The idea was to leave a gift on someone’s front porch on September 22 in honor of Hubby’s birthday and our anniversary. Participants were asked to take a photo of the gift, and then post to Facebook or send via email with a blurb about who and why.
I’m pleased to report that the Porch Fairy was seen as far away as Lijiang, Yunnan Province in China.
Although I didn’t know it at the time, walking through Switzerland extended my life. I’m thinking they should have charged more for the tour.
There’s good reason for beauty — beauty in nature; in art; in the act of creating something. And believe me, the Swiss know how to do beauty. In their mountains. Their mountain lakes. Their ancient buildings.
Yesterday, we took a train to the world’s highest train station. Jungfraujoch at 11,388 feet.
At the end of the line, most of us walked even higher. Eyeball-to-eyeball with a glacier.
The plan was to bring the remainder of Hubby’s ashes with me. But I forgot them.
Which means I have to return to Switzerland. Have to.
Today we hiked up into the mountains below the Matterhorn. Hubby would have loved it. The exercise. The beauty. The mountain air. This fabulous group of fellow trekkers.
Hubby and I took up hiking and snowshoeing in our cancer years. We hiked the magnificent Cascades, Tetons and Rockies. And started stashing away loose change for some Swiss Alps hiking.
Hubby got his passport; I got mine renewed. And our loose change grew large enough to book a trip. But we ran out of time. And so I saved a few of Hubby’s ashes. And I’m leaving tomorrow for a ten-day walking tour in Switzerland.
Go Ahead Tours photo
I wanted to hike alone on this Friday date night so I could talk with Hubby out loud without anyone knowing how weird I really am:
“I remember the last time you and I hiked this trail. The chemo had almost worked its way out of your system, but you were exhausted from radiation treatments. You decided we’d walk part way before we turned around. We sat on the outcropping of rocks on the east side of the river and ate our lunch. And you were in good spirits, even though we didn’t make the full 3.2-mile loop.
“The times I’ve cried since you’ve been gone are when I think about how much you suffered at the end. You are still my hero. And I’m grateful for so many fabulous memories along so many trails. In the Cascades. The Rockies. The Tetons. With you.”
This is what I said out loud to Hubby this evening along the Deschutes River trail — a trail we’ve hiked a couple hundred times together. And it was not sorrowful to walk alone and remember.
A few years into Hubby’s cancer diagnosis—after we had started eating more fruits, veggies and whole grains and fewer chocolate chip cookies, chocolate cake and chocolate ice cream—Hubby makes up a rule. “On my birthday, I get to eat whatever I want.”
OK, I’ll allow one rule.
September 22, 2013 – Steamboat Springs, Colorado
Hence, the ganache. Essentially dark chocolate rolled in a light dusting of crumbs and quickly deep fried. With gelato on the side. And drizzled with additional dark chocolate.
I don’t make these things up.
There’s an old proverb that goes like this: “Death and life are in the power of the tongue.” Words are powerful. We have the capacity to speak death and discouragement, or life and hope to the people we love.
Here are 7 life-giving sentences that I spoke to Hubby. Often. But they’re not just for cancer caregivers; they can be modified and spoken by anyone, anywhere:
1. Thank you for asking me to marry you. And, by the way, it still baffles me how you got the nerve to propose after our first date.
Courtesy Unsplash Stock Photo
On my way to meeting up with friends, I noticed a new piece of art in the Old Mill District. Close up, it’s not exactly what you would call pretty.
But take a step back and see what you see.
Upon discovering that I left my heart in Bend, Oregon, I wrote this goal: “Relocate back.” The only [huge] problem is that affordable housing and Bend, Oregon aren’t synonymous.
Word gets around, though, and I am currently in a lovely guest house high on the side of a hill. With my own deck and sweeping views. For pennies. I know, impossible.
Copyright © 2026 Marlys Johnson
