With Samwise Hobbled, Today's Hike Was Cancelled

New delicious heart-healthy dessert recipe

Hello, September!

Today was to be the kick-off of our hiking season. We'd climbed a handful of peaks in the three months since returning home, but our annual practice is to wait out bug season and the uncomfortable heat and humidity before taking more serious hikes. June, July, and early August qualify as our off-season. 

This year's discomfort remained longer than usual, and we've just ended the hottest August in New Hampshire history (tied with 1872). Instead of going 'up,' we've increased our mileage while staying close to rivers in the lowlands of the White Mountains, where the air was fresher, and Samwise and Emily could wade, swim, and drink. 

I waited patiently for the first comfortable day in the forecast—today—for a dawn trek up one of our favorite peaks, but yesterday, Samwise tweaked his right carpus. The limp is not severe, but it is enough for him to stay closer to me than usual and spend more time sleeping. Instead of hiking, we took a gentle waking walk around Thorne Pond and visited the Saco River.

Samwise doing his morning sums.

We’re in no hurry. Our favorite months of hiking are only beginning and will continue until Christmas. Then we'll venture west for more miles afoot. There’s a wagonload of adventure awaiting us.

What was intended to be a hiking day has turned into a Samwise day. We rarely focus on Sam because he is typically the stoic in our group and needs so little attention. That's Emily's role, always front and center, as you can tell by the number of photos with her facing the camera, compared to most of Sam looking out at the world.

When Sam is off-center, it's easy to tell. He lets me know with his eyes and body language, longing to be stroked and reassured.

I’m writing this in the backyard next to Will's old wildflower garden. Emily is stretched out on her belly on the grass to my left, while Samwise is on my right, his chin resting on my foot. The sun has been hiding behind the clouds most of the afternoon, and it is breezy and deliciously cool enough for me to wear a sweater.

There is nothing like the primal feelings we share when in the wild, pushing our feral bodies ever upward through the conifers to sweeping views and rocky precipices. But there's an equally miraculous gift in knowing each other intimately, being attentive, and understanding needs.