It’s snowing as I write this—beautiful fluffy white stuff falling from the heavens—but honestly it wasn’t that long ago when I introduced my new husband Dan to a favorite Cascade trail.
Dan and I made a spontaneous trip to the Oregon coast this past weekend. One of the reasons was to remedy our kite-flying fail from two weeks ago when we were passing through and had to stop and buy a kite and run on the beach and get sand between our toes.
We learned the results of Dan’s biopsy last week while away from home: A small amount of prostate cancer.
The urologist said Dan could opt for treatment, but he recommended expectant management—sometimes called “watchful waiting.” He said a normal side effect of expectant management is anxiety.
“I’m going to marry someone who will stop and play in the snow,” our daughter announced. At the time, we were on a family road trip across winter-white mountains. And the purpose of the journey was to get to the destination. Safely. And in good time.
In January, Dan and I took on the challenge to complete 52 hikes in 2020. We were already on hike #38 by April. And so we revised the goal: we would aim to log in 500 miles before year’s end.
“I don’t have to drive home by myself!” We were in Idaho. Extended family members were eager to meet this man who’d won my heart.
For the past five years, I drove this route alone. And now I had a husband for the long road home.
A friend texted four days before our mid-July wedding, teasing good-naturedly: “Enjoy your last few days of freedom!”
“How did the deer get in your backyard?” We were on a week-long camping trip when my husband Dan received this text message from our neighbor.
Back at home, while unloading the trailer, two mama deer and three speckled fawns ambled through our gate to help themselves to our garden.
Seriously?! You don’t see us standing right here?
A brother-in-law texted with family news. I didn’t see his message until several hours later. “We’ve been camping/fishing/kayaking all week,” I explained.
BIL: “Are you sure that having that much fun isn’t a sin??!” (Smile.)
Dan and I knew we’d be exhausted by the end of the week. But we asked for our ‘tween granddaughters anyway—ages 11 and 12. Maybe because we also knew we’d make some epic memories.
