Ella,
I like how you say salamander. Before we left on this trip, you spent a whole afternoon with your dad looking at pictures of the 30 species of salamanders that can be found in the Smoky Mountains. So, I love how you squat on boulders in the rushing cold stream to hunt underneath rocks for them as if you’re searching for a long, lost best friend.
You’ve got the eyes of a hawk, and the spirit of an eight-year-old girl who has the whole world to discover. You hike as if we have the whole day to waste looking at acorns that have been saturated with water, and ones that have lost their tops to take root in the ground. And while I can’t answer your questions about if they’ll actually turn into trees (because it’s really hard to grow a tree), you’re constantly looking back at me to see if you can keep climbing on rocks or how far you can venture off the path; testing your limits to see how far I’ll let you go or who I will let you be.
We have to keep moving forward before the weather changes, so you collect acorns on the side of the path, peeling off their shells because you like the pink tint of the nut inside. You know when your hands get full I will be there to lend some extra storage in my pockets so you stop to gather every one you see.
You don’t care if you’re in the lead because the one in the lead only cares about walking on the roots of the trees on the path. You are the one that stops to listen to their old bones creak in the wind, to see the scars on their trunks and to wonder how some trees survived the fire that charred the bark of others. You know that even the young trees are reaching for the heavens. There are so many stories among the trees. They watch the animals, rocks keep them company and when they fall they grow fungus. And you know that Rainbow Falls will still be there waiting for you to discover all her secrets when we get there.
This is our first hike of the season. You’re carrying the camera you asked Santa for to capture moments like this; to show the world that you conquered the rocks by being “King of the World.” You know that everything is worth capturing and revisiting later.
It’s important to document that you were on this mountain because we did not get to see the rainbow on top of the mountain before the sky turned grey. And while there were tears in your eyes, you know that if we hadn’t turned around, our legs may have been too tired to stop later and climb upstream where you found the abandoned snail shell sitting like it had been left behind just for you.
Being from Illinois, I expected you to be captivated by the mountain’s elevation or to search for bears. But you constantly remind all of us to pay attention to the seemingly small things in life. It’s true that snail shells and acorns and salamanders can connect different landscapes.
Thank you for always being you. I love you more than words can say.
Mommy
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