will capture those ten minutes for eternity.  (Hint: my blog so easily blurs  the time : impression ratio.)  But even just today, those 10 minutes defined my entire feeling about the day.  The experience of being in such a beautiful spot, moving in the fresh air, and watching my 3-year-old run against such a backdrop - it is like a work of art.  In the same way that just looking at a certain painting for a moment or reading a particular poem can change a person, being in that beautiful scene even for 10 minutes can change everything for me, too.

I do feel fortunate to live so close to such natural beauty.  Maybe we all do, in one way or another.  However, I do remember days living in Washington D.C., driving hours to get to the Blue Ridge Parkway for a day hike.  Carbon footprint aside, that trek was always worth it.

I am not sure that John will grow up to be a big hiker, or to have a deep love of nature, but hopefully our 10 minute hikes give that passion a chance.

Between Seasons Hike

This weekend, Will and Clara and I hiked the Mesa Trail, one of my favorites.  The air said Spring, but much of the trail said Winter.  Due to all the ice (and a wrong turn), we misjudged our timing and barely finished before dark.  But, I didn't mind.  Being in the woods with my (oldest) kids, time stands still.   It's a feeling I seek daily.

Trust in a New Year's Hike

I have been itching to go on a New Year's hike, but sicknesses and schedules put us behind.  Finally, on Monday, we managed (barely) to get out of the house and venture to Boulder Valley Ranch.

As we looped, the temperature dropped.  We kept up our momentum with the lure of heat and pizza.  Still, I have come to trust our hikes.

I trust that they broaden my mind, and give me a sense of freedom and of faith.  I trust that they bring expected pleasures, like finding mica or unearthing the perfect stick/sword/bow.  I trust that they bring unexpected pleasures, like the games that the kids make up or curiosities that arise from the landscape. And finally, even with the frequent absence of perfect harmony, I do trust in these hikes to pull us towards each together.

The Day After - A Hike

The day after Christmas, we ventured on another hike.  Setting our feet firmly on the ground after traveling West to East, we rustled through leaves, grabbed acorns and admired the ferns and moss foreign to our Boulder surroundings.  

I love the thrill of a new landscape.  And I love the simplicity of a winter hike:  The browns and grays make the single cardinal jump out.  The absence of leaves on the trees amplify their height.  The abundance of leaves on the ground make it a thrill to find the acorns hidden underneath.  The stillness of it all lets me focus on my own children running.  And the quiet of it all lets me hear the sound of the single stream.

We returned with new momentos - berries, acorns, sweetgum balls, a fungus-y stick.  They may make it back to Boulder.  Or they may not.  But, I'll certainly bring home the memory.

The Day Before - A Hike

On Christmas Eve, we hiked.  We have done so every Christmas Eve that I can remember.  In fact, if it were my choice, every special day would be preceded by a hike.   Even days that are special because of a hike.

This year, it just so happened that Will and Clara wore coordinated elf colors.  I watched them carelessly plow through the snow, as I pushed June in an overworked stroller.  John opted for his Dad's arms.

But, this is where I experience the holiday lift:  breathing the cold air, watching my energetic and healthy kids, finding hope in the mountains and strength from the sun through the trees, feeling love for my family and gratitude for the beauty of the earth.

I will cherish our Christmas Eve dinner.  I will relish our preparations, anticipating joy and wonder the next morning.  I will even love watching my cinnamon rolls rise after midnight, admonishing my late start.

But outside, during our Christmas Eve hike, any weight of responsibility subsides.  In this tradition, I get to be a child in the woods, too.