Climbing the Mountain

Somehow I always knew I would write about that day. The day I learned there were mountains to climb and that I was here to climb them. The memories and lessons from that day so many decades ago have stayed with me, reminding me of what I am capable of, if only I tried. I must warn my reader that while it seems like yesterday, just as my father once said, "My memory of the event is crystal clear; the accuracy however, is not something I can verify!"

It had been a hard year for our family. Losing momma the prior fall changed all of us. Everyone had found ways to draw inward rather than sharing their grief and the impact on the eight children was profound. At eleven years old, I was the youngest and perhaps the least able to understand the changes rippling through my family. In an effort to draw us together, Dad planned a fishing trip in the peaks of Wyoming along the Platte River. Most of the kids were there, along with our grandparents, aunt, uncle and two cousins.

Being several years younger and possessing the lethal trait of being a girl, I was left out of some of the activities of the older boys, including climbing the mountain at the bottom of which we camped. I remember my brothers and cousins telling tales of their exploits as we sat around the campfire one night eating the days catch. I remember wishing I could be like them. That I could be strong and have courage like them. I thought if only I could be like my brothers then maybe I would not feel so sad. My brothers, it seemed to me, were everything I wanted to be.

The morning was clear and crisp with a light mountain wind making goose pimples rise on my forearms as Grandma brushed my hair into two long braids. The boys had all disappeared for the day, heading up the mountain and into the river in equal numbers. As the remaining adults tended to the camp, Grandpa approached, silently handing me a stick of Juicy Fruit.

You had to hand it to Grandpa. A simple care-free man with a high-pitched giggle, I believe there were few things in life that Grandpa thought a piece of Juicy Fruit couldn't make better.

"Hmmm, seems to me those boys been doin' a lot of braggin,'" he began.

"Yeah, they always think they are so special...they never let me come along," I offered.

"Whatcha say you and me go teach those boys a thing or two?" He fired off with a wink and a grin. And then he headed toward the mountain.

Running to catch up with my 71-year old grandpa, he said, "You and me are gonna climb that mountain."

Amazed at the idea, I followed close behind. The climb up and then down that mountain served as the foundation for one of the most important lessons I have ever learned. Having reflected on that day I feel it has since gained in profundity what I have since gained in years. In some ways it reminds a bit of the hero's journey. My own hero's journey—the first of many to bless my life.

We were silent as we began our journey, as if in unspoken agreement the sounds of the mountain were all we wanted or needed to hear. And there were sounds. The music of the aviary crowd kept our spirits light and the occasional rush of wings as a small flock of birds took off from a nearby tree kept us alert. There were other noises—ground squirrels scurrying on the ground and a variety of other critters going about their day. After 20 minutes or so, Grandpa stopped and said "It's time we stop and reconnoiter.” When grandpa said it though, it sounded more like “reekahnotter.” We stopped to rest as Grandpa looked around to see which direction looked best. Besides up that is!

I later learned that technically, Grandpa needed to stop every 10-15 minutes to catch his breath—he was 71 and a former smoker—I imagine the mountain air was getting to him. But I didn't see any weakness at all in my tall, free-wheeling Grandpa. At our frequent stops he said we were stopping to re-evaluate our situation. He explained that it was good to have a plan; in case you get lost, he would add. "Ever' so often you gotta take that plan out and look at it. You gotta make sure it's still leadin' the way you wanna go."

The trip up the mountain was uneventful as far as trips up the mountain go. When we reached the top though, things got really exciting. Leaning over the top of the mountain looking down on our tiny campground, Grandpa let out a high -pitched "YEE-HAH!!!!". I could see Grandma below holding her face in her hands lamenting, "Oh, Harold..." as she realized where we had disappeared to that morning. I screamed "YEE-HAH” too and we each had a fresh stick of Juicy Fruit.

We spent time exploring the top of the mountain, finding souvenirs in the form of animal skulls and some bird feathers. But as all good things must end, it was time to head back down the mountain. And that’s where it got a bit dicey. The path we took on the way down wasn't the same as the path we took on the way up. It was decidedly scarier and much steeper than I remembered from the first leg of the trip. I grew anxious and while afraid of acting like a "girl,” I let Grandpa know I was very scared.

"Virginia, the gin of the Ocean! Don't you know I won't let anything happen to you?" he bellowed. This was a phrase he frequently used with me but I may never know why.

At one point, the only way down from one rock peak was for us to reach over to a nearby tree and climb down. This was more than I could handle. I was an overweight, un-athletic 11-year old and the idea of reaching over and hanging on to that tree was beyond me. Before I knew it, Grandpa reached under my arms, picked me up and carried me down that tree. It was probably only a few feet, but the way I remember it, I think it must have been at least 10 feet. We made it down the tree safely and from there it was not much further back to our camp. By then we were both pretty tired; as on the way up, we remained silent.

Returning to camp, I think poor Grandpa collapsed on his poor arthritic legs and couldn't walk for several hours! But later that night, it was Grandpa telling of our courageous experience climbing the mountain. "Not bad for an old man and a little girl, eh?" He slapped one of my brothers on the back and headed off to bed.

Grandpa never once mentioned the incident in the tree. Not to me and not to anyone else. What he did do was to remind me of our exploits each and every time I saw or spoke to him for the rest of his life. "How about you and me go climb a mountain?" he would ask.

I learned several lessons that day:

•   I can do whatever I set my mind to doing

•   A little help goes a long way

•   Sometimes plans change

•   Assistance often comes from unlikely sources

•   Strength  and courage means different things to different people

•   A stick of juicy fruit  can make almost anything a little better

Many years later during my final visit with Grandpa, I reminded him of that day.

At 91, he was no longer able to physically care for himself after a bad fall the previous winter; Grandpa was a resident of the Vinita Retirement Home. I visited him there in the months before his death and was deeply saddened by what I saw.

My Grandpa’s ever-sunny disposition had been replaced by a pale, thin look I didn't remember ever seeing before. It was a look of pain mixed with resignation and a touch of despair. A look I didn't fully understand until I saw it on my father's face as he neared his own death decades later.

When I arrived, it took him a few minutes to realize who I was and that I had driven from St. Louis to see him. I remember him thanking me from the bottom of his heart; a moment that continues to fill my heart with love as the years go by. We were silent at first. He was very hard of hearing and it was difficult to carry on a conversation.

Looking around the small room, it seemed like a mini version of his home where he had lived for the past sixty years. His red chair was in the corner; he always preferred sleeping in it than in his own bed. Somethings never change I suppose. A 5 x 7 color picture of him and Grandma dominated the nightstand and the room smelled of the soap he had always used with his shaving brush.

After a bit, I nearly yelled "Hey Grandpa!"

Startled, he mumbled and snapped, "What?"

"Let's you and me go climb a mountain, huh?"

A smile slowly spread across his face, eyes opening fully and becoming less dull in the moment; his dancing blue eyes briefly lighting up the way I remembered. Taking my hand, he whispered "Thank you, thank you," as he again faded back into a pain-filled, half-conscious state. I kissed his forehead and left. He died several weeks later. To Grandpa I say, "Thank you, thank you."