Milk run into town.
From Santiam Pass it’s an easy hitch into and out of the town of Sister’s… except for the news.
Two people that I cared about had passed away.
My Mom’s husband, Fred, and a good hiking friend named Spider.
It will take a while to sink in, that they aren’t there anymore. That I’m not there to hug my mom, or Spider’s, in their time of grief.
I hitchhiked out of town in a daze, to cowboy camp under the stars, pondering the thing you shouldn’t dwell on.
I was grateful for a little rain, and was looking forward to traversing snow covered trail at higher elevations. I thought the change in scenery would lift my spirits.
That is, until I got to the snow bridge at Russell Creek.
Fed by glaciers on Mount Jefferson, you could hear the roar of ice cold snow melt pouring over giant boulders twenty feet below you, somewhere under the snow. Not knowing if the melting bridge would hold, or if you’d plummet into the dark icy depths and be drawn under, where your body may never be found.
The bridge was solid, for me at least.
I climbed down to stare into the dark icy pupil of the abyss, to let it stare back at me.
From this side of the divide, I recognized the awesome beauty of nature as a reminder of life’s fleeting moments, and that grief and gratitude can coexist in the wilderness.
#RestInPeace