I
am a strange bird in that I toe the line between pragmatism and romanticism.
This occurred to me last night as I looked back on what transpired at our town
clerk’s office in the morning. Karen Burton, I must say, is the kind of clerk
every small town should have. She runs everything cleanly and with a smile.
And, if you are friendly, as we are, she gives grand hugs at just the right
time.
I
registered our new car with her by filling out the forms and writing two checks
– one to the State of New Hampshire; the other to the Town of Jackson. Then she
brought forth a set of new license plates.
That’s
when I paused.
It
hit me that I wouldn’t be carrying my old license plate with me and I thought
about another vanity plate which would update the latest chapter in my life.
Stumbling
for a bit, I decided to go with the anonymous numbers she handed me.
“Anonymous
is good,” I told myself. “Yes, that’s the way to go.”
I
thought about the times over the past nine years since we moved to New
Hampshire where we’d be parked at a trailhead while hiking or merely walking in
the woods and Atticus and I would return to our car to find people waiting for
us.
The
license plate gave us away.
ATTI-48.
It
seemed harmless enough when we moved north from Newburyport, and it summed up
our lives nicely enough. We were haunting the forty-eight four-thousand-footers
religiously. But when I ordered them we were known only to the hiking
community.
Times
have changed.
Whenever
Atticus and I shared the woods together, it was mostly just Nature and us. The
soft sighing of the breeze through the trees, or the bellowing of winds above
treeline. The murmur of streams, the rush of rivers. The challenge of a steep,
rocky trail where every footstep was managed carefully, the comforting flat
path through a flat forest. No matter what we faced, it was Atticus and me –
and the elements.
So
peaceful.
Although
it was kind of people to sit by our car and wait for us to say hello, after
miles in the forest my introverted self takes over. For however long we were in
the woods introspection and reflection took over and to be jarred back to
having to be “on stage” once back at the car always felt awkward to me.
Saying
goodbye to the Atti-48 plates was the right thing to do.
Still,
as the day wore on and night fell, and stars took flight, I thought of what
those old license plates mean to me. Atticus never had a collar (until the very
end when he was deaf), and he never had tags. There was nothing left behind for
me to memorialize since, like me, he wasn’t into things as much as experiences.
However,
as I sit here looking at Will’s red coat hanging on the hook above my desk, it
now feels comfortable to have ATTI-48 right next to it.
As
for the other plate (for there are two of them), it’s going to a very special
place and the only other person I’d want to have it. It will soon be taking up
residence in Steve Smith’s store, The Mountain Wanderer. Steve was our first
friend up here, and his books fed our curiosity as two unlikely hikers took to
these enchanted mountains. His guide books led us to where we needed to go.
His
store is located along the Kancamagus Highway in Lincoln, and it is a gathering
place for hikers looking for maps, books, advice, and conversation. It is the
heart and soul of our hiking community, and its humble ways stand in stark
contrast to the solipsistic hiking sites that now are filled with selfies
instead of photos of mountains. Steve, and The Mountain Wanderer harken back to
what is most important: the mountains, their lore, and their history.
I
like knowing that Steve will have ATTI-48 with some of his other memorabilia.
And he tells me people will enjoy seeing it in the window and fans of Atticus
will smile knowing it is there.
As
I wrote to a friend last night, I’m at a very tender place these days, halfway
between Christmas and New Year’s Day. I stand on the threshold of an exciting
new year where our second book will be published, and a third one will be
written. I don’t linger too long with nostalgia, but occasionally it catches up
to me and whispers in my ear, it’s gentle lips brushing against my cheek.
It’s
been quite the year and switching that license plate out and replacing it with
something completely different is just one more step away from a past that was
fertile and unforgettable.
And
yes, I understand a 2017 black on black VW convertible will stand out in a
region known for “hiking vehicles,” but at least it won’t be quite the
advertisement our old vanity plates were. But as I write this I cannot help but
think of it as another page being turned. A page from a very extraordinary
story in my life.
