It’s been five years since I’ve had my pack on. For a stretch of summers from ’01-’05 I was blessed to spend time in the mountains with various members of my family. I loved the cool air, every blister, each freeze-dried dessert we made. I never did well fishing. I’m sure if I had held my camera a little less and my rod a little more I might have caught something. Still I was grateful for the others luck that always put a small trout on my plate at supper. I loved sunrise, my own gorp, the promise of a full day in God’s country. In ’06 our first son was born and in ’09 our second. Half a decade has passed and I can’t remember a life of being on my own and not wondering what “they” were doing and how they were doing. The mother I now am will enter the wilderness this summer with a very different mind and a much bigger heart, carrying their little smiles with me every step of the way.
On a late afternoon, in August of ’05, I took this photo of myself. I was alone on this outcrop of rock above the 6th of the Seven Brothers Lakes in the Cloud Peak Wilderness of Wyoming (still avoiding fishing, although my pole was with me, lying by my feet.) My mind flips through the hundreds of wonderful moments I’ve captured on these trips, and at this one I stop. I can still hear the breeze that was running through the trees. I remember the twinge of discomfort that would arrive the instant I realized I didn’t know where the others in my group were. I can still feel the delight when I first noticed myself among the trees and waved (why not?). Hello self! “Remember THIS moment most,” I told myself. And I have.
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