Why, why, why...why didn't we remember? Or learn?
Ellis had an afternoon off recently. We were in the middle of a warm spell between snows, and we decided it was a great chance for a rare hike during the snowy winter we'd been having.
The hike that day started out pretty well, as usual. We were a little chilly (we forgot, again, how much colder it was on the top of the mountain), and I do distinctly remember one of us asking the other, "Do you remember the right path to take?" We were sure we remembered.
As we left the parking lot, a few guys arrived from the other side of the trail. They had a bit of an ominous look on their faces, and one guy said, "the footing isn't so good over there." I remember thinking, "Oh, good thing we aren't hiking over there." If I could go back in time and kick myself, I would.
We soon found ourselves squishing and squashing through a ton of mud. "This must be what those guys were talking about when they said the footing wasn't good," I said to Ellis. It was slow going trying to get through that mud, and Ellis was in his sandals, of course. If he could go back in time, he would kick himself too. Mac, of course, was loving every squishy, squashy step.
We eventually started getting to higher ground and the mud subsided. We sat down to eat our snacks and remarked about how glad we were that the worst was behind us. We were ready to finish the 2nd half of the loop and head home.
A while later we noticed the trail was beginning to get quite snowy. That was surprising. Then we came to to a fork in the trail. Yep. A fork in the trail. And you know where this story is going.
To the right, an uphill, yet much less snow-covered climb. To the left, a downhill, yet very snowy descent. It seemed natural to go downhill, so that's what we did. About 25 feet later, we realized we had not chosen wisely. We thought about turning back, but trying to get back up the slippery hill seemed impossible. So we continued on.
The snow was so thick and icy. Ellis was carrying Mac while I carried Davey and walked with Corrie, who was taking tiny, cautious little steps at a snail's pace. This was going to be a long, long, trip home. And the worst part was that we realized we had made the same mistake that we did three years ago, adding miles onto our hike.
Soon we were precariously balancing the kids between us as we tried to navigate the icy slope. I was grabbing onto any tree or vine I could reach to keep us connected to the mountain. For at least an hour, we struggled along the trail, one painful, slippery step at a time. Snow and ice filled our shoes (and sandals), but we really didn't care about that. What mattered was getting those precious kids safely home! We finally started hearing the sound of car engines, and we knew we would reach the road soon if we could just keep pressing on. When the trail cleared, my quads felt like jello after shuffling along in a squatting position for so long while carrying kids and trying to stay balanced on the ice.
We stepped out of the woods, and even though we knew we had a long hike up the road ahead, we were so relieved to be walking on solid ground. By now it was far past nap time and everyone was delirious. But we were thankful.
Mac walked between Ellis and I (Ellis carrying Corrie and me carrying Davey), connecting us all together by holding onto each of our hands. He walked over a mile with us that way, never complaining once. We realized what a big guy he was becoming.
Corrie was singing the whole time, making up her own songs and laughing at her lyrics, which would prompt Davey to sing along and laugh, too. The only thing Davey knows how to say is, "quack, quack, quack," so that was his contribution to the singing. Every once in a while, Ellis and I would glance at each other. Our tired eyes would meet, and we would exchange exhausted but grateful smiles.
Mac and I (and Davey on my back) stopped to take a rest and talk. I love that silly, sweet, passionate little heart of his.
Corrie loves riding on Daddy's back during our hikes. Even after a long afternoon, she was still all cute little smiles...just like her Daddy.
We eventually made it back to the minivan and gratefully piled inside. One more long, crazy hike to add to our list of family outings gone wrong. The kids were oblivious to the peril we had eluded, and were already asking what we were going to do next when we got home. Ellis and I looked at each other, and we knew we were both thinking the same thing: "Thank you Lord, for bringing us home!"
No comments:
Post a Comment