Up

by Patricia Ellis Herr

  We keep at it for two miles before deciding to take a snack break. The dry top of a medium-size boulder provides a convenient island on which to sit. Finally, something pleasant! For the first time in months, we’re able to sit without immediately becoming chilled. My sports watch informs me of the temperature; it’s a seasonal sixty-five degrees.

  Twenty minutes go by in silence. Had this been months ago, when Alex and I were first starting out, I would have worried about her quiet demeanor and peppered her with questions. Now she is seasoned enough to tell me what she needs, and I no longer have to nag her about drinking enough, eating enough, or wearing the proper amount of clothing. I concentrate on my peanuts and choose not to interrupt her thoughts.

  Alex eventually puts down her bag of trail mix, looks at me, and pulls the lid off a big can of troubling discussion.

  “Jacob told me I can’t be good at math because I’m a girl.” Alex shoves her foot down into the snow and then yanks it back up, splattering little bits of pebbly white granules everywhere.

  Crap. I knew I’d have to have this kind of talk with her at some point during her young life, but I was hoping it would at least wait until her age hit the double digits.

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” I say. “You’re two grade levels ahead of him in math.”

  “He also said that I can’t build things very well … because I’m a girl.” Alex scowls at a nearby tree as she speaks. I can see the color rising in her cheeks as her temper threatens to get the best of her.

  Great. Thanks, Jacob. Guess I’ll be having a discussion with his mother as soon as we return to Somerville.

  Jacob’s mother actually does a fine job with her son, and she is not one to tolerate sexist language. These comments likely reflect a new influence on Jacob, a boy who recently moved into the neighborhood. Alex met this kid once, when he had come over to Jacob’s house to see if Jacob wanted to play. Upon seeing Alex, the charming lad had sniffed, “I don’t like girls,” turned on his heels, and stalked off. Alex had been understandably hurt and confused by his behavior. She had never experienced gender discrimination before.

  Jacob probably now sees this boy on a regular basis, as I assume these recent comments reflect a burgeoning friendship. At least I know that as soon as I speak with Jacob’s mother, Jacob will be set straight, and Alex will never again hear such comments come out of her friend’s mouth.

  Unhappy thoughts are swirling through my head as my strong and beautiful daughter, who just turned six a couple of months ago, sits there kicking the snow around and waiting for me to respond. My little Amazon, who hikes New Hampshire’s highest mountains with great stamina and joy. My Alex, who would probably leave both Jacob and his new neighbor in the dust should they ever attempt to climb a mountain of any height.

  “Do you think what he was saying was true?” I finally answer, after calming myself.

  “No!” comes the immediate response, accompanied by a scowl so deep it threatens to swallow her face.

  “Then why do you think he said that?”

  “I don’t know!” Alex is frustrated and obviously looking to me for concrete answers. I wish I could give them to her. All I can do is explain that there are many people who believe that girls are not as good as boys. I don’t want to do this; I don’t want this belief to be out there; I don’t want my innocent daughter to have to deal with all that bull. But I can’t shield her forever.

  “There are some boys who think that girls can’t do things just because they’re girls,” I begin.

  “Well that’s stupid,” Alex says.

  We’ve been sitting for a while now, and I am beginning to be mindful of the time. I pull Alex to her feet, and we continue our ascent.

  As we fight through the rotting snow, I give Alex a brief history of the American woman. Our status as property, our role as child bearers, our lack of the right to vote. The relatively recent changes to the law that finally afforded us civil rights. The present problem of women not making as much money as men for doing the same job, the lack of extended maternity leave. I repeatedly step, sink, and yank my foot free of the snow’s grip as our discussion expands to the topic of women in certain other countries. Women hurt and killed for speaking their mind. Teenage girls married off unwillingly. Though my explanations are mere sketches of very basic information, I feel I paint an accurate overall picture. Alex listens intently, her fury pushing her forward. Her disgust at the unfairness of it all is taken out on the snow. Step, sink, yank, kick.

  We are close to a minor stream crossing when I step on what appears to be solid snow and immediately sink up to my waist. “Fudge!” I loudly exclaim. Except I don’t say “Fudge.” Alex’s eyes grow wide and round, and she smiles for the first time since leaving the car.

  I slowly pull myself out of the hole my body has created, take another snowshoe step, and promptly sink once again.

  My daughter stays on top of the ground during this section. She is lighter, and the snow underneath her feet does not crumble. I keep stepping on surfaces I think are solid, only to have the snow give way beneath me. As I repeatedly drag my body up and over, I hope that throughout her life, Alex’s footing is as good off the trail as it is on. I hope she looks where she steps and judges correctly. I hope she puts herself in social situations where her environment is as it seems to be, free from the land mines of sexism. I hope she learns how to navigate the world so that she can get to where she wants to go, with as little sinking into unnecessary mush as possible.

  This especially nasty section blessedly ends just before we reach the intersection with the Carter-Moriah Trail. We sit at the trail sign, recharging our bodies and resting our legs. Alex looks at me with her sky-blue eyes and asks, “What am I supposed to do when a boy tells me I’m not good enough?”

  Oh, I wish I could give her some magic words. Words she could say to such people, words that would melt their preconceived notions like the warm sunshine melts the snow from the mountains. Alas, it is not that simple.

  “Alex, my dear daughter, all you can do is be yourself. Never hide your strengths. Do exactly what you want to do, even if someone tells you that girls aren’t supposed to do such things. Those statements—those words Jacob said—they’re lies. Lies told by foolish people who are, for some reason, afraid of a woman’s strength.”

  Alex’s brow furrows as she chews some walnuts. Then she asks another question I had hoped I wouldn’t have to field until she was much older. “Why don’t you work outside the home?”

  Ah, here it is. Why don’t I work outside the home? Me, with my master’s degree from Harvard University? Me, the fiercely independent woman who has traveled the country and the world? Me, the woman who once had high dreams of great academic achievement? Me, who sometimes worries how a stay-at-home mother can be a strong, shining example to her daughters?

  The answer is simple: I don’t work outside the home because for the moment I am too busy working inside the home. I tell Alex this, but my answer isn’t good enough for her.

  “Does this mean that mothers can’t be scientists or doctors or anything else?”

  “No, honey, that’s not it. Of course they can. However, once you have children, you need to focus on them. For some families, this means the mother puts her own career aside for a while. In other families, the father is the one to stay home while the mother goes out to work. Or both parents take turns staying with the kids. Or the grandparents come and help out. Or you hire a good nanny, and you come home as soon and as often as you can. Or you work from home. There are many options to choose from nowadays.”

  Alex is silent for a while as we move closer toward the summit. We reach a series of snow-free ledges, and a stunning view leaps out at us. Mount Washington and its Presidential Range neighbors loom nearby, their tall, snowy peaks glistening in the sun. They’re beautiful, majestic. Alex stands tall and holds her hiking stick high above her head, a huge smile on her face as we are reminded of today’s purpose, of our immediate destin
y. Mount Moriah’s peak is not so far away. The worst appears to be over. If we can just persevere for a little while longer, then we’ll stand on our goal, victorious. The views from right here and now are gorgeous. They’ll only get better.

  We move along the ledges, then back into the trees for a while, then out among some sharp and rocky outcroppings.

  “Mama, do you miss it? Do you miss working away from home?”

  “No,” I immediately say. It’s almost the truth. Most of the time, I don’t miss it. I don’t miss office politics, or measuring my worth by the status of my career, or fretting over runs in my pantyhose.

  However, I do, at times, miss pursuing my own career. There are little things too, things my pre-children self took for granted. Having an uninterrupted coffee break. Privacy in the bathroom. Riding an elevator without having to tell someone to quit jumping up and down.

  We come to a spur path that climbs a short and steep distance to Moriah’s summit. Finally. Almost there. I turn and start upward, but Alex keeps her feet planted at the intersection.

  “Why not? Why don’t you miss it?”

  Such questions today!

  Sighing, I step back, drop to my knees, and look her in the eyes.

  “Alex, I lived on my own for fourteen years before having you and Sage. In those fourteen years, I worked outside the home. I also traveled across the United States and visited many other countries. I did all kinds of things with my life. But you know what?”

  “What?”

  “Being with you and Sage—that is the most exciting thing I’ve ever done. Raising you, listening to you, reading to you, loving you, being there for you—there is nothing I could ever do that is more interesting or more important than that. If I left you and Sage to work outside the home, I would die of boredom.”

  I hug her, but Alex does not remain in the embrace for more than a moment. She draws back and asks yet another question.

  “Other mothers work outside the home. Are they wrong?”

  “I can’t know what’s best for other mothers and their children, Alex. I know only what’s best for me, and for the two of you.”

  Alex turns and walks up the last few dozen yards to Moriah’s highest point. We unbuckle our packs and sit on a bare rock, happy to be at the peak. I am sore and exhausted.

  Alex smiles and surveys the view with pride. I don’t need to tell her that this was a difficult hike. She knows it was; we’re now past the point of my having to praise her for making it to the top. Out here on the trail, Alex is a woman-child. She has no use for pats on the head.

  “What will you think of me if I work outside the home?” she asks.

  “Alex, I want you to have whatever career you want to have. It’s not my place to tell you how to manage everything. You’ll have to figure it out on your own, with the help of your baby’s father. Just know that if ever you want my help, I’ll be there for you.”

  When we both feel adequately rested and well fed, we make our way down the mountain. Unfortunately, the descent is just as torturous as the ascent. The snow has softened even more in the day’s bright sunshine, and I sink over and over again into the rotting slush. Even Alex, who had managed to stay on top most of the way up, now sinks to her waist repeatedly.

  Our words are few during the afternoon hours. With every sink and fall, our legs scrape painfully against the topmost layer of snow. Alex’s calves are bright red before we’re even halfway down. I ask her if she’d like to change into long pants, but she says no.

  My legs are holding up well until I manage to fall and wedge one of Alex’s snowshoes into my knee. The shoe had fallen off my pack earlier, and I had chosen to carry it instead of fastening it back on. When I fall, I let go of the snowshoe, and it lands, cleats up, directly in front of me. Down goes my knee, straight into the shoe’s sharp bits. Expletives leave my mouth as I stand, snowshoe embedded in my knee.

  Alex’s eyes grow wide at the sight, and I quickly wrench the thing from my flesh. There is blood, but not so much that Alex blanches. I tell her I’m fine, and we carry onward. I’m too tired to properly secure the thing to my pack, and I don’t do anything to clean up my knee. The pain is minimal, and I want to keep moving.

  Alex renews our earlier conversation.

  “What should I do if the boys won’t let me play?”

  Crunch-swoosh! My legs punch through, sink, punch through, sink.

  “It’s up to you. You could play anyway and try to win them over. Or you could choose to walk away.”

  Crunch-swoosh! Alex’s legs mimic mine.

  “If I try to play with them, maybe they’ll understand that they’re wrong.”

  Crunch-swoosh!

  “Maybe. Or maybe they’ll choose to exclude you anyway.”

  Crunch-swoosh!

  “Then how do I know what to do?”

  Crunch-swoosh!

  “It’s not always clear. With kids, like these boys you’re talking about, it’s kind of difficult. They’re just reflecting their parents’ attitudes. They’re confused. On one hand, they’re trying to figure it all out for themselves, while on the other hand, they want to fit in with their friends and live up to their parents’ expectations. With grown-ups, it’s very different. If a man tells you that you’re not allowed to do something because you’re a woman, then you can have the government make him do the right thing. Grown men can lose their jobs or be made to pay a large fine if they don’t allow women the same rights as men. Kids, though … it’s up to the parents to teach them to do the right thing. Nothing much happens to boys who say sexist things to girls.”

  The snow thins and becomes less problematic. Our pace increases. Fifteen more minutes, and we’re out of that mess and back onto dry trail. Thank God.

  “Some boys are okay, right?” Alex asks, her back straight and her stride strong.

  “Yes, definitely! Most of them are okay.”

  “What about men? Are most of them okay too?”

  “Yes, most of them are okay. At least in this country. Make no mistake, though—you will indeed meet and have to deal with some bad ones. It’s just part of life as a woman. Do your best to avoid the unfair ones when you can, but never let any of them stand in your way.”

  We reach the water crossing and are now one mile away from our car. This morning, Stony Brook was easily navigated. Now, however, the day’s melted snow has found its way into the water and the level has risen to just below my knees. I’m confident we can get across, but our feet and lower legs will get soaked.

  I tell Alex that we’re going to wade across the part we crossed earlier, and she nods her head in agreement. Keeping a firm grip on Alex’s upper arm, I lead us through the frigid water. The current pushes at our legs, and Alex stumbles, but my hold keeps her upright, and we reach the other side without mishap.

  Calves and feet drenched, we stand, Mount Moriah checked off the list. Alex looks sturdy and victorious, her hands on her hips as she stares down the path before us. The afternoon is waning; sunset is only an hour away.

  “I can do what I want with my life, right? I can get to where I want to go?”

  “Yes, Alex. I’ve no doubt you’ll be able to do anything you want to do. However, sometimes the path might be like the one up Mount Moriah in April. Sometimes you’re going to have to punch through rotting snow to get to where you want to go. You might end up feeling tired and angry, but if you just keep at it, if you just keep moving forward and dealing with everything the best way you can, then you will indeed reach your goal.”

  “And if I have babies?”

  “Then you’ll make your own choices and do your best to figure it out.”

  I fear my words are inadequate, but this is the best I can do. I don’t know how to better prepare her for the inevitable difficulties she will face as she makes her way through life.

  The two of us step quickly down the trail, the distance between ourselves and our car narrowing every second, Alex looking full of heavy thought.

&nbs
p; Peak #36: Mount Isolation, June 27–28, 2009

  The spruce grouse is not a ferocious species. There aren’t any books advising what to do should you meet one on a trail, and there aren’t any warnings about them on the New Hampshire Fish and Game website. No one worries about crossing paths with a grouse. While it’s true that many are not afraid of humans, these calf-high birds present no threat. They may wait until you’re within a few feet of them before they fly away, but they will indeed fly away.

  Except, of course, for the grouse on the Rocky Branch Trail. This particular individual is a creature of legend, a bird of angry bravado that has been featured in many a peakbagger’s trip report. I have read all about this fowl’s aggressive nature and bold demeanor, and its ability to fly at grown men and send them screaming down the trail. I don’t think this bird has ever succeeded in seriously injuring anyone, but everyone desperately wishes to avoid it nonetheless.

  And now here it is, a few yards in front of me, pacing back and forth and hissing. Yes, hissing.

  Alex and I are about four miles up 4,005-foot Mount Isolation, one of the more difficult and notorious 4Ks. Reaching this particular summit means hiking almost fifteen round-trip miles over slick, mud-covered rocks, wading through three potentially dangerous water crossings … and making our way through the territory of one reportedly bold and extremely grumpy grouse.

  Thankfully, my daughter and I are not alone with this bird. LRiz, an amiable and enthusiastic young athlete, contacted me the night before and asked if she could join us, at least for part of the first day. She wanted to start the hike with us, then go ahead after a few miles and speedily complete the trip on her own. I gladly agreed to her company. This lovely twenty-one-year-old is incredibly fit; she’s one of the few who can hike an entire range in one day, go to sleep, wake up, and hike another range the next day. Just as cheerful as she is strong, her presence always brightens the moment. Alex adores her; MadRiver is coming with us as well, and he is cherished and much appreciated, but LRiz is a young woman, and Alex enjoys the sisterhood vibe she receives from this positive female role model.