Melting Into the Mountain

It wasn’t until after we were married that Barton talked about his family history an summer gathering of relatives in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. Recently, we were able to return to the old cabins, rocking chair conversations and relaxation of leaving behind the noise of city living.

I am reminded of how much I love our visits to Randolph- sleeping hard under a tin roof, waking up in the dew dripping trees outside the window, fixing a cup of coffee and writing in my journal before waking Baron. Later just melting into the mountain view from the cabin just down the street.

During the week we gathered with family we had not seen in a long time, venturing on a short hike just as a storm began. Taking out from a week of deadlines to breathe, finally breathe and feel like myself again. I was reminded how important rest, silence and breaks are important, or we will run until we exhaust ourselves.

I was also introduced to the Randolph Picnic and Charades, and there’s no description that can fit the afternoon of fun with families from the mountains acting out syllables and phrases for the rest of us to guess. Later, singing traditional songs that echo among the rocks.

Before we left, we had one day to ourselves after other family had already departed. We rocked on the porch to watch an approaching storm. Lightening flashed over maples and pines on the mountains, and thunder bounced from side to side, surrounding us as the rain plummeted from the sky.

I huddled closer to Barton as thunder rolled through the valley. Eventually, we made out way back to our own cabin, falling asleep as the storm continued on. In the morning, we prepared to make our way back to our own home and work that lay ahead. Until the next time, when we return to the mountains.

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