I’ve been in a funk for a couple of weeks. It’s a lot of unconnected little things. Nothing major, and with so many people having big issues with the pandemic, I really am lucky. Still, sometimes you just get down.
Fall is in the air in the mornings, which I love, but it’s always tinged with sadness. It’s my favorite season and it was Rickie’s also. All the things he liked best happened in the Fall. So it’s always the hardest season to get through, even though it’s still my favorite. We’ve had some beautiful mornings and you can just begin to see some of the trees thinking about turning. Not yet, but somehow you know it won’t be long. There’s a nip in the air. Not enough for a jacket, just enough for a shirt with some sleeves! It doesn’t last long and by noon it’s warming up.
Monday I’ll be 71 years old and I’ll have seen 10 more birthdays than Rickie did; he was 61 when he died. A few I got before he was born because I was 3.5 years older than him. I never take these years for granted. I hope I’ve made the most of them, these years he never got. I’ve tried to make them count, for me and for my family. And while I’m always appreciative of the time I’ve been given, it always makes me sad that Rickie didn’t get these years. That he didn’t get to see the kids and grandkids grow, didn’t get to see all the beautiful places I’ve seen here.
I’ve tried to keep his memory alive. Because he wasn’t given these 10 years and I was. To tell his stories. To tell what he believed in, what he stood for. What he’d tolerate and what he wouldn’t abide. To remember his laugh and to remember his tears. To remember how he loved his family. To remember how he tried to make us strong. So that when we had to we could go on.
Today I decided I needed to get myself out of this funk. So I grabbed my little backpack and hiking pole and headed for what is my happy place here. Down a gravel road in a beautiful valley. Pagosa Peak and Eagle Mountain looming over the rolling fields where cattle graze.
The Piedra River Trail was the first trail I hiked here. It has some nice memories attached to it. Even to how I came to know of it. I ran into a kind fella older than me downtown by the San Juan River my first Spring here and he told me about it. It’s a beautiful trail that runs along the river. There’s another trail parallel to it but higher up the mountain, the Ice Caves Trail. So named for some places where the mountain has split and there are crevices in the ground where ice accumulates and lingers for months.
Last year was hectic and I never had the chance to hike this trail. So I’ve been wanting to go all summer. It was always put off because I was waiting to see if someone else would go with me. But everyone had things to do, or for one reason or another, it wasn’t right. So I kept waiting and today I just decided to go myself. There are always other people on the trail so if anything happened someone would see you. Except the first time I hiked it there was no one there at all.
I met some lovely people on the trail. A couple of women older than me, a lot of young women hiking in small groups, some couples, some friendly dogs . A young dad who was amazing. He had 3 kids between maybe 7 and 11 years old and he had a 3 or 4 year old in a carrier on his back. They had already hiked the Ice Caves Trail and were doing this one. I had seen them coming off the Ice Caves Trail when I began my hike. We visited a bit and he asked about the trail ahead. I left them down on the river’s edge with the kids wading in the water.
There is one section where the trail is rocky and it runs right on the edge of the hill. If you slide off you aren’t going to drown in the river or be carried off because the water is only inches deep in most places. But the hillside is very rocky and you’re going to get hurt. In one place the trail had washed out and there was solid rock that slanted toward the edge. Going downhill is harder for me than going uphill because of my knees. I had an elastic knee brace on and was using my hiking pole, which is really helpful. Still going down I ended up actually doing a little jump to get over it. So I was a little worried about going back.
But I went on to the most beautiful part for me. Where you can get down to the water. We saw a bear track there one time and all the grandkids get out in the water and stand on a round boulder to take their picture. It’s so dry now that boulder isn’t surrounded by water at the moment.
As I headed back and got to the rocky part on the edge I saw a lot of people had come in since I’d gotten there. I had to step off the trail several times to let people by. I recognized the wife of the last couple as someone I was acquainted with. They’re a bit younger than me, I think, but in my age group. I noticed her husband went first over the part where the rock surface was. She actually bent over and held onto some rocks to get by. They came by me about 10-15’ away from this place. I said hello and remarked that if I was still there when they came back it was because I couldn’t make it over that slippery place!
Now here’s where men don’t live up to my expectations. It’s not that I’m a needy person. And I’m used to doing things myself. I think of myself as a capable person. But at that place a helping hand would have been nice. And Rickie would have said, to a total stranger, here, let me give you a hand so you don’t slip. But I’ve learned lots of people aren’t like Rickie. Or like the late husbands, Paul and Dale, of my friends Deb and Kerri. I know that’s what they would have done too because all of these guys were always looking out for others. And all the male kiddos in my family would have done the same. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned since Rickie died, it’s that what you expect people to do when you’re alone is not what most of them are going to do. Not only in this situation but in all other kinds.
So here’s what the man said to me, and in a scornful voice - “you really ought to be with someone.” As if somehow it was a failing on my part that I wasn’t. Well, yes, old man, shouldn’t we all. Life would be much easier If we all had partners. But it is what it is for those of us alone. If we wait for someone to drop what they’re doing and go with us we’ll never do anything. Because we were only the number one priority to our partners. And we don’t need you to remind us of that.
Then he said he’d listen for my yell in case I went over the edge.
So, I went ahead and jumped over that spot and it was much easier going that direction, which was up, than going down. And there’s a lesson in there somewhere, I’m sure, about keeping moving upward.
I stopped shortly after that to take a drink and a young man that had been in the line with everyone making their way over that part of the trail asked me if I was ok. He had heard the exchange. I thanked him and told him I was. So on this trail today I salute all the young people that were friendly, helpful, took time to visit, and noticed a 70 year old woman, making her last hike before she turns 71.
I was the only person alone on the trail that I saw. Sometimes you’ve got to walk your trail alone. Because it is what it is.
