mountains – Sweat & Sparkle

I am at work today, but mentally, I keep drifting back to my week off. My husband and I drove up to Pennsylvania and met up with my brothers at a huge house on an apple orchard. It was gorgeous! There was a bridge at the end of the driveway, then a long, winding drive up to the house, surrounded by mountains and horses and trees. I grew up in a mountain valley, so I felt like I was home.

One of my brothers couldn’t make it, and I missed him. A lot. I really wanted all four of us together. Maybe next time.

The days went by so damn fast. I enjoyed every minute. I took as many pictures as I could. I stayed up much later than I should have, sitting by the fire in the backyard, near a little waterfall and pond, just talking and laughing with my husband and brothers. I wanted to hold onto each moment tightly, because I knew it would be over before I was ready.

We visited our parents’ gravesite one morning, then drove by our childhood home. As soon as I saw the little white fence at the end of the driveway, I felt my chest tighten. It was home, but it wasn’t; it belongs to someone else now. That person had made some changes to the yard, and we drove by in silence, knowing we didn’t really have a right to be upset about it, but we were upset anyway. It felt like they were trespassing, no matter how logically we understood that it wasn’t Mom’s house anymore.

When the morning arrived to head home, I fought tears as I hugged my brothers good-bye. I saw my younger brother run up to my older brother’s car, laughing, joking around about something, and I wanted so much to have one more day with them. We miss out on each other’s lives so much now, living so far away from each other.

I have already sent an email to my brothers, asking for ideas to start planning a get-together for next year. I hope we can make it happen, get all four of us in the same place again, even if just for a little while.

Yesterday, my husband and I took the day off to recover from the long drive, to unpack, catch up on laundry. Last night, he sighed and said no matter how many days together we get, he wishes for just one more. I feel the same way. It says a lot that after a day-long car drive (each way), and several full days together, we still wanted more of each other.

Driving home, I found myself glancing over at him, my heart swelling with pride and love and so much emotion. He didn’t complain–not even once–about the long drive. He did whatever he needed to do, to get me in the same place as my brothers again. I loved watching them interact and tease each other and share stories. My younger brother told my husband that he is part of the family, like it or not, and we laughed, but it also meant a lot to me that he feels that way.

I loved watching my husband visit places for the first time, his excitement, the way he would suddenly turn to me and hug me and say “This is so cool. Thank you.” I loved making new memories with him and having new stories to tell about our trip. I love that he is in my life to share each day, at home, on vacation, on the road…anywhere.

My husband and I barely had time to touch base at home and do some quick laundry before we packed for our next trip, traveling to the mountains for Thanksgiving. I haven’t seen all of my brothers since our mom’s funeral, and I couldn’t believe I was able to coordinate getting them all in one place, but there they were, in all their loud, outspoken, goofy glory.

I am not sure the stars will align again for all of us to be in one place at the same time anytime soon, so I clung to every moment and enjoyed the trip immensely. Old nicknames and jokes and stories from childhood sprung up, and we laughed, and I saw in each of them the younger version of them hiding not so far behind that I’m-so-mature-and-grown-up act they put on for the rest of the world.

On Thanksgiving morning, we went for a hike. Well, I use the term “hike” loosely. It started innocently enough, strolling casually on a wooden boardwalk, then a well-worn grassy trail. Our first stop was a cool stream with large boulders and a bridge, and we hopped from rock to rock, took pictures, touched the cold, clear water. When my younger brother asked who was in to keep going to the waterfall, we all joined in the trek, blissfully unaware what was ahead of us.

The well-defined, worn path grew fainter, and dirt was gradually replaced with roots and small rocks, then larger and larger rocks. The path got so rough that we started to wonder if we were still on a path or if we had somehow wandered into straight-up wilderness.

Maybe it was a good time to turn around, head back to safety, and wait at the mountain lookout for the crazy people who wanted to keep going…except we became part of the crazy people who wanted to keep going. How many times in one lifetime do you get a chance to hike to a waterfall?

So we kept going. And the trail, if we are still calling it that, got even rougher. We started wading across streams, picking our way across slippery rocks that jutted from the water. Instead of walking on the trail now, we were mostly climbing, stepping over large roots or pulling ourselves up jagged rocks.

Did I mention that I was just recovering from a bad cough and had no business being in chilly weather, in high altitude, climbing rough terrain? If I had known what it would take to reach the waterfall, I certainly would have turned back, but as my husband said, it was too late now. We may as well see the top, because we had gone too far to quit now.

When we heard water, we thought we were close. We were, sort of. We could stand at the bottom of the waterfall and watch the water crash down and stream along beside us, and it was beautiful…but my niece called to me from the very top of the waterfall, and she looked so excited, and how could I not want to be up there too?

I flopped down onto a huge rock like a chair, exhausted. Despite the cold, I was sweating, and my lungs were burning. I took one look at the climb to the top — basically straight up a rocky, muddy cliff — and said no. The bottom of the waterfall was good enough.

My husband encouraged me, told me he knew I could do it. I wasn’t quite as sure, but I got my rear off that rock, and up the cliff we started.

This was no longer hiking, as far as I was concerned. We were moving up one hand-hold and foot-hold at a time on the steep mountainside, gripping crevices in rocks, pressing our feet against muddy clumps of grass and edges of rock. I apologized to my manicure as we worked our way up, one rock at a time, and just as I was certain I was certifiably insane for even trying this nonsense, there we were.

How do I describe the top of a waterfall? We were standing at the top of the mountain, crystal clear water streaming over boulders and a pebble-lined bottom, wintry trees all around us. It was magnificent. Unreal. I still couldn’t believe I had made it.

My brothers, sister-in-law, niece, and nephew were all there, along with my husband and me, and we explored, carefully treading across the boulders from one side of the stream to the other. I sat on a boulder near the edge of the waterfall with my oldest brother for a while, watching the others, talking, peering over the cliff to the bottom of the waterfall and then ducking back when I got dizzy.

I turned and saw my husband standing on a boulder not far away, and he looked so handsome in his tan-colored jacket and boots and jeans, picking up stones so my niece and nephew could skip rocks in the stream. He had climbed that cliff with ease, offering me a stream of encouraging words as we inched our way up, and now he stood there just like he belonged at the top of a waterfall, strong and wonderful and all mine. I smiled. It is an image in my head that I will never forget.

When I caught my breath, we wandered into the woods beside the stream and found our way even further upstream, above the waterfall, behind where branches and leaves had formed a small wall and blocked the view from the waterfall. Behind it was a staggered step-down of rocks coming down the hillside, almost like a staircase in the stream, with flat, smooth rocks we could step on. Water had eroded the coolest channels and cups and tunnels into the rocks, and we spotted some fish in this higher area, too.

I am grateful that my husband pushed me to get off that rock and finish the hike. I would have hated to miss the top of the waterfall. It was so indescribably beautiful, an experience I would have greatly regretted missing.

It felt symbolic too. Pardon me if I get too sentimental and sappy, but it was a tough climb that looked impossible from the bottom. One step at a time, though, we zigzagged our way to the top, and it was well worth the effort. We made it. Hardships either drive you apart or pull you closer together, and I am beyond grateful that we always use them to find our way closer, higher, entwined more tightly together. There is no one else in the world I want to stand on top of a waterfall with.

Happy (belated) Thanksgiving!