Sometimes the best motivator is shame. I know, because I ate my weight in Christmas cookies this year. God– peanut butter blossoms, pumpkin-oatmeal, peppermint-spice, iced Italian short-bread cookies, and baklava– which I know is not technically speaking a cookie, but, hey, I ate that too.
So when my mother proposed going on a hike two days after Christmas, my inner shame said hell yes. Never mind the fact that my mother is not an outdoors person, or that we spend most of our bonding time in the mall, transversing flat, well lit, environmentally controlled terrains; I had eaten an entire tin of Dutch butter cookies, and shame said a winter hike was just the ticket.
Conditions were favorable. It had snowed the previous day, but it was supposed to be sunny and 45 degrees on the day of the hike (If you are currently living some place sunny and warm, you don’t realize that a 45 degree day in winter in Pennsylvania, is a gift from the Gods). The distance was pretty short by any standards, 1.5 miles, and despite the snow and the rocky terrain, a relatively easy go, unless you’re not an outdoors person (imagine a big red, blinking arrow pointing at my mother).
Still, the aforementioned shame. Our proposed hike was to Jacoby Falls, a 29 foot waterfall that was sure to be half-frozen, and a gorgeousness sight of cascading ice. To get to the trail, we followed the dubious directions of “Take State Route 973 along Wallis Run Road, go over the bridge, pass a farm, and there’s a pull-off”. Against all odds we found it, probably because I was not driving.
Getting out of the car, we prepared our bags consisting of cameras and cell phones and started our hike. It took me about 20 minutes to forget about the Christmas cookies and the shame and look around. The glittering snow dropping in clumps from the trees in the warmish air, the soft rush of the nearby stream, the winter light highlighting lime green ferns pushing through the snow. It was beautiful, and the farther I walked, the better I felt. I couldn’t hear the cars anymore or smell anything other than fresh pine and clean air, and it was such a relief not to think about anything except being grateful for such a perfect day.
My mother was having a different epiphany however. As we stumbled and weaved over concealed rocks and wet leaves, up and down narrow snowy paths fit for mountain goats, like a couple of drunk college girls after a night at the frat, she remembered why she didn’t like the outdoors or exercise. Each bend of the path that revealed not Jacoby Falls, but more of our winter paradise, brought a fresh round of muttering “This is ridiculous” and “I hate exercising”.
I didn’t help either, by stopping and taking pictures at every opportunity, so what should have taken a little over an hour took almost two and illicited several charming mother-daughter moments consisting of my her throwing her hands up in exasperation yelling “I’m done!” and me yelling back “You are not done!”. But in my opinion (and eventually my mother’s too over dinner that night), it was time well spent. When we did reach the falls, and we stood at the base looking up at the sparkling ice crusted ledges, plunging water, and translucent rainbows reflected in the mist, I can honestly say, that I’m kind of glad I ate of all those Christmas cookies, especially the Italian short-bread ones. They were good.
