Hiking in a Fairy Tale

For Valentine's we skipped the expensive dinner out with throngs of people and harried waitstaff and didn't take in any RomComs.

Instead we donned four layers of clothing and headed out for a day of hiking the icy canyons of Turkey Run. As an unintended transplant to Indy, Turkey Run has become one of my favorite places. Formed by the glaciers of the Wisconsinan Glaciation some 85,000 years ago, the deep sandstone canyons and gorges formed by tributary waters of Sugar Creek offer stunning landscape and challenging hiking in all seasons. Winter is our favorite season because nary a soul ventures on the trails. The pure ice and snow and the quiet crisp crystal air usher me to a secret place of peace and innocent delight.

We ventured some new trails on this visit and got lost along the way, which required us to scale down the icy walls of the canyon. It was scary and fun, working together, looking at our environs like a chess board, plotting our moves to safely traverse an icy creek strewn with boulders and logs. With no one else out on the trails, we had a chance to really connect to nature and to each other.

After a full day of hiking and climbing, we had dinner at the lodge. Nothing special, just comfort food on a buffet, but it was quaint, and the inn was moderately full with unassuming families and older couples. You could actually see other diners because the cell phone reception is so poor. For the first time in many years, I was in a public place where people seemed to actually engage with their companions.

After a hot meal of fried chicken and biscuits and pioneer cake, we decided to hit another trail to catch a winter sunset at a point on the river called Sunset Point. Cloud cover obscured the sun, unfortunately, so off we went into the woods. As we started to descend into a gorge, Larry slipped on some ice and bounced down the grade. Had he not grabbed the guard rail with his leg, he might have plummeted. It was terrifying, but luckily,  he was okay. I helped him back up the icy embankment, but it took a while, and by then it was dark. Because it was something like 2 degrees F, our cell phones quit working, and fools that we are, we had no headlamps. We walked via starlight, and suddenly it began to snow. We could hear the river rushing nearby but nothing else. I felt like I was in a storybook! A wonderful feeling came over me.

We made it back to the lodge and sat in front of the fire to warm up. 

I could do it ten more times!

I made a delicious cherry-vanilla heart-shaped cake!

Look, it's My Cat in a Box!

Wasn't it thoughtful of Larry to bring ABBY a dozen roses?

Coyote Dawn

This sounds like the title of a dime store Western, but it actually describes my commute to work this morning. Pink, grey, and purple swirls across a frozen sky, a lone coyote trotting along the prairie-between-the-suburbs towards the woods. His morning commute. I wouldn't mind trading offices with him.

Brown Eyes

I try to be grateful for the life you gave me instead of grieving that you are gone, but recounting our days together only magnifies my loneliness without you.  I keep wondering...where are you? Is your spirit alive somewhere? How can it just be gone?

This day four months ago, I woke up, and the tears were already there. I couldn't roll over and not see you lying there, waiting for me to get up. I couldn't roll over and not feel your nose nudging me, your tail wagging, tipping over items on the night stand.

It's been over twenty-one since I've been this long with a canine best friend. In recent weeks, I've practically memorized every profile of every adoptable dog within 100 miles. I've stopped many times at the Humane Society to see if I can meet a new friend. I've been so lonely without you, that I am beginning to wonder if it's time that I started searching more earnestly. 

I can't find anyone like you. My search comes up empty, and I'm left so sad.

I feel your absence constantly. I still see you curled up in your favorite corners. I still remember that anytime I looked at you, you'd stir and come to my side. First your eyes would open, then your tail would thump against the floor. Toward the end, I would come to you because it was so hard for you to get up and down. 

I recently read that dogs really dislike being hugged. I kind of knew that about you, but you did let me spoon you at least. You brought me such joy and comfort, just hanging out with you. You were always there, and I can't fathom or understand that you're just gone.


I haven't been able to take walks since you left me, and I know I need to get out there, back out in fresh air.  I forced myself the past few days, and it is feeling less lonely now than it did immediately following your death, but it still feels strange walking alone, and I don't think I'll ever get used to it. 

I want to think of you and smile, and to think that someday I'll see you again, and you'll be whole and well and happy, and we'll go for a long walk. Remember the summer of 2002, going to Eagle Creek and hiking for miles everyday? Two weeks before you died, we took you a rugged section of the park across the reservoir, and you were tired, but you rallied, your old spirit finding its way to leap over a couple of logs and scale a steep hill. 

Sometimes when I eat in front the TV, I think of the times you stole pizza, tacos, and cookies when we left them unattended, and I laugh. And then the laughter inevitably turns to tears. 

I'm not anxious for this pain to subside, the way I have been with other types of grief. Every tear is a crystal of a beautiful memory. I guess I wonder if I'll ever get over this, and if I'll ever feel the same again. I do miss that person. I wonder if I'll ever find another dog as good as you were, if I'll ever feel that much love and devotion again. I wonder if I'll ever be ready.