My exercise buddy and I hit the hiking trails of my favorite park today. We had limited our last two outings to the Lakewalk to avoid mud and snowmelt. But the glorious sunshine and promise of 60-degree temperatures called for a more adventurous venue.
As we set off from my house, I warned my friend that this could be a mournful journey.
Everywhere reminded me of Reba, my pretty, long-haired German shepherd I had to put to sleep winter before last. In my 12+ years with her, we had explored just about every trail and and deer path in Chester Bowl. A couple of hours before we went to the vet, I took her on one last promised walk up to the park.
I hadn't been fully out on these trails since Reba's passing, partly because I no longer am protected by her presence in more isolated parts of the park and partly to avoid the painful reminders of my lost companion. I thought a lot about her today.
I missed the tug of her leash, helping me to climb the hills. We often would sit side-by-side on the rocks at the very top of the park, me taking in the breathtaking view of Lake Superior and she alertly listening for other creatures. Sometimes she would raise her nose into the wind, smelling deeply. I would stroke her sun-warmed fur. Inevitably, someone or something would break our reverie and remind us it was time to return home.
I thought a lot, too, about my husband's grandpa, who is memorialized on a headstone near the old tennis courts. He was a champion ski jumper in his day. As a boy he leapt from daring heights into the Chester Creek swimming hole on hot summer days. When first married, my husband and I would walk Reba over to Grandma and Grandpa Storm's house on Chester Parkway. We would eat chocolate chip cookies and listen to their stories while Reba waited on the front porch.
My friend and I startled four deer as we approached the top of the hill, just like Reba and I had done many times past. We closed our eyes and breathed deeply at one of the peace poles my husband's uncle planted. On our way out of the park, I plunged my hand into the cold water that rushed over the dark rocks. We paused to watch a black-capped chickadee flit from twig to twig and a downey woodpecker with a touch of red on his head do a quick high-wire act on an unsteady branch.
It was time I returned to this home.
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Remembering are dear companions, whether the human or animal kind, can be sad but it's the tears that come from the joy of when they made us smile and laugh. Thanks for the memory Reba, it was a great hike.
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