Cindy and I did not talk much to each other while hiking the 5,000 mile American Discovery Trail. Part of this was due to being around each other 24/7. What news did we have for each other?
“What did you see today, honey?”
“The same thing you saw, dear.”
We spoke usually when we paused our hiking; we paused our hiking when I was not sure where we were. I was the map person; the route finder. Cindy was the person for whom we were trying to alleviate stress with this journey. That seemed to work, for here is a typical “conversation” between us.
Me (looking anxiously at the map): I think we’re lost!
Cindy (stooping down to pick a flower): Isn’t this pretty?
Me (still looking at the map): I don’t know where the next water is!!
Cindy (now picking up a rock): Look at the striped patterns on this rock.
Me (in a state of near panic): We’re going to die out here!
OK, so that last one is a bit of an exaggeration. The point is that Cindy led a carefree life while hiking the ADT, as she will have once again while hiking the PCT, and much of being carefree for Cindy is being absorbed by the beauty of nature surrounding her.
Having hiked all the major trails, I say without qualification that the Pacific Crest is the most consistently remote and beautiful out of all of them. I am so happy to share such overwhelming beauty with Cindy … and my oldest daughter!
I’m reminded of a pledge I once made to myself. I’m not a morbid person, but I have entertained thoughts of what I would do if I found out I had terminal cancer. I resolved then, as I still feel now, that I would fill my remaining time on earth with as much beauty as possible: the beauty of nature, the beauty of music, the beauty of kindness, the beauty of whatever moves you. For Cindy’s whole life that has been nature above all else.
I’m not the one with the terminal disease, but I still can’t imagine a better way to spend one’s twilight than with sunset-quality beauty bringing a close to the perfect day, or the life well-lived.
