by Zoe Hart
Thanks to Patagonia Climbing Ambassador Zoe Hart for today's post. A recent trip from her new home (Chamonix) to her old one (New Jersey) triggered some thoughts on the directions life's paths take us. Her story originally appeared on the Dutch mountain travel site Bergwijzer. -Ed
I woke this morning to my husband, Max, lamenting the snow that was falling outside our window. I’m legally blind without my glasses, but even without them, I could see fuzzy white saucers of snow falling in our back yard. Falling, no actually accumulating on the hedges! It’s supposed to be June, spring, birds, our garden growing, limestone climbing in the sun, sunny granite cracks up high.
Spring is SUPPOSED to bring rain for the neatly lined rows of tomatoes, lettuces, carrots that our eighty year-old neighbors meticulously plant, and care for, with the aid of a ski pole for balance. Spring is supposed to bring rain to nourish the little mountain flowers that grow besides the trails. Flowers that will capture my eye for a moment on an approach to a big route, allowing me to forget the objectives that we are heading for and the nervous excited feeling of that twists in my belly. Spring supposed to feed the wild berries that sprout in the bushes on the approach to limestone crags. A sweet explosion of strawberries and raspberries plucked from the branches as we saunter to a crag.
What I’m realizing though, is that there’s no supposed to in nature, and that there are a lot of in-betweens in our lives.
[Topping out on a mixed route on Pointe Farrar, a day out in my backyard. Photo: Maxime Turgeon]