This post, written by Mrs. Family Trip, originally appeared on Recreation.gov.
As my sweaty, salty face looked up at my husband’s, dangling at least 5 feet above me, offering me his hand, I couldn’t help but laugh. I seriously thought I was going to do this alone?! I never would have made it.
We were close to the top of Old Rag Mountain in Shenandoah National Park, scrambling our way through some intense rock creases and up slick rock walls. We were sucking in our bellies, shimmying through cracks, and hauling our bodies up some significant inclines, looking for footholds. Many times, looking up at the blue arrow marking the trail’s path higher than twice my body’s height, I needed my husband to pull me up.
And yet, just a few days before, when my husband hesitated about hiking Old Rag given potential crowds, the hot summer weather, and the general physical challenge, I obstinately stuck out my chin and said, “FINE, then I will do it without you. But I am not living this close to this most famous hike and NOT doing it.” I had underestimated how much I would need a teammate.
Together, we walked past the signs warning us that the way forward was challenging, and we scaled 3,284 feet and walked 10 miles. We spent the day together, pushing ourselves to see what we had, to unearth grit and determination that lay deep within. We ended the day exhausted but proud. We were closer, united in what we had done, and as we laced our fingers tightly together, we knew we could do anything together as a team.
Yet how many times throughout the entire pandemic year had I obstinately said, “I can do it myself?” I had hunkered down, put my eyes on the Zoom screen, and tried to pretend like I could haul myself up the enormous wall of rock that was our new life during social distancing and work-from-home orders. But, again, my husband looked at me, both of us tired, and gave me his hand. He pulled me up again…and again…and again.
Throughout the strange year that 2020 turned out to be, we would practice this dance many times. My husband and I became ultimate partners in hiking and the pandemic-life and found ourselves back in Shenandoah National Park more than we planned, returning to nature and bringing our sons with us.
Living in Charlottesville, it is so easy to take the vast National Park in our own backyard for granted. We have traveled to far-flung places like Arches, the Grand Canyon, Zion, Yellowstone, Assateague, Great Smoky Mountains and the White Mountains. Yet we tend to neglect what is right in front of us. So, through the year of a life turned unexpectedly upside down, we kept making our way back to Shenandoah National Park – together.
We got to know this Park and find comfort in its twists and turns. We took our kids to sit at the base of enormous waterfalls rushing with urgency and abandon. We sat at the top of mountains and looked on valleys covered in red and oranges as the seasons changed. We watched the river dappled in sunlight as it danced merrily along. We let the Park remind us that life moves, changes, renews, and grows.
And through our time in Shenandoah National Park, escaping a world in turmoil, we were able to continue to renew and change ourselves. We learned how to give each other a helping hand, and how to take one when offered.
Just like our Old Rag hike, we had spent the entire year pushing ourselves to unearth new depths of grit and determination. We ended the year exhausted but proud of what we had done. We ended the year closer to nature and to each other.
