Let’s face it.  Not many people want to come along for the ride when it comes to 13 miles of crazy winter hiking.  So when one of my best friends husband said he wanted to hike Mount Greylock with me the day after Thanksgiving, and, oh, some of the family might come along for the ride, I said “Hell Yeah!”.  The nice thing about Mount Greylock is that there are many ways to get to the summit (there are 33 trails surrounding the mountain, great for all levels of hikers) so not everyone needs to take on the AT.  My sister-in-law Kellie (the triathlete, more on her in another post) signed up for the whole 13.  My husband, Paul; my friend Jill’s husband, Bruce; and his brother, David decided to meet us close to the summit by taking the 3.1 mile, well-travelled Cheshire Harbor Trail.

The AT trail would have been a moderate, slow upward hike traversing 2,225 feet of elevation over a little more than five miles then leveling out for 2 1/2 miles before reaching the summit.  But these are the Berkshire Mountains and it is the end of November.  What seemed to be about three inches of snow on the ground at the base of the hike, turned knee deep in places about half way up the mountain.  We brought micro-spikes, but we did not bring snowshoes.  Even though we kept a fairly brisk pace up the mountain, Kellie and I were bone weary by the time we met the rest of the crew up near the summit.   But what a summit!  Because we hiked this beautiful mountain on a day that would keep most walk-in-the-woods types sitting on the couch with a cold beer, we shared the mountain with about a dozen others.  What we found was an ethereal beauty – and a true understanding of what makes this mountain inspire the likes of Nathanial Hawthorne and Hermann Melville to write books.

We reached the summit around 1:00 and with sunset at 4:35 that day, Kellie and I were concerned that we would not be able to cover the remaining 5 1/2 miles in the daylight hours we had left, in snow that was fast starting to feel like quicksand as the temperatures warmed.  Also, our legs were tired.  So we cheated.  My first official ‘trail bail’ off the top of a mountain.  We took the Cheshire Mountain Trail down with the men.  The bonus?  I had a chance to catch up with Bruce and his brother.  And spend time with the love of my life.  More on that . . . 

So my husband is a saint.  If awards were being handed out for ‘best husband’, he’d be a nine time Oscar winner giving Meryl Streep a run for her money.  After a disappointing first run at marriage, I lucked out the second time.  But there is one thing my husband and I are not good at, remembering our anniversary.  And you would think we made it easy on ourselves.  Because our families are both the centers of our universe AND I have an obsessive love for the Thanksgiving holiday, we decided to get married the day after Thanksgiving in Florida (where my Mom and brother live) on the beach at Honeymoon Island.  Who can’t remember that anniversary?  Apparently we can’t.  

About half way up the mountain, I called out to Kellie.  ‘Oh-my-God!  It is my wedding anniversary today!”  And then I spent the rest of the hike perseverating over my idiocy.  The only thing that kept me grounded was that he forgot too.  Another reason why he is such a find ;). So I told Kellie, “When we meet up with the boys at the top, I am going to yell ‘Happy Anniversary’ at the top of my lungs”.  So up we slogged.  When we came to a clearing, I saw three guys standing with their backs to us.  One had a orange and grey backpack – that had to be Paul.  But his coat looked a bit different.  Paul had been shopping a lot lately at Kohl’s, so I thought, new coat?  Who cares.  I was a bad wife and had to make up for my early-onset dementia mind.  So I poured out my love in a volume all in the Berkshires could hear.  Then Kellie turned to me, shaking her head with a face that said ‘you fool’.  And three young men turned around and started laughing.  Seems that they were waiting for their church group to show up for their annual hike.

A mile later we met up with our posse and I had the chance to yell again.  A few minutes later our church group friends joined us on the trail.  And yes, the backpacks were exactly the same.  The ‘young Paul’ asked my husband, “How long have you been married?”  We turned to each other, shamefaced because we both knew the answer.  “Oh, I don’t know . . . a while.”  Because not only do we have a penchant for forgetting our anniversary, but we never can quite peg down how LONG we have been married.  My standard follow up is, “I love him so much that time does not matter”.  The reality is, we are both kind of challenged in the memory department.  

No matter.  Paul did remember when he got that backpack.  As did his new friend, ‘young Paul’.  It was ten years ago.  ‘Young Paul’ said he bought it to carry his books as a college freshman.  My Paul said he bought it just before we got married.  Well, at least we are now in the right zip code . . .