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Sunday, September 15, 2013

A Trail Witnesses the Changing of the Guard


One of my fondest childhood memories involves my Grandpa, a hammer, a damp basement, and a stool. This memory may be embedded in my mind because of a perfectly timed and preserved photograph, but it also may be the compilation of many similar memories engrained in my young conscious. Looking at this photo today sometimes brings me to tears. I never knew my Grandpa as well I should, because he passed before his time. He passed before I could grow to know him as a man. But, when I look at this particular photo, I have since learned so much more about him. His love towards me is encapsulated in that photograph; in his smile, and how he looks toward me. My regret is that he won’t have the opportunity to realize what that means to me now.



My goal yesterday was to hike all of the remaining trails at Shades State Park, and adjoining Pine Hill Nature Preserve. That was an easy task in itself. There were only 7 miles I haven’t hiked. They were, however, 7 gorgeous and rewarding miles. What happened during those miles was unexpected, and not well prepared for. Trails 4 and 5 at Shades are entirely unique in the state of Indiana. Both follow two narrow and steep gorges, flanked by cliffs, and lay on active and flowing creek beds. Lush, green, enveloping; these are rugged trails, dangerous to the most experienced and equipped hiker. Portions of these trails involve navigating rocks and boulders, water, and most importantly, wooden ladders spanning, at times, 20 foot mossy cliffs.



The last thing I expected to see as I bounded down Trail 4 was an elderly couple gingerly navigating their way through this maze of fallen trees and jagged boulders. Yards ahead of them, darted their pre-teen grandson, with all of the energy of a fawn on a double shot of espresso. As his grandparents struggled to keep him within earshot, I immediately pictured myself racing ahead of my own grandparents. My next thought was what this little hiker would remember of this particular experience when he grows older.


Sitting on that stool in my Grandpa’s basement, I had no idea the depth of that time of my life would mean to me later. I didn’t have the tools to comprehend that. We were just hammering nails into scrap pieces of wood. When I look back at that time now, I see there was something more happening. We weren’t there for my enjoyment. And we weren’t there for Grandpa’s enjoyment. Nor my parents’ or Grandma’s. We were there because we were supposed to be. There may not be any reason other than this was just simply supposed to happen.



When I first came up on the elderly couple, I was afraid for their safety. I thought surely he would slip on a rock, take a bad step and twist an ankle, or worse, fall off one of those treacherous ladders. I offered my assistance all the way down the trail. Never did they accept my offer. I was terrified. The elderly couple was not. Maybe they had no reason to be. Then I realized that they had to be there. This was what was simply supposed to happen. Maybe their grandson will write of this experience. Hopefully, at least, he will have a photograph.



Perhaps the only takeaway from yesterday’s adventures was simply the meaning of our existence. Perhaps we only exist to allow our offspring, and our species, to keep existing. Love is the necessary tool that allows that to happen. Why else would such a couple risk injury, or worse, to take their grandson on such a dangerous hike? Why else would a man sit in a basement and show a kid how to hit a nail with a hammer? And, why else would we photograph that?

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