A dad-and-daughter day hike is about the best way to spend a Thanksgiving-eve.
I like the Thanksgiving holiday. Of course, I love the feast. We don’t go out and we don’t have anyone in — it’s just the three of us — Marilyn, Ceili and I. Perfect.
I usually read or watch something that recalls the travails of the early settlement of North America. “We Shall Remain: After the Mayflower” is a favorite. Football, of course. But what I really appreciate is the opportunity to exercise gratitude. I’ve found that an attitude of gratitude is my single most important tool for maintaining a healthy state of mind. Like everybody else, I’ve got my trials, but I’ve got much to be grateful for, and it is well to remember that.
Yesterday was a day for a hike. Daughter Ceili is off school and I was on the first of two days off in a row (my normal work schedule doesn’t allow for that). There’s still a lot of snow on the ground around our cabin in the woods, dumped by an unusually potent early-season storm. Neither of us felt like a soggy slog, so we headed east about eight miles. We live in a transition zone where the east slope of the Cascades rolls down to the high desert. Home is in ponderosa pines, but a short drive puts you into sage-and-juniper flats — and a whole lot less snow.
Junipers make interesting sculpture when they get decrepit.
We hiked through the flats criss-crossed with deer runs, up over a rocky knob and down into one of the dry canyons that cut through this part of the Deschutes River drainage. There are ancient petroglyphs in these canyons. The area in which we hiked is BLM land, off-limits to motorized vehicles, though we could sometimes hear the whine and roar of dirt bike engines in the designated OHV area off to the north.
It’s fun to poke around the network of dry canyons off to our east.
Nothing epic about it, just a few pleasant hours on the trail — and something to appreciate. I am thankful that my 15-year-old daughter still thinks going for a hike with her dad is a worthy way to spend an afternoon. No snap-gramming or instachatting or twitting. Unplugged. I also appreciate that she can walk in companionable silence for long periods of time. Nothing drives me nuts quicker than a chatterbox on the trail. (Though we did sing “The Hanging Tree” from The Hunger Games movie “Mockingjay” — it’s a fine marching song and a real ear worm).
I’m thankful that she has historical awareness, that she knows and cares about who and what came before. I’m thankful that she has a passion for Story.
We came home, I busted up some kindling, built a fire in the stove, brewed tea and we sat down to watch “The Return of the King,” because we share a love for Middle Earth.
A good day — and I am Thankful.
“Are you, are you, coming to the tree?”
The rest of Oregon knows it as Mt. Jefferson. For Ceili and I , it’s Erebor — The Lonely Mountain. There’s a dragon in there.
Leave a Reply