Butler Lodge trail

The thing to remember - the thing I tend to forget - is that I now live on the side of a mountain; a large panoramic wrap-around kind of a mountain, as opposed to the triangular point-y sort I used to draw as a child. The Abenaki Indians called Mount Mansfield "Moze-o-de-be-Wadso", which translates as "Mountain with the head of a Moose". Moose have big heads, and this moose likes to spend a lot of his time with his head in the clouds.

Last week, I joined a large group of women - 'the Mountain Mamas' - who walk together in summer, and ice-climb or x-country ski together in winter. The average age of the group is somewhere in the 60s, and I have found my role model for retirement! We pranced up the side of the mountain to the Taylor Lodge (one of the many bunk houses supported by the Green Mountain Club), and the women unpacked floral tablecloths and served up cakes and rhubarb syllabub. The conversations were wide-ranging - many of the women having arrived here in the 1960s and 1970s to live intentionally alternative lifestyles - and the overall experience was exhilarating, enjoyable, and slightly surreal. I loved every minute, felt humbled by their many kindnesses and hospitality, but realized I need to improve my fitness levels! The great thing about living on the side of a mountain, of course, is that one doesn't need to pay to attend a gym.

This morning, I took the dog for a walk on the mountain. While Thursday's walk was filled with talk, I walked today's trail in silence. I have always enjoyed walking by myself; alone, one becomes more aware of the noise of each bird, the shifts in smell as the deciduous forest gives way to conifers, the rhythm of one's breath, the sound of one's own heartbeat. My own heartbeat was loud enough to drown out the birds because the Butler Lodge path was a beast: when I hoped the path would level it became a set of wooden steps because the gradient had become too steep to support a trail; when my quads were burning and the sweat was falling like rain down my face, the blue markers directed me straight up a rock face.

It was worth it. Hard hikes are always worth it. At the top, just before the Butler Lodge appeared out of the cloud layer, the temperature dropped and the sweat running down my face cooled. At the gym, I'd often end my workouts in the steam room, hoping there would be no gaggle of women chatting inside. This was the inverse of a steam room: a feeling of being baptized in cloud, rewarded and refreshed by something I'd worked hard to achieve. The dog, of course, was fine and I suspect many of the Mountain Mamas would not have even broken into a sweat....

Inside the Lodge, an open paperback book had been left face-down on the table and someone's roll mat was laid out ready for their return. I was glad they weren't there. For ten minutes or so, it was just the dog and me, sharing my water and watching the clouds whiten the air. Then we headed back down through the woods, watching the air become brighter, the trees change color, and the pathway gradually level out as we left the Moose Mountain behind.