I've been exploring this mountain of ours, bushwhacking through blueberry bushes, climbing above tree-line, tromping through the tundra, scaling small cliffs, to reach the nameless peak in our backyard with views out one way to Resurrection Bay and the other towards the Harding Icefield.
My first time up, I traversed the hill on my own, only to lose my "trail" on the way back down, caught in Devils Club and along rock faces, I traveled from the height of proud accomplishment at the summit to the depth of self-ridicule as I climbed over or under yet another fallen Spruce tree in a race against time to make Olive's class's singing dedication to a new Iditarod statue in town.
All I had to do was follow the ridge line, the mountain's spine, along Spruce Creek, but somehow I wandered off track, my lack of observation skills proving their tremendous might.
My only company my dogs, and what looked like fresh piles of bear scat, I sang and spoke aloud the whole hike, my words shifting from songs of strength to tales of woe as the woods grew darker, the rainclouds smothering the sun, heavy drops falling like reminders of my foolish pride.
I went from singing: "Love lifts us up where we belong...on a mountain side....with a clear blue sky...."
To: "I am sooooooooo stupid!"
And: "Mother fucker ice-cream cone!"
For real. Mother fucker ice-cream cone came out of my mouth.
Not sure why I felt the need to top my swearing with sugar, but strange sentiments arise when one feels desperate, and alone, in the darkening woods.
I obviously made it back down the mountain.
With even enough time to shower and eat some warm chicken soup before watching Olive sing about dog mushing under the Northern Lights.
Feeling again like a badass mountain-climbing goddess instead of a bumbling fool fighting her way through brambles in the thick of the trail-less woods.
And I climbed up again yesterday. This time with Nick, my mountain man with a mental compass, who easily led us back down the ridgeline route, through the moss and ferns, back to our trailer-home on the hill.
And I never even cursed a single dessert.
Happy Friday all!