by Kaya McLaren
That made her smile. “Come on! Wait until you walk on top of the ridge! You’ll feel like you’re walking on top of the world!”
All around him wildflowers of every color bloomed, and in a few places, there were even large patches of snow. “Snow!” he said.
“I know!”
She took his hand and together they walked up toward the sky and the light. It was the complete opposite feeling of when he had felt like he was walking into and then under water as he’d walked into the precinct. This was a new experience, and it made him feel very much alive and free.
“I can’t believe I’ve wasted my life not doing this!” he said.
“You didn’t waste your life,” she replied seriously. “But I’m glad you’re happy to be here.”
He was wondering why she had never insisted he come here or even places like it that were closer, then remembered that in the early days she’d tried. “Remember that time we went to Carlsbad Caverns?”
“Yeah,” she said, a smile crossing her face as she remembered.
“That was a good day.”
“Yes, it was.”
They rested for a moment when they reached the top. A small orange butterfly danced around them for a bit.
“It’s a sign,” she said. “Emergence. We’re coming out of our cocoons.”
Paul didn’t believe in signs, but he believed in that one.
They walked along the ridge for a while and then she showed him the secret worlds inside circles of trees. Standing there in a world all their own, she reached up and put her hands behind his neck, and said, “I was here a week ago, and I missed you.” Then she kissed him, and in that moment, he knew that they were going to be okay.
* * *
When they reached the lodge, he followed Amy in. She wanted to buy some postcards. Seeing a concession counter, he asked her what sounded good and then stood in line to order food. A park ranger, shorter and younger than Paul, walked in and stood in line behind him, and a thought crossed Paul’s mind.
“Mind if I ask you about your job?” Paul asked.
And the ranger explained everything he wanted to know—about how there were law enforcement rangers and interpretive rangers, about how he had to go through federal law enforcement training to be a law enforcement officer, about how a lot of their job was patrolling traffic in the park, giving speeding tickets, and ticketing people for harassing wildlife, littering, picking flowers, and camping where no camping was allowed. Occasionally, they dealt with poachers or hunters that tried to herd elk or bear out of the park and onto forest service land, where they could legally shoot them during hunting season. Occasionally, a camper in Ohanapecosh Campground had a little too much to drink and a law enforcement officer had to respond. Sometimes there were car accidents. Sometimes there were missing people they searched for. There had been a murder or two in one of the parks in California quite a few years ago, so it was possible, but mostly, it was a job he liked.
Paul ordered and paid, and after the ranger did as well and they were both waiting for their food, Paul said, “I just left the homicide division of the Oklahoma City Police Department. Just too much tragedy, you know? Are these jobs hard to get?”
“You can usually find job openings if you’re willing to go anywhere. Look online. Even after the season has started you can often find opportunities.”
Paul thanked him for his time and picked up his food.
A few minutes later, as he and Amy ate lunch at a table, he asked her where she planned to stop on the way home, and she pulled out a little blue book and flipped to the page with a map of the Pacific Northwest states on it.
“Mount St. Helens National Volcanic Monument … then up to the beaches and the rain forest of Olympic National Park … Lewis and Clark National Historical Park … Crater Lake … Oregon Caves National Monument and Preserve…” Then she flipped to the page with the western region on it. “Redwoods, Lava Beds National Monument … Lassen Volcanic National Park … I’d like to see Yosemite, but I’ve heard nightmare stories about how backed up the road there gets in summer so I think I’ll save it for another season. It’s important to me, though.”
He remembered a moment during her second chemo infusion when she was sitting in the large cushy chair, the first of two bags of chemo hanging above her shrinking as it traveled down a tube and into her arm. She had a National Geographic Travel magazine in her lap and had started to cry. He had asked her whether she was okay, whether it hurt. She had opened the magazine to show him a picture of Yosemite Valley and said, “I’m just so grateful that I’ll still have time to see it,” and he had told her that yes, she would.
“We’ll make sure that happens,” he’d said then, and he said it now too.
Her expression changed as she remembered, nodded, and, with tears in her eyes, smiled.
Sitting across the table from her now, he felt determined. “What if we went in the middle of the night under a full moon? No traffic. The whole park to ourselves.”
“I like the way you think, Bergstrom!” she said, and even though she was trying to be light about it, he met her eyes when she glanced up and knew the solution he had just offered meant the world to her. If their eyes could have spoken out loud, they would have said:
- Wow, you really do see me, don’t you?
- Yes, I see you, precious one.
- Thank you for seeing me.
Amy put her finger back on the map and continued. “Okay, after that, cut up here and over to Great Basin National Park … Zion, the North Rim of the Grand Canyon, then back up to Cedar Breaks National Monument, and Bryce Canyon, of course.…” She flipped the page to show him pictures.
“Wow!”
“I know! Otherworldly, right? Okay, then Capitol Reef, Natural Bridges, skip up to Arches and Canyonlands, then back down to Hovenweep and Mesa Verde … have you seen this? Doesn’t that look interesting?” She showed him a picture of massive ruins built into a cliff. “There are a whole bunch of national monuments nearby here. I don’t know whether I will get to all of them. Chimney Rock looks really pretty, Chaco Canyon—I have to go to Chaco Canyon.… Maybe Bandelier National Monument or maybe I’ll be exhausted by then. And that puts me back near Chama.”
“Holy smokes! I was wondering whether you were ever going to come home!”
“Well, some of these places I might just spend a couple hours in and then move on to the next. But yes, there’s so much to see and … you know, I can. I get to. It’s just such a privilege to get to.” Then she looked down at the table and quietly added, “Not everyone gets to.”
He reached over and took her hand. “I really want to do this with you,” he said boldly, and he hoped with all of his heart she would say yes.
“Okay,” she said, smiling. “You’re in.”
He thought of avalanche lilies they had seen on their hike that day, buds that had poked through the melting snow after such a long winter. They faced the sun and bloomed. Against all odds, they bloomed again.
Amy
Dear Carly,
As far as I’m concerned, there is nothing you need to apologize for. You were being asked to deal with so much. That you didn’t reach your breaking point earlier is remarkable to me. You were heroic last winter, Carly. You cared for me with profound tenderness. I will never forget it. But thank you for your letter. I was so glad to hear from you and I am so glad to know you are doing well. Your dad surprised me by showing up on my birthday. It was sweet.
Love, Mom
Dear Aunt Rae,
You are a miracle worker and a saint. A million thank-yous. Paul is here. Things are going well. Even though I asked for you not to tell him, I’m glad you did. Paul is going to adventure back with me, and then I guess we are going to move to Chama! Thank you for everything. I love you with all my heart.
Amy
Dear Alicia,
Everything here reminds me of you—trails, bear grass, the big rock, the river, the mountain itself. Someday I’d like
to return with you and see what you remember. It’s not too late, you know. We could still climb it or hike the Wonderland Trail. We’d have to train hard, but it’s not too late. If you’re ever in, I’m in. Maybe for my 50th birthday? I love you, sister. I don’t always agree with you, but I sure do love you. Thank you for everything you did for me last winter. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.
Love, Amy
Dear Dad,
I found the secret place by Sunrise Lodge that used to be a campground—do you remember the spot? There was an old chimney and you used to call in owls for us. I hiked up Sourdough Ridge to watch the sunrise. The alpenglow made the mountain look like a giant strawberry ice-cream cone. I remembered you taking Alicia and me up there for the sunrise a few times, saying, “Oh! It’s going to be a good one!” and it always was. You were the best dad. You were. You made my childhood pure magic. I love you from here to the sky.
Love, Amy
After she stamped them and dropped them in the collection box, she stamped her passport book and felt especially happy to see “Sunrise” stamped on the paper.
* * *
Before they left Mt. Rainier National Park, she had to make one more stop—to the Grove of the Patriarchs to pay homage to the truly ancient trees. She couldn’t wait to show Paul. Nothing he had ever seen in Oklahoma had prepared him for what he was about to see.
Although it was possible to hike to there from Ohanapecosh Campground, she was still regaining strength, so they drove down the road to the place where the trail crossed it and started hiking there. The trail followed a river until at last a suspension bridge crossed it. A sign advised people to cross it one person at a time, so she went first. As she walked across it, it bounced, and she held on to the wires that served as handrails. Halfway across, she stopped and waited for the bridge to still before walking on.
“Do you want me to come to you and walk with you?” Paul called from where he waited.
“No,” she called back, and then continued. Sometimes, she thought, a person has to cross her bridge in her own time and no one can do anything more than love and encourage her while she does.
When he caught up, they walked a short distance farther and then there they were, even bigger than she had remembered—firs and cedars six feet in diameter—maybe more. Wooden decks had been built around their base to protect their roots from the hordes of visitors.
“I can’t believe this,” Paul said.
Amy just smiled. “Aren’t they wonderful?”
“They’re taller than skyscrapers.”
“And more beautiful.”
After wandering down a boardwalk to a large cedar, they came upon two huge firs whose trunks had grown together, making them appear like an old married couple—one who had been together forever.
On a bench facing those trees, Amy and Paul sat for a spell. Amy had said she needed to rest, and she did, but mostly she wanted to sit there to listen. It seemed that after a thousand years of marriage, the trees might have some advice for her. She waited to hear something, and eventually what came to her was just this: Stay. That’s why those trees were together. They had simply stayed.
When they were ready and had finished walking the rest of the loop through the ancient grove, they made their way back to the suspension bridge. “Let’s go together this time,” Paul said. “I promise I’ll be graceful. Go ahead. I’m right behind you.”
Although she wasn’t sure it was a good idea, she ultimately trusted him and stepped off the solid ground and onto the far less certain surface of the bridge. True to his word, Paul was steady. And when she paused in the middle this time, looking down at the rushing river below, he slid his hands up the guardrail cables on either side of her, so that she was sandwiched between his arms.
“I got you. I won’t let anything happen to you.” She leaned back against his chest for just a second and then, with a little more courage, finished crossing.
* * *
On the deck of the Johnston Ridge Visitor Center in Mount St. Helens National Volcanic Monument, Amy and Paul saw their own reflection in the mountain.
“Look at that bulge in the center,” said Paul.
“That’s the lava dome. It’s been building since 1980. Slowly, the mountain is building itself back.”
“Did you watch it?” he asked.
“Only on TV. We came up to Mt. Rainier about a month later. Yakima was covered in ash. It looked like gray snow. It was messy and gross, and bad to breathe. I never dreamed anything would ever be able to grow here again.”
Together they looked at the plant life that had begun to grow.
“Life returns,” he said. “Renewal. Slow, but certain.”
“In my low times, I’d think about how everything in nature wants to grow … how strong the life force in living things is, really.”
He put his arm around her, pulled her into his side, and kissed the top of her head. “Yep.”
* * *
The next day, Amy and Paul walked downhill on the path from the little parking lot to Ruby Beach, one of several along the Pacific Coast in Olympic National Park just north of the Kalaloch Lodge, where they had stayed the night before and would again that night. A wide but shallow stream crossed the sandy beach where the trail through the forest came to an end. Enveloped in the misty fog, haystack rocks stood in the surf like memories of better days or giant ghosts. Amy found herself thinking about the love between mother and daughter in those terms, the rock being the mother and the surf being the daughter. That was how she wanted to be, anyway—strong like that. Unmoved on the most tumultuous days.
She bent to take off her shoes, more for the sake of keeping them dry than for any other reason. Paul followed suit.
“The sand is cold here!” Paul exclaimed.
“It is indeed!”
“Do people swim here?”
“I don’t think so. At least not on purpose.”
Hand in hand, shoes in the other, they strolled out to the place where the ocean kissed the land over and over with each wave that rolled in. Then they wandered south, toward where the sun seemed to be trying its hardest to break through the thick marine layer. After perhaps an hour, they stopped to rest on a log, one of many that had washed up on the beach, but before they sat, they paused to study a tide pool at its base.
“Sea stars!” Paul said.
“And urchins—look!” Amy pointed. They squatted to look more closely. Around them, the sand was relatively dry, a clue that the tide was coming in instead of going out.
“Barnacles.”
“All these things just waiting for the tide to come back in. They’ve mastered the art of holding on.”
Just then, the sun broke through the clouds, immediately warming them.
“It’s a sign,” said Paul. “Before John’s wedding, his future mother-in-law came back to the room, where we were all waiting, to talk to him. I overheard her say that in marriage, you fall in and out of love several times, so when you fall out, just hang on and wait it out because you will fall back in. She said she had felt that she had been married three times, just all to the same man.”
“Hm,” Amy said, pursing her lips together in a small smile as she watched the waiting sea stars and twisted her new aventurine ring around her finger. She supposed it was happening. At the moment, she was still surviving in her tide pool, but anytime now the tide would be back in. The clouds were gone. The sun was back. Hope was all around them.
* * *
While driving over to the Olympic Peninsula, Amy had received an email from Alicia.
You wouldn’t believe how much Dad loves your postcards. He had a lucid moment today and was emphatic that I tell you to visit the Maple Glade in some place that starts with a Q in Olympic National Park. He said it’s just as magical as the Hoh, but you’ll have it all to yourself.
That was how Amy and Paul found themselves there in the Maple Glade, wandering through an otherworldly landscape, one that was hard to place, a littl
e Jurassic period with ferns, a little Louisiana bayou with the sheets of moss that draped down from branches. Below the canopy of the colossal maples and above the ferns and shrubs were wide-open spaces where birds flew. Amy and Paul found themselves silenced by their reverence, speaking in whispers, as one did in sacred places.
Following the trail farther, they came upon an ancient fir with the circumference of a small room. Paul stood agape. Amy walked into a fold in its trunk where the tree completely enveloped her. There she rested her cheek on its bark and draped her arms around it. Breathing in deeply, she softened and she listened—not so much with her ears as with her heart, listened for any advice such a living thing might offer about surviving so long, about enduring storms, about losing parts of itself but continuing to grow in other ways, about the divinity of symbiotic relationships. She wasn’t sure whether the feeling that washed over her then came from the tree or whether it was inside of her all along or whether the feeling was the very voice of God, a voice she was finally able to hear in this green, living cathedral. If she were to put words to it, they would be that it’s all okay—life is okay and death is okay and all the adaptations we make to survive everything in between is okay. And that no matter what, we would always be okay. If she were to give it a name, it would simply be peace. She felt it all the way down to the very marrow of her bones, all the way down to the deepest part of her soul, and it was such a blessed relief.
Opening her eyes, she looked around, then turned and walked deeper into the tree where the center had died and rotted, leaving a large den. Intrigued, Paul slipped in behind her, looked around, and said, “This place really is magic.”
Amy sat down cross-legged and then Paul did. “This place is better than church.”
“Now I understand why you had to go be with the big trees.”
She curled up and lay down on her side, her head on his leg. “When I grow up, I want to be a bear.”
