A River in Time…
There are places we visit that aren’t quite home, but we often find ourselves seeking to return there for generations. Places of memories over time, digital images recorded showing years of change. Places in nature that resonate in our very souls that define who we are as family.
One such place is located deep in a forest in the Blue Ridge mountains. For decades, my mom and dad came here to camp and hike alongside a rushing stream called the Boone Fork. It’s one of those wild and scenic spots only reached by winding rock-strewn trail that weaves through steep wooded hillsides tracing a pathway through crossing streams without bridges, waterfalls and leaps across rock landing points that often left us with wet hiking shoes and socks.
The family dogs always loved this hike—drinking water and splashing through deep pools of cold springs of fern-covered and often slippery crossings.
In our most recent autumn season, our family found ourselves reconnecting in a hilltop cabin located nearby. Up early, we filled our packs, grabbed wooden hiking sticks and headed up the familiar trail. Two years before, we’d lost my mother—finally giving in to old age, despite hiking trails and climbing summits well into her 80’s. My father departed years before, taking one last hike along Boone Fork before being taken from us by a disease called ALS.
Our journey this day, was to hike the length and challenge of a trail that took us along high cliffs, steep hillsides and a deep ravine as the river sang out with a loud rush of whitewater tumbling over large boulders. Carrying my mother’s memory in small urns made on my sister’s potter’s wheel, we searched for the large rock that stretched across the water alongside the deepest valley where for years, we gathered and unpacked our lunches of sandwiches, bottled water and a candy bar or two.
Although, always some discussion on which rock it actually was; the dogs led us forward. We said a few words and quietly let the urns float down the stream to live here forever.
My son and his wife dipped their feet into the cold water. I said a small prayer of thanks for this gift of nature my parents had both given us over the years; to sit alongside a rushing stream and feel the beauty of nature all around us.
Their spirits would never leave us in the trails yet to come.