Emma would choose a canoe paddle over hiking boots, any time. Her favorite places in the Adirondacks were its rivers and lakes, not the mountains. She was a strong paddler and even stronger at shouldering a canoe over a portage. Nonetheless, she did her fair share of hiking and we took some hikes together that I will never forget.
Our friends, Sarah K. and Marian, were also in Lake Placid and we had made a plan to meet them and hike Whiteface and Esther, two of the 46 high peaks(4,000+ feet) in the Adirondack Park. We got an early, but still civilized 9 am start from our hotel and were starting our ascent up the mountain by 9:30 am. It was a beautiful, sunny fall day. The sky was the blue that everyone there describes as Adirondack blue and the air was cool and crisp, but not yet cold. I couldn't imagine a better day for a hike.
Emma loved being in nature, so in some ways, hiking was a natural activity for her, but she hated the feeling of getting out of breath. She could easily psych herself out when she started getting that feeling. She would focus on her breathing, working harder at it in an effort to make herself breathe more easily. Of course, just the opposite would happen. As she focused on her breathing it would become even more labored and uncomfortable and she would become very unhappy.
At some point in her camp career, a wise trip leader had proposed a solution to her breathing problems that Emma had found effective. The counselor had suggested that if she gripped a stick between her teeth it would keep her mind off her breathing and keep her mouth open in a way that would help regulate her breathing. I was skeptical at first, but I had to admit, it seemed to work for her.
As a result, as we started up the mountain Emma immediately began scouring the trail for the stick that would get her through the steep parts of the hike. Once she found it, she tucked it away until she needed it, chatting happily as we made our way up the beginning part of the trail that was not terribly steep or challenging.
At some point we picked up our pace a bit and parted from Sarah K. and Marian who wanted to take a more leisurely pace and climb just one of the two mountains. By the time our hike was getting more challenging it was, fortunately, also becoming quite rewarding. As the grade increased there were multiple time when you came out to clearings that featured incredible views. At one point we left behind the zone of deciduous trees and entered a zone of mostly evergreens. It was not long after that that we began to feel the temperature drop, and a short time later we emerged on a ridge where we were surrounded by sparkling snowcapped shrubs and trees and were treated to a perfect view of the beautiful paint splattered valley below us. It was truly breathtaking. At that point, I needed a stick in my mouth, not to mention gloves on my hands and a hat on my head.
We arrived at the peak of Whiteface in time to celebrate with lunch. We had packed some sandwiches and fruit in our backpacks that we pulled out and began eating. Whiteface is an unusual peak to climb because it is accessible by car. As we ate our lunch, we noted fellow hikers who had been met with grand spreads by friends who had traveled by car. That was for wimps, we decided. We all liked our way better, even if the sandwiches were a little bit smushed and the fruit a bit bruised from tumbling around in our backpacks.
We only spent about a half hour at the top because we still wanted to make it up Esther before the end of the day. As we descended to the junction of the trail to Esther, we came to a hill of large rocks that we had encountered on the way up. Peter carefully picked his way down the rocks first, showing the rest of us a reliable path. Sarah went next and had not gone far when she tripped and started to roll, head first, down the hill of rocks. There was not much I could do but catch my breath and head towards her. Peter and I got to her at about the same time. She was shaken, but otherwise fine. In fact, I think she composed herself and was ready to keep going before either Peter or I was. In a few minutes, we were back on our way and, despite the scare we had all just had, Sarah and Emma were still fully committed to making it up Esther before the end of the day.
Emma had also amassed her own little collection of souvenirs from the trip, which I was reminded of as we hiked up Rooster Comb this past Sunday. There was the mouth stick, of course, which helped her through the hike, but she also had a couple of beautiful leaf specimens, and several samples of birch bark that she had found along the way. Emma could not resist those pieces of birch bark that litter the trails on Adirondack hikes. Even though she knew it was best to leave these natural remnants where they were, she always had to steal away with one or two of the best pieces she could find. She would take these home and then, weeks or months later, one of us would get a sweet card or note written on birch bark stationery. She seemed to know that the words and the extraordinary medium on which they were written made these notes not just special, but eternal.
Emma liked to communicate through notes. As articulate as she was, it was through notes that she was often able to express her deepest emotions. I suppose many of us are that way. When Sarah was at camp in the weeks following Emma's death, she would often write notes to Emma, and each Sunday at the weekly Council Fire gathering, she would toss her notes into the fire, letting the smoke carry her messages to Emma, wherever she was. She found this act of communion and communication healing and wrote us during that summer to tell us that we should give it a try. We did, sharing our tear-stained letters with each other before tossing them in the fire for Emma, and watching them go up in smoke - all our questions, all the things we wish we had had a chance to say, all the convictions about who we knew her to be, and who we knew ourselves to be - up in smoke. And, amazingly, with that came a tiny glimmer of acceptance and healing, the kind that comes from being heard and understood.
So maybe that's why on Sunday when I climbed Rooster Comb, I felt compelled to look for the most perfect specimen of birch bark I could find. I will write a note to Emma on it and then I will toss it in the fire, letting the smoke carry my eternal message of love to her. And I know that she will hear me and understand.
No comments:
Post a Comment