Just two days after I returned from my backpacking trip in the High Sierras and a week in the Bay Area, camping, walking and visiting with family, I wanted to hike again in the mountains of New Mexico. Why do you ask? Weren’t you tired? After all, you’re almost 80 years old. Yes, I felt a traveling tiredness, but I wasn’t ready to roll into the vicissitudes of daily life. I wanted to be out in nature and hike to a lake. I found a friend who was game, and we hiked a short hike up to 10,000 feet to a pristine lake, Middle Fork Lake in Carson National Forest near Red River, NM. Not in hurry, we meandered and sauntered; talking and taking in the tiny details and big vistas as they presented themselves. This kind of hiking without hurry, without a big goal is just what I needed to shake off travel weariness. An hour sitting by the lake, letting the sun warm us, watching the clouds gather and retreat had that timeless quality that is Nature’s healing. I felt rejuvenated when I returned home with a bunch of wild raspberries, having spent a whole day doing nothing but moving in nature.
My recent backpacking trip in the Sierras wasn’t a hike to pound out the miles. It was a “glamping” backpacking trip with build in rest days, stays in the High Sierra Camps, sleeping in beds in canvas tents, being fed, have running water and more comforts than a normal backpacking experience can offer. Carrying a 15-pound pack with my daily essentials, clothes and water made the entire experience so much easier than carrying a 30-pound pack as I did earlier this summer.
“I am ready to seek easier hiking pastures”, I told someone on this trek. My age is talking. I don’t want to run up every dome along the trail. I choose to sit by a meandering creek in a meadow and play with my watercolor pencils. I want to saunter and observe details in plants and trees. I want to float my naked body in a pristine mountain lake, sit on a log afterwards and dry out in the sun. I want to inhale summer: sun, water, rest, flowers along the path, sunsets and sunrises over Half Dome, Lembert Dome, Columbia Finger, and so many other chief point along the trail. I want to take summer with me in my soul.
Backpacking is something I have done for the last 30 years of my life. Backpacking has been an integral part of my life; something that sets me straight, gives me insight and keeps me healthy. Other, younger hikers on the trail were awed by my ability. I just hope I can inspire them to keep moving. I feel blessed that a force is with me when I set out on these adventures. The weather was favorable; nearby fires didn’t explode and cause smoky skies; thunderstorms added a dramatic touch only on the last day. A fire broke out on Highway 395 and closed the road behind us as we drove to Reno on our way home. Luck? Grace? I chose to go with the latter.
When I slow down on the trail, the gifts keep coming. As I sat in the meadow, painting pictures, time stretched. It was the first time in my life I experienced it. No schedule, no need to be back at camp, no need to complete a section of trail. No need to even finish the picture. The act of being and observing the grasses along the bank, the tiny gentian flower hiding in the grass, the mountain’s reflection in the water, the tiny frog camouflaged in the mud, the skeeters dancing on the water. All of it had my full attention and time opened, changed. Have you ever experienced time standing still when you were fully absorbed in a project? Have you experienced your sense of time changing when you were in a crisis? My experience of time stretching convinces me that the saying “time doesn’t exist; time isn’t linear”, is true. Being out in nature, days away from schedules, traffic, media stimulation, heck, days away from ordinary life, gave me that wondrous experience.
What does all of this mean when I get back to “normal” life? I don’t know yet. But I know that the not so obvious is true, that life can be experienced in an unhurried, conscious way. And I don’t mean doing what I do slowly. My way of walking hasn’t changed, just my intent is different. I walk around with appreciation for the momentary beauty of a plate-sized hibiscus flower in the garden; I am filled with gratitude for a basket of Shishito peppers I harvest from my vegetable beds. I am giddy about an unexpected tax return that showed up in my mailbox. I carry the memory of camping with my grandson carefully in my heart, a dear treasure filled with love. Life is giving me happiness, and I am grateful for what life is giving me.
Rumi says, “Wear gratitude like a cloak, and it will feed every corner of your life”. I feel a cloak of gratitude around my shoulders. It helps me slow down, be with what is, and face the unavoidable difficulties that will rise again. For now, summer abundant; the heat has abated; harvest season is upon me. The light is changing, telling me that fall is coming. I will savor another evening on the porch watching my flowers and a beautiful sunset. I thank the trail for what it provides and the direction it points out for me.
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