Joy in the Morning

When day comes, we step out of the shade,

aflame and unafraid,

the new day blooms as we free it,

for there is always light,

if only we’re brave enough to see it,

if only we’re brave enough to be it.

Amanda Garman

The painting was an impulse purchase at a local winery recently. This one called to me immediately, and it was not until I brought it home that I realized why. I hung it on the wall opposite where I sit in the morning, sipping my tea and writing in my journal. It is my most precious time of day and is not unlike how I spent my mornings on the trail. I would sit on a rock or a log, waiting for the sun to come up and warm up the world, light up the world, and when it rose above the trees or ridge line, I would take my cup of tea, wrapping my cold hands around it for warmth, and stand there in the sunlight, savoring each ray, each moment of the new day.

I have always been a morning person. For decades during my busy work life I would arise at 4:30 AM, not particularly happy to hear that intrusive alarm but always glad to have extra time in the morning so that I would not feel rushed before I left for a long drive and a demanding work day. My routine has always been the same wherever I am. I sip my first cup of tea, write in my journal, which is a daily practice for me, and watch the sun make its way into the sky.

On the trail I was typically awake with the morning light and my routine was not so different, except that I would heat up my tea over my small stove, and my “chair” was not as comfortable. I am reminded of just how much my backpacking days have shaped the life I live here in this other world, the world with its cares and responsibilities.

The painting reminds me of the theory that anthropologists propose, that on the African savannah we were drawn to the trees next to open spaces, where we could find shelter and protection but could also look across the savannah to see what might be coming our way. I believe we still are drawn to such a landscape. We feel safe on the edges of things. What can be more perfect than waking up to a meadow of lupine, the sun’s rays filtering through the trees?

I have been surprised by the peace I have found in my decision to stop backpacking in order to save my aching back. I can still savor the morning, as I have always done. I can still look out over a meadow of lupine and feel the warmth of the sun’s rays.

But I plan this summer to spend more time on my precious trails and to take my little stove with me, to sit on a rock and sip my tea, then return to the trailhead. I can still live this hiking life. I can still bel present in a meadow of lupine. I can still watch the sun’s rays filtering through the trees.