Giving Up

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As I was hiking with my husband up the side of the mountain to Mary’s Rock in Shenandoah National Park, I wanted to give up.

It was just the two of us on the trail that day. Our daughters were hiking the Old Rag trail, which we knew would be too challenging for us (and scary, with steep trails and a “rock scramble” to maneuver over). This trail was only about 3 miles round-trip, but I hadn’t realized how vertical it is.

We weren’t very far along before my heart started beating out of my chest and my face was beet red–and I’m not talking about the pretty, delicate “flushed” look from romantic novels. A family passed us, and the mom said, “Nothing like a trail that starts going up right away!” After several stops to catch my breath as my patient husband waited by my side, I had positively decided that I was too old and too fat to keep hiking. My hiking days were over…forever!

At the top, we weren’t sure where the trail to the summit was. The same family that has passed us at the beginning of the trail was starting to go back, and pointed us in the right direction. I didn’t want to miss the view after all that work! The summit, of course, was beautiful and breathtaking all at once. Did this view change my mind?

No.

Especially since we had to go back down, which I know from experience can be harder than the way up. Going down involves using different muscles, knee pain, and fear of slipping and falling. I had already fallen on the way up and gave myself a good knock on the shoulder.

We made it back down the mountain. My face calmed down and became a normal, skin-tone shade. We picked up the girls from the Old Rag trailhead, and later that day, had a nice dinner and watched the sunset from our cabin.

The next morning, I took up hiking again.

Goodbye Periodicals, Hello Annuals

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After an extended heat wave, which seemed unusual for this early in June, I finally felt a cool breeze from the east on my morning walk. Is this heat wave really that unusual for us? I’m sure I could do a search and find out, but I’m really not that curious. It’s been hot and my air conditioning works, thank goodness.

During my walks I have to dodge hundreds of cicadas. It is indeed 2024, time for the 17 year cicadas to come out and play in the Chicagoland area. Their time is coming to an end, however, and it’s been fascinating. We have way more cicadas up our trees and in our yards than we did 17 years ago.

And now? I have spotted 3–not hundreds, just 3–annual cicadas. I think I heard them singing in the trees yesterday, too. Not specifically those three; all the others I didn’t spot! Their song is more familiar than the harsh, deafening sound of the periodical cicadas.

Some of you may have noticed that my writing has been more periodical than annual; I haven’t writing anything since 2020. My last blog post in 2021 wasn’t even words; it was all photos! My draft folder doesn’t even have anything more recent.

Teaching took over writing. I just finished my third year of teaching second grade and will continue teaching in August. Where I used to follow bloggers, I now follow teachers. I used to obsess over my website and my next blog post; now I obsess over behavior management and lesson plans.

Life changes.

But during my morning walk (which I am now able to do again because summer!) I started to think about writing. I thought…I don’t have to obsess about that next blog post. Perhaps I could just jot down some thoughts. It’s okay if it’s not great reading material. It’s okay if NO ONE reads my posts. Perhaps, for the summer, I will put down the chalk (that is, a dry erase marker) and pick up a pen (that is, type on a keyboard).

I rather like that idea.

Green and black annual cicada
Annual Cicada