They’re Back

The turtles like hanging out in the pond too.

Last year I discovered white pelicans in my own back yard. Well, almost. They were actually in a pond on a walking trail close to my back yard.

I don’t know why, but it made me happy to see pelicans in land-locked Colorado. I’ve always loved pelicans and been fascinated with them since studying them in third grade.

I think of pelicans as sea birds, so it surprised me to discover them. Last summer, I loved pausing in a five-mile walk to watch them dive and dip, over and over, with grace and gusto. As birds do, the pelicans left in the fall.

But they’re back. During this week’s walk, there were five of them, diving and dipping with beauty and ease. The cycle continues, and I welcome them to their summer home.  

You Can Do It, Mom. You’re Strong.

It’s probably not very smart for me to hike with my 20-something sons. They’re young and fast and adventuresome. I love to hike, but I’m slow. I say I like to stop and smell the wildflowers and enjoy the view. It’s true. But I’m also all too aware of the impact of an injury, so I’m careful.

It usually works out. I make it to the summit. I eventually arrive at the end of the trail. I dip my toes in the alpine lake.

But maybe hiking isn’t just about getting somewhere.  A few years ago, I started to learn one of the lessons of hiking . . . and I learned it from one of those 20-something sons. 

We were hiking to a hidden waterfall in Colorado’s San Luis Valley. It wasn’t a particularly difficult hike, elevation-wise, nor was it miles long. But it was tricky.  Heavy snow that year had melted, so rocky nooks and crannies and ponds overflowed.  Water rushed through creeks that usually trickled.  

The sound of roaring water filled my ears as I clung to the side of the mountain, trying to stay dry. It was a useless venture. The cold water chilled my feet while my shoes slipped on the slick black rocks. I balanced while wading through the frigid water and steadied myself atop a rickety log bridge. I kept picturing myself splatting into the water or tripping on one of those glassy boulders. We were miles from medical help, and a fall would ruin the trip.

I decided to sit and wait while my husband and sons went ahead. I didn’t want to hold them back, and I I didn’t want to fall or stumble or topple into that rushing water. It wasn’t a bad deal to sit in the Colorado sunshine, while waiting, I told myself. I could inhale the smell of damp earth and enjoy cool breezes that wafted by on the hot summer’s day.

Then my son, Bryce, turned back and said, “Come on, Mom. You can do it. You’re strong.”

You’re strong.

The words jolted me. He was right.

I am strong.

I didn’t need to sit in the sunshine or be afraid of getting my feet wet.

I am strong.

Decades of life experience had made me strong. I could certainly finish this hike.

So I kept moving forward. Slowly. Carefully. But one foot in front of the other. The waterfall was glorious, and I shared the sheer beauty of it with my husband and sons.

Since that day, I’ve kept Bryce’s words in my mind. “You can do it, Mom. You’re strong.” 

He may be wrong about a lot of things – politics, pizza toppings, and red peppers. But on this point, he’s right. I just have to remember it.  

 

Bryce. One of my favorite sons.