Sierra Buttes

Early October last year Ben is behind the wheel as we weave and zoom through a mountainous road in the Sierra Mountains on the eastern boarder of California. Ian is shot gun and three of us sit in the back of a Jeep Cherokee rental. Our bare knees knock into one another like a six marble pendulum with each sharp curve. There are many. "My grandmother always said you should really watch out for girls with perfectly shaven knees", one of the girls in the backseat tells me when I apologize for my fuzzy patella which is really only observable in direct sunlight. "You can really see what kind of priorities she has in life when she spends all day shaving bony, impossible curves."

We eventually park the Jeep in a state park and settle on a trail (after one of us gets a little green from the ride) with ambitions of hiking. Conquering. Enjoying nature. The trail is titled "Sierra Buttes Trail" which Rachel mistakenly calls the "Sierra Butts Trail" at least three times before one of us gigglers has mercy and corrects her. "Bee-aoooots." It is exactly what we wanted: deserted, peaceful, gorgeous, and ambitious. But like everything in life, exactly what you want always bites you back.

I suddenly become Susan from the movie Parent Trap clapping my hands to threaten cougars or bears. I do this in everyday life as well: become louder when suspect of a threat. There is no one but us for miles and miles. In that day alone we encountered all of four other people: one being the grandmother of Robbie who we stayed with in a beautiful wooden cottage on a mountain pass in Nevada City. Here we are alone and not only that, we are alone and our lungs are burning. We hike with sixty second rest breaks... something like 1000 foot climb over the span of only a few miles is exhausting on a Midwestern out of shape body. By the time we reach the top of the mountain (with kid-you-not eight sets of stairs to the fire look out tower), we are drenched and exhausted. But liberated.

Kind of. The view is amazing- something out of a Sound of Music on one side with lush greens and pine trees as far as the eye can see. Just below us, through the metal mesh balcony on which we stand, is a drop off of at least 1500 feet straight down. The view is so terrifying I feel my bladder almost lose control multiple times. For a while I sit on the stairs with my power bar while my friend sit (literally) above a mountain drop. I am so lame, I think to myself. I really set the bar for the definition of scaredy cat.

I think of that clapping though: to ward off danger. The equivalent in the city is that I laugh loudly or talk about strange things. Should we reminisce about David Bowie or Christopher Walken anyone? I am terrified so easily: sickness, loss, bears, the planet, war, etc. As I shuddered with another worry this weekend, an email came to me from a very wise friend with comfort and a reminder.

"Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal." 2 Corinthains 4:16-18 Thank you Emily