Melting

All week in the mountains, I was conscious of snow melting, water rushing down the rocky slopes. We hiked to the sound of a water crashing down over rock and small streams trickling down across trails. Parts of the town were flooded, with the muddy water of the river sweeping underneath trees and benches.

In one town we stopped in, the lone grocery store was closing. The young woman putting a sign up on the front door explained that the power was out because of the flood. She asked us what we needed and then let us into the store so that we could peer into the dark coolers and choose from the bottles of juice. The staff, mostly high school aged, were standing around the check-out counter talking happily about the power outage and whether or not they would be cleaning out the freezer in the morning.

I have to say that everyone we met on this trip was almost ridiculously friendly. It happened over and over again. Someone would give me a big smile and a warm hello, and I'd think, "Do I know this person? A former student? Someone I went to school with?" But then I'd hear the accent and realize that I didn't know the person at all. It seems like it is somehow just a custom in this part of the world to greet everyone like an old friend.

Perhaps it's the mountains that makes everyone so friendly. I can imagine you'd feel safe and secure if you lived with those mountains. They were present all the time, even when the mists rolled in. Even when I looked into the waters of the lake, I'd see those rocky peaks reflected there.

Morning walk

The first lake we came across was spectacularly beautiful, with green water that sparkled in the sunlight. The air was still cool and moist, so the sunlight felt good as we walked the rocky beach and sat on big pieces of driftwood to talk and plan our day. We hiked the trail around the lake, a winding path that disappeared at times under streams of water rushing down into the lake. It was a wonderful way to begin the day, breathing in moist air that smelled like Christmas trees and catching glimpse after glimpse of the gorgeous green water. At the far end of the lake, we sat in the sun by a rushing stream until a horde of mosquitoes got us up and moving again.

In the sky

As we drove off to explore the lakes and trails of this region, the rain stopped and the skies began to clear. We could see the low-lying mountains, covered with dark green trees, the conifers silhouetted against the thick clouds. But as the clouds began to pull away, the mists dissolving in sunlight, rocky mountains began to appear high in the sky. It was as if tall castles had appeared out of nowhere.

Falling water

I spent yesterday afternoon hiking along a river that cut through a canyon of mossy rocks. Both the misty rain and the spray from the tumbling whitewater kept me cool as I walked, and the noise from the churning river kept me company. Near the waterfall at the very top of the trail, the wind and spray surrounded me, soaked me, and made the whole world blur.

Normally, hiking in the rain means stripping off wet clothes in a small tent that smells like wet sneakers and trying to dry my stuff over a campfire. It was certainly a different kind of experience to come back to the luxury hotel where my husband's conference was – where a long day of hiking could end with a hot shower, delicious squash soup served in a dining room that looked out over the mountains, a dry comfy bed with a percale sheets, and a warm husband who was eager to hear about my day's adventures.

Other creatures

Although I was hiking by myself for the first two days in the mountains, I was never completely alone. Through the trees, I could hear birdsong, even though I often couldn't identify the birds. I saw humans sometimes, mostly young people who reminded me of my students, in pairs or groups of three. The other hikers I met were mostly men in their thirties, alone and eager to talk, giving me all kinds of helpful advice about what trails to take. One trail near a popular waterfall was filled with people of all ages, including a woman who was hiking with her mother and her daughter: we stopped to chat. A young woman who went by me at such a fast clip that I barely had time to read the back of her t-shirt. The words were upside down so it took me a moment to read them: "If you can read this, pull me back onto the raft!"

I saw wildlife too. Without my mother or Artist Friend or Signing Friend with me, I couldn't even begin to identify the many birds that swooped past. Tracks and scat in muddy clearings let me know that large creatures lived nearby. I saw deer, including one grazing on a lawn in town, mountain goats climbing about a rocky summit, and an elk that ambled along a path, chewing on the bushes that grew near the edge.

Walking through clouds

Our first morning in the Town That Sounds Like Batman's Punch, clouds descended upon us, hiding the tops of the mountains, curling about behind the tallest pine trees, creating a shifting, mysterious landscape. When the mist would move, I'd catch glimpses of mountains, covered with green trees at the lower levels but capped with grey rock and white ice.

For the first two days of our trip, my husband has been attending a conference. So yesterday we had breakfast together at 7 am, and he went off to early morning sessions, while I put on my hiking boots, took the rental car, and spent the day hiking. Even though I enjoy hiking with family and friends, I also love having the luxury of exploring a new region all by myself. I'd brought all kinds of maps and guidebooks, but in the end, I just drove around, never entirely sure where I was (I am terrible at directions), and parked at any trailhead that looked promising. I'd agreed to save the most famous sights for later in the week when my husband would be joining me, so on my own, I explored the trails less travelled.

Cool overcast weather is wonderful for hiking. The first trail I took wound through stands of Douglas firs, and the moist air smelled like at Christmas tree lot. Sometime the sun would peek out, and shadows would fall across the trail. Other times, a light misty rain would fall, the drops falling on my bare arms, cooling me down. I saw rivers that churned white as they rushed through rock, waterfalls that crashed down through mossy canyons, groves of aspen overlooking meadows where moose graze, and forests of lodgepole pine growing on steep slopes. Always, I could feel the presence of the mountains around me, their rocky slopes coming into focus any time the mist cleared.

On our way

On Monday, the alarm clock rang at 4 am. With great effort, I woke up Boy in Black, who had lost the coin flip with his sister and had to drive his parents to the airport for our early morning flight. I think he'd only been asleep for an hour, but he pulled his sneakers on sleepily and trudged out to the car. We arrived at the airport while it was still dark, checked in, made our way to the gate, and congratulated ourselves for making it on time. Then a woman with a navy blue uniform and obnoxiously cheerful voice announced that the flight might be delayed. The plane was here – we could see it out the window – but apparently there were "mechanical problems."

to For two hours, we sat at the gate, eating the food I had in my backpack and comparing notes with other passengers about what connections we were all going to miss. The dark sky outside the window grow lighter. The plane was still sitting there, and I couldn't see any activity whatsoever. Where were all the mechanics racing to fix it?

Finally, Official Woman in Navy Blue, who had spent the last two hours lying to people about how they were going to make their connections in Big Midwestern City because somehow the hour time difference would make up for any kind of delay, got tired of the whole scene and disappeared down the ramp into the airplane. When she came back, she announced cheerfully that she had talked to the pilot and had good news. "He is going to fire up the engines and see if they work."

Other passengers took this news calmly, but I stared at her in horror. We were about to get on a plane that would be hurtling thousands of feet above the earth. I was hoping for some kind of assurance that the mechanical problems might actually be fixed and that the plane was in good working order before we did something as foolish as fly up into the sky.

My husband seemed calmer about the whole thing than I was and convinced me to get on the plane, which did take us safely to Big Midwestern City, where of course we missed our connection. Official Woman in Navy Blue had managed to get us on another flight though, and soon enough, we had landed in Maple Leaf Country and were in a rental car, driving towards the mountains.

Traveling

As most of my readers know, I've lived in the same place my whole life. Perhaps that's why traveling always seems so exciting to me. I love to explore new landscapes, investigate other cultures, and imagine what life is like for people and creatures who live somewhere else. Sometimes when my house is quiet, I can hear the trains going by on the railroad tracks at the end of my road. I like to imagine the passengers going past, east and south to the Big City Like No Other, or west to the Big Midwestern City and beyond. When my kids were small, I didn't get to do much traveling – it seems like I was always breastfeeding a child, so we mostly did local camping trips – but now that my kids have gotten older, I take advantage of every opportunity to see just a little bit more of the world.

Tomorrow, I'll be traveling with my husband to the Town in the Canadian Rockies That Sounds Like a Bad Eighties Band. We'll be exploring a mountain region famous for its beautiful lakes, vast icefields, natural hot springs, and incredible vistas. We'll be hiking in mountains that are home to elk and mountain goats, woodland caribou and bighorn sheep, wolves and grizzly bears, cougars and lynx. I'm packing everything from my raingear to my hiking boots to my silkiest lingerie, tossing in dramamine for good measure. I am ready for whatever the week brings.

Pottery Amidst the Ferns

One of the nice things about having so many artists amongst my friends and family is that I end up going to cool art shows. This weekend, my friend Quilt Artist let us know that a booth of her fabric art would be displayed at a neighborhood art show, so Long Beautiful Hair, Reiki Woman, and I spent the morning walking around in the sunshine, looking at art.

Tents and booths were set up on the front lawns and paved driveways of the beautiful old houses in the hills near the university, a section of town famously populated by artists, writers, musicians, and aging hippies. We began at Quilt Artist's booth, helping her set up her work: gorgeous hanging quilts, framed fabric art, and beautifully designed cards, along with quilted potholders, purses, and pillows. I am used to looking at Quilt Artist's work – she will often show me her latest quilt when I am at her house – but it's always amazing to see so much of it gathered together. I know well how much time and creative energy all those colours and fabrics represented.

Most artists I know are avid gardeners, and many of the driveways we visited were surrounded by lush, front yard gardens, just bursting with colour. The coolest place was owned by a woman famous for her pottery. Her entire backyard was a carefully kept garden, complete with stone paths, a water lily pond, and a small fountain the gurgled and splashed. She had put up makeshift tables throughout the yard, and her pottery was displayed amongst the ferns and flowers. Reiki Woman, Long Beautiful Hair, and I just kept wandering through, overwhelmed by the both the garden and the artwork.

Finally, we had to leave. Family obligations tugged. Reiki Woman had to take her son to a friend's house, Long Beautiful Hair had to take her daughter to a softball game, and I was heading to a party for my mother-in-law's 80th birthday. We took a quick walk through park that features themost incredible rose garden and then stopped back to give Quilt Artist another round of hugs and compliments.

"It's nice to get together, even if it's just for a couple of hours," said Long Beautiful Hair, as we all parted to go our separate ways. "We have to steal time whenever we can."

Dawn of the Dead

I hate shopping for clothes; I'd join a nudist colony in a heartbeat if it weren't for such things as mosquitoes and poison ivy. But I'll be traveling for the next two weeks, and my trip will include an academic conference and some formal occasions where nudity is not exactly the social norm. I looked through my closet to see what I could pack and found – well, not much at all. My summer wardrobe consists mostly of cotton shirts, denim shorts, and a bathing suit. My daughter looked at me incredulously when I tried on the shoes I wore to a summer conference two years ago.

Daughter: Are you serious?
Me: What?
Daughter: You can't wear those.
Me: They're sandals. People wear sandals with skirts.
Daughter: I don't care what you plan on wearing those with. Skirt, shorts, lingerie - you just can't.
Me: Why not?
Daughter: They're so...what's the word I'm looking for...religious.
Me: Huh?
Daughter: You know, like Jesus of Nazareth sandals.
Me: Really?
Daughter: Really.
Me (producing a pair of shoes): Okay, here's my other option. How about –
Daughter: Good God. Where did you get those?
Me: I don't remember. It was years ago.
Daughter: They are just so awful.
Me: You don't like them?
Daughter (shielding her eyes with her hands): God, those really are awful. No seriously, I don't even know what else to say.
Me: Well, I think I bought these before you were born.
Daughter (sarcastically): Really? I couldn't tell by looking at them.
Me: Well, this sole has kind of crumbled away, but the other one's still intact.
Daughter (rolling her eyes): You want to drive to Big Mall Named After Horses that Bob Up and Down — or should I?

Luckily, my daughter is an efficient woman who is able to guide me through the confusing mall. She patiently listened to my standard complaints about the kind of clothes that we saw in some of the stores. I tried to keep my rants to a minimum, but it's hard to stay silent when I see stores selling expensive jeans with ugly wrinkles at the tops of the legs or holes in the legs or worn spots on the butt. Why would anyone pay money for the kind of clothes most reasonable people would wear when they paint the garage?

Smart Wonderful Beautiful Daughter rolled her eyes when I picked out a brown shirt that looks exactly like the last five brown shirts I've owned. Well, there was one difference. As we stood in line at the cash registers, she noticed the monogramming.

Daughter: Do you mind the initial?
Me: Is it a letter? I wondered what that was.
Daughter: It's the letter G.
Me: G for great? G for goddess?
Young Man at Register: Swipe.
Me: (Trying hard to think of a goddess named Swipe.)What?
Young Man: You can swipe now.
Me: Swipe? That doesn't begin with G.
Daughter: He means swipe your credit card.
Me: What?
Daughter: Through the machine.
Me: Oh, right.

Really, I am not as clueless as this makes me sound. The young man at the register was soft-spoken and had made no gesture toward the credit card I was holding. My daughter was laughing, but the unsympathetic young man, who was young enough to be one of my sons but not nearly smart enough, told me helpfully that the G stood for the name of the store. Did he think I didn't know that? Sheesh.

With my daughter at my side, I braved a shoe store and several clothing stores, before we went to reward ourselves with a pretzel and lemonade. I bought a skirt, two shirts, and a pair of summer shoes that seem comfy. I'm good now for another twenty years.