The Bravest Woman I Know

Happy Mother's Day!

Though you wouldn’t guess it from looking at her refined face sitting on the back pew at church, my mom is the bravest woman I know. Mom’s passion for adventure began with Sunday drives up the canyon with Grandma and Grandpa. It blossomed when she got her own driver’s license and discovered the mountains for herself. It came full circle when she strapped me into the car seat and set off into the hills.

In the days before cell phones, my mom drove me and my three brothers fearlessly into the wilderness. We drove, we hiked, we swam, we explored. On one memorable day my brothers and I built a chipmunk trap and found out fast that chipmunks don’t take well to traps. Then there was the time we journeyed so high into the mountains in July that we found snow and had a colossal snowball fight. And the time we constructed a tram between two trees and found ourselves suddenly hurling out of control towards a giant tree trunk. After each venture we came home tired, a little bruised, and full of memories that would influence us for the rest of our lives.

I’ll admit I took a few hard knocks, but I learned some lessons along the way. I know that skunks stink, ants bite, and scorpions sting. I know that following an unmarked road may not lead you where you want to go, that sliding down a pile of sharp shale will rip a hole in your pants, and that wild bulls don’t like to be chased.

But I also know the thrill of watching a moose and her calf wander through a meadow tearing at the grass with their massive jaws. I know that wading through a river and feeling the mud beneath my feet can fix even the worst of days. I know the wonder of watching two bald eagles feather an enormous nest. I know that a tuna sandwich is as exquisite as caviar when eaten on a blanket in the middle of a meadow. I know what it feels like to stand on top of a mountain and watch the pines rock around me. And I know that there is no way of getting to the top of a mountain except by risking a scratch, a sunburn, and some sore muscles.

If my mom had kept me away from the hazards of the forest all my life for fear of scraping up my knees, I would have emerged from the journey of childhood both unscathed and unprepared. Mom’s courageous love of nature taught me not to let the fear of bad things in the world keep me from enjoying all that is good.

During our many outings when Mom would bend down and say, “See these pretty white flowers? Don’t touch them. They’re poisonous,” or, “This shiny plant is poison ivy. Be careful not to step in it,” she was teaching me more than the basics of botany. She was teaching me the basics of life. In the forest, the poison ivy grows alongside the wildflowers. And so it is in life. The beauties and the perils spring up side by side. The key is to accept that life is full of risks that are worth taking. Mom showed me beauty and danger, and how to face both with boldness.

She and Dad lived for a time in rural Missouri at the lip of a lake surrounded by thirty acres of trees, and later they lived in rural Utah surrounded by 30 acres of red rock. Mom would call to tell me about the wild turkeys in the yard, the deer nibbling in the garden, and the rattle of the frogs in the lake, the rattlesnakes out back. When I told my wide-eyed city friends about my parents’ hideaways in the country they’d say, “But isn’t that dangerous for them being so alone?” “Don’t you worry about them?” “What if the road floods?” “What if the power goes out?” “What if a storm knocks a tree onto the house?”

My smile and my answer were always the same: My mom doesn’t hover in safe harbors built of words like ‘what if.’ My mom is not afraid.

Happy Mother’s Day.

My mom’s senior picture

My mom taking me on an early adventure

My mom, me, and my son hiking at Capitol Reef State Park