It must have been my youngest brother’s wedding that summer.  I don’t often make it back home for the family reunion – a week-long event held that first week in July.  My baby was just over a year old; I can remember her babble in my ear but don’t recall any words.

My brother is an outdoor, active type, and met his match with my sister-in-law. Since that summer they have had four children together, all of whom have been exposed to the great outdoors.  They had made many plans for that very active week, not the least of which was a wedding in a meadow overlooking the valley of my youth. In deference to our Scottish heritage, my brothers all wore a skirt Scottish kilt.  Since I wasn’t looking for that kind of breeze, I chose to sit in the folding chair with my knees covered with cloth of the trouser variety.

The view from that hillside was beautiful, they chose the spot well.  This beauty was made all the more poignant because I had seldom appreciated it as I wandered the hillsides and found life-long scars among the blackberry thorns and other brambles that covered most of the interesting places. As we baked in the sun and listened to the drone of the insects (and the good reverend) I think it occurred to all of us that this was a wedding never to be forgotten.

But this wasn’t the point of this post at all, I suppose it’s easy to get caught up as memories rise to the surface to be examined this way and that, then slide back under ’till just the turbulence from its passing remains.

One of the activities planned was a hike to Kaaterskill Falls, near Hunter, NY.  I was immediately concerned because I had a small child, and didn’t think we would be able to keep up.  I was assured that this was covered; they had borrowed a carrier designed just for this purpose.  Several in fact, I wasn’t the only one with a small child. I think it looked a little like this, but I seemed to recall it was yellow or maybe a yellow-brown.

When I strapped the carrier on and my baby was lowered into it, I was immediately transported to a different me.  It was a feeling I will never forget; my baby strapped to my back, so close, as I navigated the trail through those scenic woods.  I felt her weight on my back and shoulders, but it was a good weight, a right weight. I was asked by others if I needed a breather, but I declined.  I wouldn’t have traded that weight for the world. I could feel her breath in my ear, hear her as she made those happy noises as only small children can.  I’ve never felt so close or at peace with her.

One of my biggest regrets in this life is that that was the only time I ever experienced that particular joy with either of my children.  My children are almost-9 and just-turned-12. Although I still pick up the almost-9 whenever I can, strapping on that carrier is forever beyond us.