Whiteside Mountain

I always wanted to hike Whiteside Mountain in the snow. The pluton rising out of the earth is four hundred million years old. The cliffs are sheer as though a potter molded them into a single tower and then used a knife to cut away part of the rock, scoring the sides of the face to make a natural path for us to climb. 

Reaching the summit takes two hours, but that’s when we move fast, not stopping to smell the perfume of the mountain laurel or admire the tangle of vines that snake their way through the thick forest of green. We push ourselves up the steep incline, wiping at the sweat that drips from our brows. We ignore the heat radiating in our calf muscles. 

We visit the mountain often in the spring, and summer, and then again in autumn when the leaves begin to change. And every time we make the ascent, I say the same thing.

“I bet this hike is beautiful when it snows.”

And now we’re doing it, the four of us, with silvery white flakes buzzing around our heads, frosting our hair with beads of iridescent crystal. 

I laugh as my three daughters peg each other with snowballs. They stop to photograph a row of razor sharp icicles hanging over the bluff.

“Stand underneath and look up,” Lexi says. She grins and points to the deep gulley below the frozen daggers. “I’ll take your picture.”

“You’re sick,” Andy says laughing. She’s the baby. Her twentieth birthday was last month, but I missed it because I was in the hospital. The girls brought me a piece of cake, which was nice of them to do, and we sang in my room while the nurses looked on. We couldn’t light a candle, because it was against the rules, but I closed my eyes and imagined it anyway. I made a wish on her candle that she would smile more. 

“It’s all fun and games until someone loses an eye,” Gabby says to her younger sisters. Her voice is motherly and it reminds me of my own. She carries a heavy backpack, which she slides off her shoulders and places against a boulder by her feet. She hunches over to catch her breath, resting her hands above her knees. 

“Want me to carry it for a while?” Lexi asks. 

“No, I got it. It’s not that heavy.”

Gabby stands upright and looks back over her shoulder at the way we’ve come. She’s had a tough year, taking care of me, driving me to appointments, paying my bills, and talking with the endless stream of doctors and specialists about my diagnosis.  A brain tumor isn’t for the feint of heart, especially one that isn’t operable. She wipes her nose with the back of her glove and then begins to chuckle.  

“Do you remember the time when we went sledding at night? We spent two hours packing the snow so we’d go really fast? And then on the first run, Mom pushed Andy down the hill, the toboggan went off the track and she slid into the trees?”

“Yes!” I said, laughing with her. “I felt like the worst mother in the world.”

“She freaked out,” Lexi says. “She chased after the sled like a crazy person and when it crashed, all we could see were Andy’s feet sticking out from the mound of snow.”

“Can you blame me?” I ask. “She could have gotten very hurt.”

“I almost died!” Andy quips. 

“No you didn’t. You were fine,” Gabby replies. She stops laughing and wipes at her face again, and this time, I’m pretty sure I see tears. She turns away and hoists the backpack onto her shoulders. The thick straps grow taut under the weight and she grimaces. “Let’s keep going. The snow is picking up and we have to get back before dark.”

We continue our climb. I am always tired these days, and I am tired now, but I push on. The forest is silent except for the snow crunching beneath our boots and the constant whooshing sound of wind pumping through the canyons below us. 

The girls are nimble, lifting their feet to step over gnarled roots jutting out of the ground. As the trees fade away, the sky grows lighter letting us know that we’ve reached the four thousand foot summit. Steel wires line the cliff and we hold onto them to keep from slipping over the edge.

On a clear day when the sun is shining, we can see all the way to Georgia and South Carolina, and red-tail hawks call to us as they ride the currents in large circles above our heads. But it is winter and the hawks have migrated to warmer places. The sky and land before us are covered in a dreamy blanket of shimmering white as far as the eye can see. I turn and peer down the mountain at the trail we’ve taken. There are three sets of footprints and none of them belong to me. 

Gabby stands beside my hospital bed and clears her throat. The ventilator hums.

“The doctor said this part would be the hardest, but he also said she is in peace. She was in a lot of pain. You know she never wanted to be like this. We’re doing the right thing.” 

“I feel lost,” Andy says. Her voice is small. She grips the steel wires and for a moment, she sways as though she’s going to faint.

“I do, too,” Lexi says, moving to stand by her sister. They lean against each other for support and this makes me smile. Gabby joins them. They take turns kissing me, and their tears spill onto my cheek. 

“You know where you are,” I reassure them. “You’re on top of the world. Don’t be afraid.”

I hear another voice, one I do not recognize, but it is gentle and songlike. Perhaps it is a prayer. The snow, beautiful and calm, continues to fall, but the wind has ceased. I inhale long and deep, one final time, and fill my lungs with the breath of God.  I always wanted to hike Whiteside Mountain in the snow.