My Favorite Microcosm

We awakened just a John Denver song past dawn, our black hiking bag already packed. The sun peeked around the curtains of our just-good-enough roadside motel's windows, beckoning Grey and Daddy for the day ahead.

It was bound to be a fantastic day, as most vacation days are. No work, no homework, new experiences. But the value of this one day, like a rare and extraordinary unopened gift, would surprise me with how permanent it would become in my history and how June 4, 2021 was the best day of a roller-coastery year that witnessed some good, a lot of not so good and a few pinnacles...

Grey was his usual morning self, eager for the adventure ahead and far more awake than his father. It was the third day of our road trip, and we had designs on a hike and a drive before Grey would finally meet his cousins Maddy and Will for the first time. Excitement permeated from the recent four-year-old as he danced around our double beds.

Dressed and ready, we quickly drove from the edge of Harper's Ferry into the small, picturesque transient village on the western bank of the Potomac River and dolloped at the half-way point of the Appalachian Trail.

Grey enthusiastically ran along the welcome path, skipping past the information kiosks to reach the footbridge that would transport us over the (less) mighty Potomac from West Virginia to Maryland. We descended from bridge to solid ground and walked the scenic path between the river and the former C&O Canal, father and son discussing the weather, the geography, his cousins and the bevy of things we had already experienced on our adventure.

After a half mile on level terrain, we reached a narrow wooden bridge that guided us over the dry canal to the trail head of Maryland Heights. We stopped to refuel.

Refreshed, we bounded across the bridge and up the rocky incline. The smaller member of Team Miller set the pace -- so we moved slowly, deliberately, efficiently. Some 20 minutes in, nearing a break in the trees and a right turn up the mountain, Grey informed me that he wanted to go back. He behaved as any tiring 4-year-old would, and I rallied up tricks from the tantrum prevention manual in case they were needed. Grey had at this early time of day had more than enough of walking, hiking, climbing and anything that involved him moving.

Grey was done, that much was clear. We sat on a low stone wall and shared an apple, glancing through the canopy at the Potomac below and peering up at the high treetops above. My eyes, though were mostly on him.

It was quiet. Almost eerily so save for the sound of chomping. He appeared too tired to even continue informing me that we would turn back, his only motion was handing me the apple and taking it back. 

It was not yet mid-morning and there were few others on the mountainside, so it seemed like we had the entire place to ourselves.

We finished the apple, leaving behind not much more than the stem and pits. There was nothing left.

And so too, of course, was true about my son and our hike.

I stood from our perch and pulled my rucksack onto my back, proud of how far we had trekked. Turning to my son I said: "Okay Grey Man, let's head down."

He stood, proudly, took a step past me and said: "No Daddy, we go up!"

And he started walking up the mountain.

I smiled an immeasurable smile that no one saw, and I followed him.

Our sights had been set on reaching the battery overlook, but that was far, far away. Might as well have been the overland from Alewife to Ashmont. 

Grey moved uphill, tiny hiking shoe in front of tiny hiking shoe. We stopped every 10-15 minutes to drink water and eat snacks. 

At each pit stop he was offered the option to head back down, and each time he restated almost incredulously, "Daddy, we go up!"

Here is this small human, barely four years old, exhausted, mostly smiling, employing two ascent tactics: zigzagging up the path like a tipsy drunk and alternately charging up with determined super speed. No one else on the mountain that morning was younger than 15 or 16 -- there surely were no other little kids making big strides.

Before long the chorus of passersby proclaiming that Grey was amazing was nearly as great as the song of the awakened cicadas.

And he was. Amazing. Like the forefathers of mountaineering, Grey climbed up that mountain because it was there. And he climbed it because he could. 

Even when part of told him he couldn't do it, the other part -- the stronger part -- told him that he could. And so he did.

I led us to the mountain, but Grey led us up the mountain. 

...

Later that day Grey met his cousins Maddy and Will for the first time and their confluence was magical. An indelible day became ever more remarkable for the love that permeated, seemingly lifelong bonds forged by three children on a mountainside many miles away in western Virginia ... ones that mirror the unbreakable bond shared by their non-blood related fathers.

Sadly, 2021 was not a perfect year.

It wasn't a great year.

And it wasn't an inspiring year. 

But there was perfection and there was greatness and there was inspiration. In my world most of it is owed to a boy named Grey.

And in 2022, we go up. 

:-)