Our hike into camp was so perfect last night that, caught up in the joy, we decided to cowboy camp (ie. camp under the stars, sans tent) without a weather forecast check. The stars were out, not a cloud in the sky… and you already know where this is headed.
At four thirty in the morning, a light drizzle woke us up. By four forty-five, it had become a downpour.
Lucky for me, I had just washed and dried my socks. I reached for these clean, dry socks in a groggy haze before realizing it was all a dream.
I literally dreamt about cleaning my socks.
It’s bittersweet to be approaching the end of this hike, but I think it’s for the best.
This is the last time I’ll be writing a blog on trail; by the next one, my journey will have come to a close. That’s a strange thing to know, and a stranger thing, still, to embody. When presence has become your daily practice, how can you think about the future? I’m trying to sink deeper still into each moment, stretching them, filling them. I pause frequently to look around me, take a deep breath, close my eyes, hear what the larch trees have to whisper and the grasshoppers choose to scream.
It’s difficult to describe trail, difficult to explain the simplicity baked in alongside the information overload. I’ve learned much and unlearned more. I’ve collected feathers from the ground, left by the birds that wake me up each morning, and sewn them into my hat – little gifts to remind me of the trail’s rich soundtrack.
As much as it’s the long days of hiking, it’s the predictable way your shoes will wear. As much as it’s the first view of the legendary Mt Rainier peeking out over stormy clouds, it’s the dance party at camp that morning.
It’s the rainbow streaks in rocks as you make your way, soaking wet, up the ridgeline. It’s the taste of copper in your mouth, signaling lightning may strike. It’s the climbing into a stranger’s truck bed for a ride down the highway. It’s the way I navigate my tent pockets in the dark, knowing where each little thing is like I know the furniture in my home.
It is home.