I struggle to decide what to wear. Rain is predicted, but we hope to finish our hike before it begins. Not having worn long pants all summer, I opt for lightweight leggings under my skort and carry both fleece and Gore-Tex®. Just in case.
Choosing a hike also proves challenging. We hope to escape the
forest fire smoke by heading north from Seattle, then east on Highway 2. In Gold Bar we stop to reconsider. The smoke is hanging high,
so we decide to avoid elevation and nix our plan for Heybrook Ridge given the
view will be nominal. Instead, we head for Bridal Veil Falls, a hike I’ve never
done despite a lifetime in the region.
We picnic at the side of the falls, breathing in the damp
fresh air, grateful for respite from the smoke and for the firefighters
struggling against the violence of a changing environment. Like writing, hiking
grounds me when the stresses of our physical and political world become
unbearable.
The long awaited rain begins as we descend from the falls, this
gray rain so desperately needed after a summer of drought. I hold open my
hands, my mouth, like a happy child, hopeful this rain will be enough to
control the fires. I feel the rain on my face and think of my mother a child of the Dust Bowl dreaming of rain, and I am grateful.
