To Rocks and Mountains

When Victoria asked me if I wanted to go kayaking, how could I respond in any way other than an enthusiastic "YES!"?  Afterward, I discovered that our destination was three hours away, but that couldn't be a deterrent :  I had all the time in the world on Sunday.

So Sunday morning after the 8am Mass, five girls transformed from skirted church-goers into rugged outdoorswomen and headed west, deeper into Ohio.  The lovely scenery and a CD of talks on Mulieris Dignitatem helped pass the time, along with good conversation and a rousing game of Cows and Graveyards.  When we arrived at the kayaking outpost, we decided against the kayaks and for the hike.

Given directions and a map from a very helpful Ohioan, we found our way to Hocking Hills State Park, where we would discover Old Man's Cave, Cedar Falls, and Ash Cave.  I wanted to hike from site to site, but thunder in this distance and dark clouds overhead prompted a consensus that we should drive, since each wonder had a parking lot placed conveniently near.

Somehow, central Ohio got blessed with a magical park full of beautiful hidden waterfalls and rocky overhangs and tunnel-like caves.  Water and wind ate away at limestone to create artwork along the rock of the mountains.  Paths worn by water and footsteps follow along, around, and over the river, carrying hikers through the green of moss and trees, the red of the cliffs, and the bright colors of their fellow visitors.

Some of the rocks have names.  Not the way landmarks are names : no, hikers past have felt the need to leave their mark in bold letters scrawled across nature's wall.  And where one person left her mark, others followed, so that a specific rock or group of rocks holds hundreds of names, proclaiming to us that we were not the first here.  We were not the first to gasp in awe and marvel at these places.  We were not the first to hear our breath catch, to admire the view, to rush to the beauty, to linger in it.  We were not the first to form friendships or memories here.

I touched the names.  I let my hand linger on the letters, as if that could give me some share in the happiness or heartache, the awe or anger these people brought.  And it made me happy to know that I am traveling in the footprints of others.  And others will follow me.