I stood at the trailhead, a place I’ve stood countless times over the past 40 years, but this time I looked at the man standing to my left and Goose to my right and then down at my shoes, and that familiar ground somehow became new, somehow more solid underneath my feet.
I wanted to click the heels of my tennis shoes together three times and whisper, “There’s no place like home,” and take that moment with me. The sun seemed brighter as we took off for a place I have hiked my whole life, lighting the direction of the trail, revealing it to me in a way I’d never seen before.
On most of the adventures I set out on with Goose, I have a mission in mind to teach my tiny explorer a lesson using Mother Nature’s infinite classroom. But this adventure became a lesson for me in the most unexpected and natural way.
Box Canyon Falls in Ouray had become a familiar place for me in more ways than one. I’d hiked there since I could first walk and, most recently, I’d used it as a place in my imagination for salvation.
We all have defense mechanisms, and mine was to carve a box canyon in my soul and hide my heart there. Surrounded on three sides, the only way in also the same way out. As I walked along the trail and made my way deeper into the canyon, I undeniably felt its presence.
I knew exactly where it was. I imagined it. I put it there, deep in a dark corner. I made sure the sun could not reach it to prevent the risk of getting burned. But when we stopped on the low bridge, I held my breath and looked inside the canyon long enough to see if it was still there. It was, but not exactly like I’d left it.
A ray of sun had managed to make its way into the recess of my canyon. Somehow, the power of the water had managed to carve a spot in the stone. The clarity of the water clear enough to let the light in, and the warmth it brought felt good.
Standing in the canyon, I took a moment and watched the water move over and amongst the rocks and realized that if the water drips in one spot, it will wear away at the rock, eroding it until it eventually disappears and is consumed. But, if the water encompasses the rock and washes over it, it helps to shape the stone smooth. And, if that rock is made of the right material, it will allow the water to seep into its pores, into its deepest crevices until the water permeates the stone, filling the places only the water could reach.
We walked out onto the low bridge, I quietly marveled at the ability of something so fluid and transparent to be able to move through and shape something so solid as the rock. I picked up Goose and held her on the bridge.
“How did the water find a way into this canyon Mama,” she asked over the roar.
“It didn’t give up, baby,” I said.
I wanted her to understand that water’s impact can be just as powerful whether it falls in a roar or drips slowly over time.
Surrounded on three sides with only one egress, the same path I took to hide my heart was now suddenly the same path that was going to reveal it. I felt the spray of cool water on my face and got closer until I could feel it wash over me and allowed it saturate the crevasses in my heart.
As we turned to make our way out of the canyon, I retrieved what I had left behind, looked up at the high bridge and, in that moment, realized that I’d found the person I just might be willing to climb out of the box canyon with. Someone I’d risk it all to cross the high bridge with and enjoy the view from the top.
I turned with my hiking companions and walked out the same way I came in.
Jenny can be reached at jennyandgooseoutdoors@outlook.com
