The end of March is looming. Spring is here. People are getting vaccinated and venturing out. We’ve been cooped up, and staying close to home this past year, as Covid-19 hovered and infiltrated our life styles and wreaked havoc. But hope is definitely in the air as we move forward.
I’m grateful that my husband and I, and our son’s and their families, did not get sick with Covid, but the year was a tough one with masking up and social distancing.
Now that we are at the end of March and the pandemic has been around for a year, I was wondering what to write as a recap of my “designated year of March to March” for my annual blog-to-print book. Then, over the weekend we went on a hike in a new-to-us state park and I thought that would be fitting… to talk about hiking/walking this past year.
Walking was a consistent activity that I engaged in this past year, almost daily. I could probably count on my fingers the few days I missed. It was my goal, my outlet, my exercise, to get outside and walk every day (some days had to be an indoor walk). Gary often joined me, but he also rode his bike a lot more (2600 miles total last year). But I kept on walking… We also walked with another couple, two to three times a week, and that regular contact made a big difference for all of us. It kept our sanity; we like to say.
Many times we hiked in parks and through the woods. Gary and I discovered John Latsch State Park as we were driving along the Mississippi River on a bright, sunny day in late-March. I noticed the typical brown state park sign. As we passed by it on our way to Winona, I did a quick Google search on the park. The only thing the park offered was one hike, but that hike was a unique one, climbing up a beautiful bluff along the river. It told of the fantastic view from the top, and… that the hike was all stairs!
That sounded interesting. We know enough to know that would not be an easy hike (up or down) but we decided to go for it. We hadn’t walked our daily walk so we turned off into the parking lot to John Latsch State Park. We donned our hiking shoes, hat, and poles so we were ready. As I climbed 600 steps (unofficial count by a co-hiker) I thought this would be an appropriate marker for the end of the one year of pandemic…to be discovering a new state park and hiking in it.
We climbed up and up…the wooden stairs were wide, and sometimes slanted at an angle, and one or two were wobbly. There was a railing for parts of the trail but I’m glad we had our hiking poles with us. We took our time and made it to the top of “Charity” the name of this particular bluff…named by steamboat captains. There are three large, limestone bluffs aside each other, along the river, and steamboat captains nicknamed them Charity, Hope and Faith and used them for navigational purposes. Great names indeed.
After taking photos at the top there was a short loop trail that we hiked before descending down the steps. It was good “step exercise” and we were happy to have succeeded to make it to the top and back down again.
My hope is that we’ve made it to the top of the Covid-19 pandemic peak, and we’re on our way down…to the end of it.
What a great analogy. The physical climb up all those stairs does feel a lot like the last year.
And now, with vaccination, the walk along those stairs is getting easier. Thank you for this insightful, and inspiring, post.
Thank you Audrey. I’m glad you found the analogy “fitting”. What a year it has been!
Valerie, I found your analogy very impactful. I love to experience an essay like yours, and then get to the end with an apt analogy that gives me ever more to think about.
Words are a powerful way to generate visceral responses, and that is what your analogy did for me. I felt the internal climb we have all been making this past year into fear and concern and the loneliness our extended stay at the top of this crisis generated. And–I am now feeling a gentling down (touched with impatience) that is bringing us, hopefully, to a return to a new, more careful normal. Bless you, Valerie, for what you share, and for what your sharing brings to your readers.
Thank you Sheri, for your insightful words.
And for your encouragement!