Every morning for a year, grief came calling. The smallest tasks reminded me of the presence of his absence. I had to face it and work through it before moving forward stood a chance. Transitioning to living life alone stretched me, made me cry, annoyed me, and some mistakes in the transition made me laugh after the fact. I see it clearly the day I checked the lawn mower oil level and found it wanting. I rummaged around the garden shed, found the motor oil container, and poured the oil into the lawnmower. I plowed through two strips of the lawn until the oil cap took flight, freeing a five-foot geyser of oil rain down on the lawn mower, me, and a wide circle of black oil spatter across the grass. A transition that stopped me in my tracks.
The next lesson I learned about transitions involved grumbling and tracking behind my husband.
It all began after Werner, a lifelong mountain climber, opened his birthday present, a two-person tent. He couldn’t wait to try it out, so off we drove to a trailhead for the hike up the mountain destination to our favorite remote pond and waters edge campsite.
However, when just the two of us hiked to these nether reaches of the wilderness, my comfort level never hit one hundred percent. Cell phones did not exist. Bears did.
Our youngest son, Jurg, home from college, joined us on this camping trip. Anticipation and conversation grew while they packed the food, a bottle of wine, sweaters, cooking gear, and my sketchbook and pencils that were spread out on the kitchen table. Next, they decided how to strap this camping gear onto two backpacks, three sleeping bags, 2 sleeping pads, a sleep hammock, fishing gear, and the tent. I carried nothing. The packing done, and we were off.
The forested mountain trail opened to a crystal clear pond nestled like a bowl in the mountains. Our nurtured hopes to be the only overnight party to enjoy the pond’s quiet beauty, swim in the cold water, and enjoy dinner at the water’s edge were dashed when we saw campers already claimed our favorite spot.
“Not to worry, my positive thinking Werner exclaimed. “We will take the campsite over there. It’s even better than our usual one.” He pointed across the pond. I looked across the pond at the open campsite. “Yes,” I agreed. “It’s beautiful, but it’s across the pond and inaccessible.” High water covered the normal sand and rock trail around the pond’s peremiter and extended into the brush on the far side of the path. I thought my logical observation closed the subject. Not to be deterred, my husband said, I know another route around the pond.
“Really,” I said, “how do you propose we find that route, as all normal routes to the campsite are underwater?”
Without hesitation, he said, “We will bush-whack.”
I probably rolled my eyes at this point, but I followed to avoid spoiling his fun. We continued walking along the standard unobstructed path, arrived at our favorite campsite, greeted the occupiers, and trod on for a few moments.
“Wait a minute, stop,” I said. The path ended and my boots squished in the muck under my feet. “With all that gear you carry, you mean to tell me that we are going continue stepping into this muck to bush-whack through that dense jungle dead trees underfoot?” I carried nothing.
“We’ll be fine,” Werner assured me.
Sure I thought, bushwhacking transitioned us from the acceptable familiar unobstructed path to a chaotic jungle. We squeezed through saplings packed tight together. And gingerly stepped up and over downed trees. The forest floor was a booby trap of holes made by rotting trees crisscrossing each other. Step wrong, and the overgrown brush covering these holes became a leg-breaker.
With every step, I mumbled,” Of course, we’ll be fine,” as my foot dropped into another hole. Humidity levels in the forest added to my misery. I climbed over tree trunks, stumbled into hidden spots, and caught the toes of my boots in the tangled mass of rotting limbs and sticks. My shirt stuck to my skin.
I chuckled when my two adventurer’s progress halted mid-step, their backpacks stuck fast between two trees. I’m sure I mumbled some less-than-encouraging words as I helped set them free. Several times I repeated the task. Being trapped between trees did not deter the high spirits of my two men. They laughed and sometimes cursed, but they trudged on like two boys on a great mission of discovery.
Whatever shine I had at the onset of this bushwhacking adventure, I lost somewhere between stumbling over twigs and trees, being slapped in the face by twigs I didn’t see, and being bitten by mosquitoes buzzing around my ears. I swiped at the sweat dripping down my face and worried. “What happens if one of us breaks a bone?” No response from my leaders. I nurtured my annoyance. They tolerated my pain in the neck, grumbling. Realizing my grumblings did nothing to advance my progress, I surrendered and slogged through the jungle to get it over with.
When suddenly, one of my fearless men told me to look up. I did. The tops of the trees thinned out to allow light to penetrate the jungle. I saw the tops of trees instead of toppled trees.
My look at the bright side, son and husband encouraged me. Look ahead, they told me. More light and fewer trees tell us there is a clearing up ahead.
A few moments and stumbling later, we entered a worn path and sunshine. We walked onto a flat clearing at the water’s edge. Maybe they told me this is beautiful, don’t you think. I had to admit to its beauty. I looked at crystal clear water and surveyed the surrounding mountains cupping the pond in its embrace. I smiled, and maybe I said, wow. Inside, I felt ashamed for complaining throughout the twists and turns of transitioning from the easy.
As the day transitioned to early evening, Werner used his small propane stove to boil hot water for tea. We gathered dry sticks to start a fire in a rock pit. The sun made a last fiery goodnight before disappearing behind the mountain ridge. Blackness descended on us until the full moon appeared behind the mountains. In front of us, the water’s surface reflected the yellow face. Behind us, the forest disappeared in the night. Frogs presented a free symphony surrounded by the sound of water caressing the shore and slapping against rocks.
Maybe they told me this is beautiful, don’t you think. I must admit, yes, it was the loveliest campsite on the pond. I smiled. Inside, I felt a bit sorry for not trusting my two leaders throughout the twists and turns of transitioning from the easy path to no path.
Throughout the bushwhacking experience, my husband and son treated me with undeserved grace. Werner’s smile said it all.
The ink-black shade pulled down over the forest illuminated my darker imaginings. Of course, unseen critters must be watching us from the void. Whatever my childish imaginings, I loved to see Werner relax. He was at home in the mountain wilderness, in his
I listened to their laughter once they set up the campsite as their fly fishing lines cast an arc through the air. I sketched the scene. The jungle was forgotten. Today, the memory of our hike to East Pond makes me smile. Most of all, I remember the beautiful man I shared it with.
Today, the memory of our hike to East Pond makes me smile. Most of all, I remember the beautiful man I shared it with.
When we reached the goal together, his smile said it all.
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