Summer in My Soul

The trick comes in planning next summer’s vacation while knowing that next summer is not promised to anyone.

Sallie Tisdale

With fall now officially begun it seems a little odd to be writing about the season that has just passed, but it was an especially good one for me, and that seems worthy of celebration.

It has always been my favorite time of year, beginning as a child when I would ritually remove my shoes upon returning home after the last day of school and would hardly put them on again until September. It was a symbolic celebration of freedom. I was freed from long division, from wearing dresses and buckled shoes with ankle socks, and best of all, the sun was shining.

But freedom from shoes was not the most important thing about summer. What really mattered were the camping trips my family took every summer. . .sleeping in a Dacron sleeping bag, flipping pancakes over a campfire, and of course, hiking.

The mountain trails I have always loved are typically covered by snow from mid-October until July. This thing I love to do therefore has a very limited window, and I must follow the pica’s guidance, making hay while the sun shines, spending as much time on the trail as I possibly can, as soon as the trails are clear of snow and right up until the first heavy snowfall leaves them covered until the following summer.

This spring I began the season with trepidation, for I was still recovering from a fractured scapula, and as it turned out the worst thing for it was swinging my arms as I walked, which greatly increased the pain. It did not help that I had spent the preceding eight months dutifully “taking it easy,” which was not at all easy for me, but since the pieces of the bone had failed to knit together, it seemed like the right thing to do.

In late May I went for a hike up the Thirteen Mile Trail in the Kettle River Mountains near my home (See Hiking with Lulu, May 28th of this year). It was not a long hike, nor was it particularly difficult, but my aching shoulder was extremely painful by the time Lulu and I got back to the car at the trailhead, and that evening I sat on the couch next to her, absorbed in self-pity and wondering what I would possibly do with my time and my life if I could no longer hike.

The next step to this line of thought is envisioning myself in a facility, my walker by my side, eating strained peas and ground chicken. If my younger readers find this absurd, they are right, but everyone I know who is around my same age has at times indulged in such fantasies when the inevitable challenges of aging come up uninvited.

Fortunately this line of thought leads to problem-solving. Perhaps I would have to let go of my lofty hiking goals for the summer and settle for kinder, gentler hikes. A friend suggested that I resume using trekking poles, which helped a great deal by stabilizing the joint each time my right arm moved forward. I began weekly hikes with Lulu that were no more than a few miles long and daily walks on the rail trail.

By late June I felt ready for a short backpacking trip. I carried my pack just a little over three miles to a beautiful site at the base of Snow Peak. It rained for most of the three day trip, but I set up a comfortable campsite that kept me nicely sheltered. Sitting in my tent with my book and a cup of tea was so much better than sitting on the couch feeling sorry for myself. I did not mind at all that it was raining. I felt warm and comfortable, and the sound of the rain on the tent added to my satisfaction. I felt cared for, as I always have on such occasions, grateful to be on the trail again, grateful for summer and the warmth it brings.

In the weeks that followed I took regular treks on the mountain trails, sometimes with friends, sometimes with just Lulu as my hiking companion. My granddaughter, Claire, and I hiked around Sherman Peak. I climbed to the summit of Copper Butte, as I was growing more confident in my strength and resilience. And by late July I was ready for another backpacking trip, this one more strenuous and longer, three days in the beautiful Pasayten Wilderness.

This week the first snow fell in the mountains. Lulu and I went for a nice hike in the Pasayten and were dazzled by the aspen trees, tossing back the sunlight from their trembling leaves. The elevation gain seemed like no big deal, and I breathed easily as Lulu and I made our way to Sunny Pass. The shoulder pain was still there but barely noticeable until we got back to the car, where I typically sit for awhile with the discomfort and remind myself how much better it is and that I have just completed a strenuous hike.

Yes, it was a good summer. It is not exactly the first day of school for me, but my feelings are much the same. I put my shoes on and a new sweater. I walk to school, trying to chase away my dread of long division with memories of camping trips and mountain trails. I remember the sound of the river as it flows by our campsite. I smell the fresh trout sizzling in the pan over the fire. I delight in the trail and the places it takes me. . . the places it still takes me.