Tradition

Ring, ring, it was time to wake up. The sun had risen and it was time to set up. It was time for the traditional hike with my dad. We loaded our water and lunch into the truck and set off. The frothy fog from the river valley lifted away and dissipated into the sky. I stared out the window at a herd of deer silently munching away at a morning meal. The sun shined bright in our eyes as we arrived at our stop and glanced at our looming enemy to conquer.

It was dewy in the shadow of the trees. It was time to meander over roots and rocks. The wind whistled by our ears as we gently conversed. The trail began to steepen and our steps began to quicken. We found logs toppled from previous storms. The trees began to change, the soil got rockier and filled with needles. We passed a waterfall with cool, clear water. Then we saw the first blueberry bush.

We came out into the open. The ground was covered with granite, blueberry bushes, and red pine. Leftover water from yesterday’s storm dripped down the slope. We were almost at the peak! We started to pick some of the blueberries. They came in all varieties. There were puckery ones with purple leaves, sweet ones with green leaves, and large but relatively bland ones. We reached the peak and felt the strong breeze on our faces. The whole community lied down below around us, we were at the top of the land!