Faith

Little Big Adventures

The kids used to give me a hard time about how I defined an “adventure.” An adventure was to me the lens through which even an everyday event might be seen as extraordinary. But they would cut their eyes at me, shake their heads and assure me “No, Mom – getting lost on the way to a new grocery store does not constitute an adventure.” I beg to differ. So, last week when we endeavored to do our own thing during spring break, I had what I would call an adventure.

While the older of the two young’uns took off on her own journey, we remaining three headed to the foothills of the North Carolina mountains for a week of camping. Our first afternoon there, The Boy and I decided to get a feel for our surroundings with a walk on one of the trails that originates not far from our camp site. We picked our way through the woods, making note of where we were in relation to the lake, weaving back and forth on the well-worn footpath that traced the undulating shoreline. I never once suspected that we’d come across any wildlife since we were both chatting nearly nonstop. I had, however, committed a couple of errors in judgement: first, I had not brought the trail map with me. Secondly, I had no water. We walked and babbled and noted the tracks of deer, remnants of the recent controlled burn and the blue blazes that marked our trail. But as the sun sank, you could feel the cool lower itself like a summer blanket over the woods.

I started to get nervous but tried to conceal my anxiousness from The Boy. I couldn’t remember just how long the map had indicated the trail would be; I couldn’t recall whether the trail was indeed a loop; and I remembered only that bears were not likely to be out and about so early in the Spring. I had no idea where we were going, I had no idea what the end of the trail would look like and whether we’d end up where we started. I didn’t know if I had it in me to walk for as long as I might need to get back to our campsite. I guess I wasn’t convincing in my efforts to conceal my nerves. But here’s where the adventure began for me. I got to watch The Boy rise to the occasion. He started talking about bears, about the book series that held his attention at the moment, and about parkour. He might have even talked about bears doing parkour or mythological Gods that were bears or books about journeys. I don’t even remember. I just remember that all of a sudden the adventure lay in walking the woods with this young man whom I was only just beginning to know.

Well, that and we still had no fucking idea where we were going. Or how long it would take to get there. Or whether my 54-year-old legs would keep moving. I had a vague sense that we’d be fine. Indeed I was relieved for the cool of the air. I knew on some level that no self-respecting critter would fail to hear us stomping along that trail talking at full voice. And in fact we did get back to the campsite. We listened for and heard the squeals of children as they played in the path between campsites. The Boy identified a good spot for bushwhacking through the brush towards the human sounds that beckoned just a few hundred yards away. We emerged just as the sun retreated behind the mountains. We got back to the campsite Dusty had finished preparing with a fire, he unknowing that we’d been in any way lost or waylaid. It was fine.

So, here’s the thing: I am a better student of life’s lessons when I find them in these little adventures. I got to see The Boy as protector, problem-solver and coach. And – just as in the reading of fairy tales – I got to see that these unexpected challenges do mostly turn out well. I got to see that it’ll be fine when I pick my way through the unknown. I have no idea where I’m going, I have no idea what it’ll look like when I get there. But my legs will carry me. I’ll pay attention to my surroundings, I’ll let my companions coach and encourage me and we’ll emerge at home, the richer with a story, and with greater assurance that as dark and as cold as it gets on an unfamiliar trail – it will all be fine.

But PS and while we’re here – next time I go for a hike I’m leaving earlier, bringing a trail map, a warm layer and some water. Not all my lessons were metaphorical.