Pieces of Heaven

Thank you.

They are perhaps the two most powerful words in the English language when you connect them.  And I find myself saying those words again and again lately, especially while remembering – fittingly enough – our Thanksgiving Day hike.

Every time we climb a mountain I understand it could turn into a savory memory, and most hikes are memorable in some way or another, but whenever we make it to Franconia Ridge and step out of the trees above treeline with the world beneath us and heaven not just above us, but by our sides as well, there’s an even greater chance it will be a day to remember. 

We haven’t been on the ridge for a year and a half and I’ve missed it.  The entire night beforehand, knowing we’d be up there soon enough, I felt like a kid on Christmas Eve.  You see, I often avoid popular routes because of the crowds and we seek them out only on off times when people are busy with their lives.  Midweek in winter is a fine time to go. So is night.  And, as it turns out, Thanksgiving Day is also a perfect time to do this hike. 

The morning air was cold but fresh as we made our way along the lower reaches of the Falling Waters Trail.   At the numerous stream crossings we had to watch our footing because of the sheen of ice on the rocks that was often hard to pick up.  Fortunately we safely made all our water crossings and then started that slow, methodical climb to the top.  It’s a steep hike, at times challenging, but it’s a beautiful walk through mythical woods and as we followed the switchbacks through the forest the sun climbed the cloudless sky and turned everything a golden-green.  That in itself would have been memory enough worth saving, but on this day there was more to come.

Just before we exited the trees near the top, we reached an ice bulge in the trail and stopped to put on our MicroSpikes.  There’s a sense of comfort and insurance whenever I feel their little metal teeth cutting into the ice.  First I hear it, then I feel it, and I’m always glad I brought them along.  And once through the icy section of the Falling Waters Trail we exited onto the ridge above treeline and there was not a cloud to be seen.  Blue skies draped themselves over the mountaintops and the faintest of breezes and the warm sun joined together to make sure we’d spend a pleasant two miles on the ridge.  But we were hungry after working so hard to get to this point and this being Thanksgiving; we stopped to have our dinner.  For me it was a first – a vegan Thanksgiving, and even though the traditional turkey dinner (and leftovers) is my favorite meal of the year, I didn’t miss it in the least bit.  Instead the three of us sat, listened to music, took in the views, and ate a meal of quinoa, sweet potatoes, avocado, black bean salsa, walnuts, and pumpkin seeds.  We talked, we laughed, we counted our blessings, and we enjoyed the shared solitude.  Our only regret was that we didn’t stay longer but there were miles to go and the day was slipping by and soon the sun would be slipping towards the horizon.

On the climb up Mount Lincoln I watched Atticus maneuvering up the rocks, between them, and around them.  I tried to remember how many times we’ve been over Lincoln and Lafayette but I couldn’t.  What I do know is that we’ve been climbing them for the last seven years and we’ve done them in all kinds of weather and in every season.  I also know that while Atticus will soon be eleven and he still moves well, he won’t be doing these hikes forever, and so I watched him closely with the same love and admiration I always do, but with the tiniest sense of bittersweet sentimentality. 

He moves in these mountains as if they are his old friends.  He’s always felt comfortable with them.  There’s an ease to him wherever he is, a self-assuredness that make me look on joy for him. But on a mountain it’s different.  I understand that somehow or someway he was made for this and each time we climb it’s like he’s coming home again.  And while I don’t think Atticus really cares whether we climb four thousand footers or other desirable peaks, he knows these places so well and has grown fond of them.  They are familiar to him.  

It’s for this reason that I have decided that over the next year or so we’ll get to each of the forty-eight at least one more time while he’s still healthy and moving well.  I understand that while that doesn’t necessarily have to be the case, it could very well be our last time together on these two mountains.  But instead of looking at that day that hasn’t come, I decided to put my thoughts to the memories being made on that trip.    

On top of Lincoln I picked him up as I always do and we looked back to where we’d come from. (That stretch of rocky trail always reminds me of the Great Wall of China as it follows the jagged and narrow spine of the ridge.)  Then we turned north and looked toward Mount Lafayette, the next peak on our hike.  It’s a special place – the summit of Lincoln.  You not only get the breathtaking views of Cannon, the Kinsmans, and Moosilauke to the west, you get Garfield, the Twins, the Bonds, Owls Head, the Presidentials, Carrigain, and the Hancocks to the east.  To the south are Flume and Liberty and the east-to-west running Sandwich Range.  But on top of all that, you get the perfect view of Lafayette, which towers in front of you like some magical beast that will one day awaken. 

The climb up Lafayette is always a challenge, but it was easier because of the special views on a cloudless day.  We stopped often to appreciate everything that was special and for what we were experiencing.  Better yet, we’d seen a total of five people above treeline.  Such sweet solitude made even more special by the friendship it was wrapped in….three hikers in our own little world, in our own paradise, dancing over the mountains, making memories, and having much to be thankful for on a day made for giving thanks.

We weren’t moving all that quickly.  There was no need to for we were where we wanted to be and there was much to see and do and say.   It had become one of those days destined to be remembered.  You know the kind.  You recognize them as they unfold and notice the way you slip right into them and are then wrapped up for safe keeping so that you can always pull it back to you in a daydream for life is not always so kind and we need these pockets of special times where we can reach them. 

The poet William Stafford has a few lines in one of his poems that go like this….

Little corners like this, pieces of Heaven
left lying around, can be picked up and saved.
People won’t even see that you have them,
they are so light and easy to hide.

As we left the summit of Lafayette and walked down the mountain and into the sunset before making our way through the last couple of miles under the guidance of a bright moon and starlit sky, it was clear we’d made a memory with those little pieces of heaven we’d found throughout the day and they will always be there for us when we want or need them, just as they are now.