Steep, Jagged Trails

Remember the time it snowed on the 4th of July? High on a mountain pass?

Remember when Mike Hud read The Hobbit aloud to us as we sat around the campfire?

Now, what year was it when the brakes went out on our rented jeep? Weren't we rescued by that man who looked like Grizzly Adams?

We ask each other these questions, and many more, as we sit on our screened-in porch in Middle Tennessee. As we gather around the table in honor of whatever holiday or birthday we happen to be celebrating, the conversation will often turn to stories from a lifetime of vacations at "our spot" in Southwest Colorado.

Wasn't baby Sally so cute in her playpen at the campground?

Remember when Chris brought his guitar and he and Jan serenaded us by firelight?

Remember how that dusty old ghost town looked just like a Hollywood set?

Other than these rolling hills of Tennessee, there is no place on Earth that has so woven itself into the fabric of our family's history. We discovered the Uncompahgre National Forest and Mt. Sneffels in the late '70s. We have been going there ever since. My parents hardly ever miss a year.

Wasn't that a crazy trip when Daddy, Hank and Alan had to jog all the way down the mountain in a thunderstorm? While the trail was washing out from under them and lightning was striking all around?

Remember when I tore my ACL on that same trail?

It is part of us. Our valley in Colorado helped make us who we are. I am confident in the strength of my sisters, my parents and myself because I have seen us brave the wilderness. I have seen us carry heavy backpacks up steep, jagged trails.

How many shooting stars did we count that night when we pulled a blanket out into the clearing?

Remember the year that it rained all week? What a welcome to the family for Sean that was!

Who was with us that year that we hiked all the way to the peak? Was it the same year that we went fishing and had trout for breakfast?

The timeline of my memories is as jumbled as the box where Mama stashes photographs from trips gone by. We are small children in one shot and teenagers in the next. My husband, Mark, is in this shot. In another one I am 12. But the backdrop remains the same. From the jewel-toned wildflowers to the turquoise hued glacier lakes, from the strumming of guitars late into the night to the smell of bacon on a chilly morning: all of these memories blend together and the details become less important.

At the end of this week, Mark and Sydney and I will go as a family for the first time. Sydney was only 3 when she and I went with my parents one summer. All she remembers is being stung by a bee. Mark and I were just newlyweds when we went 12 years ago.

 I can't help feeling the anticipation of making new memories with my little family. I am acutely aware of the beginning of the next generation, the passing of the Colorado baton. Years from now, Sydney and her cousins will rummage through boxes of photographs and try to remember what year was such and such and when did this thing or the other happen. I believe they will share the beauty of "our spot" with their own families.

I believe they will be confident of their strength because they, too, will see themselves brave the wilderness and carry heavy backpacks up steep, jagged trails.

Lying In The Street

You dodged a bullet and didn't even know it. I had started a blog entry detailing the ins and outs of my mid-life crisis, but you are spared from that for at least one more week. My friend Bernie, who is a real writer (you may remember her....she used to write for The Nashville Scene when she lived here), is doing a 90 day summertime blog. EVERY day she is telling a different story about her memories of summers gone by. She challenged her readers to write about their summer memories and that sounded so much more pleasant to me than going on and on about some mid-life crisis full of first world problems!

In one of my favorite summer memories, my sisters and I always got a kick out of telling people, "I'm sorry, Daddy can't come to the phone right now. He's lying in the street!" What the stunned caller may not have known was that we lived at the dead-end of a very quiet street. I don't remember what gave my dad the idea to lie down in the street on those summer nights. It was just something that he always did. And we happily joined him.

I remember how the rough pavement felt on my back, still warm from the July sun baking it all day. My parents' property backs up to the Radnor Lake Natural Area, so there are trees covering our house and yard like a canopy. (My Aunt Margaret, who lives in Texas, says she feels claustrophobic when she comes to visit!) However, up on the street, you can see a wide expanse of starry sky. We would star-gaze while various family pets would step on us and lick our faces.

Maybe we were letting our dinner digest. We ate WELL every summer out of my dad's garden. My mom would make her iron skillet corn bread to accompany squash casserole, new potatoes, pole beans and tomatoes. My dad loved to tell us that the vegetables we were eating for dinner had still been growing in his garden that same morning!

I remember a lot of pinching and laughing and wrestling that took place while we lay in the street. It was a rare occurrence, but oh how we loved it, when a car would come driving up the street. We thought it was so funny to hop up, scurry to the side of the road and wave at the surprised passengers as the car drove by.

Now that I am a mom, and middle-aged (crisis and all...ha!), I know why my mom loved lying in the street. It was more about being together than star-gazing or rough housing. I think she had it right. Even in the late 70s and early 80s, life was starting to take on a hustle and bustle. She saw the luxury in summer evenings with nowhere to be. And she probably knew the easy, slow life-style was slipping away.

I'm trying to remember if I've even told Sydney about this childhood memory. Maybe I'll coax her away from the ipad, computer, ipod and TV. Maybe Mark and Syd and I will go lie in the street with my mom and dad. Maybe I'll change my voicemail to say, "I'm sorry I can't take your call right now. I'm probably lying in the street!"