When the pandemic started and the world stopped, I began hiking again. Everywhere. I’d open the AllTrails app, pick a trail within an hour’s drive, and head out with my young son. Later a scrappy Basenji mix we adopted and named Lily Birdie, aka Lil’ Bird, also came along.
Andorra Meadow was one of many new-to-me trails in that first isolated year. Winter was melting and the bright, neon green lichen covering the ground lifted my spirit. Luca’s vibe was opposite.
“How much longer?” he asked, over and over and over again, as he exaggeratingly stomped forward. Then he spotted a forest hut fashioned from fallen branches and promptly ran away to climb inside, smiling.
His change in attitude felt familiar and reminded me of a story my family loves to tell.
We were backpacking in Montana on the Beehive Basin Trail. My cousin Nikki and I were nearly out of steam as we trudged one heavy foot in front of the other up a hill. Our aunt Debbie and uncle Neil, and my mom and brother Ian, were already at the top. Neil could sense our lack of motivation, so he came up with one for us and excitedly yelled down.
“Girls! There’s a pop machine up here!”
The race was on! The promise of a glacier-cold, carbonated beverage (that everyone outside of Minnesota calls “soda”) was exactly what we needed to cross the finish line.
When we did, Nikki and I didn’t find a pop machine – just our family dispensing laughs.
Molly Messana 