On Sunday, we climbed to a fire lookout in the middle of the Willamette National Forest. We trekked a nectarine pie all the way to the top, along with an assortment of sleeping gear, jars of whiskey and wine, a shotgun, and far, far too many provisions for one night. But I suppose that’s to be expected when you put three nurses together in the backcountry who have each survived enough emergency scenarios to know how important warmth, weapons, snacks, and liquor can become when the plot hits a twist.
Fortunately, there were no plot twists or emergencies to speak of on this trip. Only wonder and amazement, sun-napping, peak-sighting, horizon-staring, bird-watching, book-reading, and feasting. And because sometimes the words just aren’t sufficient (or necessary) to explain, here’s a photo essay to do the talking. Enjoy.
The inaugural meeting of the Pies and Pints Society is called to order at 4,618 ft. (For future meetings, inquire within.)
We ate the whole pie. Then we made dinner.
After we came down the mountain, full of pie and whiskey, warmth and big-hearted love—the kind of love that buzzes around easily from shoulder to shoulder like the bees drunk on the pollen of wild rhododendrons rooted to the slopes outside the cabin—we took to the forest backroads and tiptoed into Narnia, plunging into her cool aquamarine waters, and baptizing away the dust of another 24 triumphant hours of being alive.
May your sunrises forever be inspired and brimming with the electricity of the possible, the yet-to-be-imagined, the too-incredible-to-believe, and the too-irresistable-to-say-no.