This past weekend was rainy and cozy. My 23-year-old daughter Mackenzie visited home, which made it even better. Homemade brownies, hot chocolate, magazines, some wine, and loads of laughter.
It poured on Friday. Saturday morning was sunny, so Mackenzie and I wanted to go for a walk. We decided to take a route on the streets, versus a hike in the mountains, since it’d be muddy. I assured Mackenzie it was fine to wear her new (expensive) tennis shoes, as we’d stay in the neighborhoods.
We headed into the mountain area, and were planning to be on the wide, paved road. “But Mom, the trail looks fine. It’s dry, come on, let’s go that way!” So we went. It was fine for about half a mile, until we came to some puddles and sloshy mud. A few more steps, and the whole path was gooey. We trudged through the high wild grass on the sides of the trail, hoping it wasn’t marshland.
The mountains surrounding us were a vibrant green and wildflowers started to…