It’s been quite some time since I last put on my hiking boots. So much time, in fact, that I now kinda hate them. They are tight in the toe box, almost as if they shrank in the past 4 years. This could also be because I left them outside for a majority of 2020. I guess it’s time for a new, sturdier pair….and time for me to organize my gear in one central location.
When I first decided to write about this trail, I really could have titled this “Why You Should Do Things Without Your Kids”. I will probably be ostracized for this, but I have days when I wish I didn’t have a child. Days when I wish I was still a solo woman. Alone. This doesn’t mean I don’t love him to the ends of time and back. What it does mean is that often times we lose a sense of our selves as we become parents, particularly mothers. Of course there’s the inevitable loss of your body, loss of sleep, loss of youth in a sense. And it goes deeper than that. You don’t have time to do all the hobbies you loved before; your physical space is invaded by toys and books and endless clinginess; your emotional labor becomes focused and magnified by 100000%. Suddenly your world revolves around transformers and Octonauts, having daily morning conversations to have kind hands, praying each day that your child is behaving cause you can’t afford to use vacation for an asinine early daycare pickup. You also now feel like you are “touched out”.
You. Lose. Sight. Of. Yourself.
I haven’t quite figured out the balance of what it means to be the sole provider and protector of a small soul while also carefully curating a list of attributes that society thinks he should have. Like, ice cream for dinner sounds rad to me. And I know it’s a bad idea that sets up bad habits. And I am constantly teaching about consent and that little boys can like cars and unicorns because binary gender is a fucked up concept. I worry about what his first year of real school is going to look like either during or post pandemic. The weight is real. So sometimes, it’s nice to get back to doing your thing without the kids. Sometimes that means hiking seven miles talking about sports bras and freely dropping “fuck” bombs that only you and your friend can hear.
Hence, Lower Lena Lake….
I took off a Monday but still dropped Stone off at daycare. And once again I said my little prayer that he wouldn’t be called to the office for something stupid. Side note – daycare centers need to get over themselves. No one is getting upset because your kid said “his butt stinks” in reference to his own stuffed animal. I have never rolled my eyes as hard as I do when the Assistant Director glares about an energetic four year old. I went back home to get my gear together and wait for my friend Sara to come by the house so we could depart. In that brief space of time, a participant I work with had a car crisis that needed immediate solving. Several emails and a phone call later it was resolved. So I really only used about 3 hours of vacation for my day off. Big win for flex hours.
Sara drove so I could both handle that crisis and navigate our journey. Lower Lena Lake is located in the Hood Canal area of the Olympic Peninsula, about an hour and 15 minutes from my home. We left Olympia and followed Hwy 101 north, passing Shelton, Hoodsport, and Lilliwaup. We turned left onto N. Hamma Hamma Rd and quickly arrived at the trail head. After a bathroom break and lacing up our boots (at which time I discovered mine were uncomfortable), we set off.
The trail started off mellow, winding through some new growth forests with a few rocks and roots in our path. We also had minimal contact with others on the trail. We passed by a few groups and allowed two or three groups to pass us as we got lost in conversation or stopped for water. For the most part, it was just Sara and I.
And this is exactly what I needed when I didn’t want to bring my kid. I have a belief that children should be allowed to be children as long as humanly possible. No child should ever have to take on the issues and trauma of adult life when they aren’t ready to handle it. I saw it happen first hand with my step-daughter and how it really affected her as she grew up into a teen and young adult. It’s the same reason I won’t say negative things about Stone’s dad in-front of Stone. That’s not his reality and it’s not my job or place to distort his view of his father. Kids can make their own judgements based on their interactions with the people in their lives. It is what helps them learn to trust their intuition and learn to set boundaries. My job is to help him process his big emotions and learn to self-regulate. And have fucking kind hands!!
Being with another adult on the trail made for adult discussions – talking about work, about career choices, about body dysmorphia, about our relationships and family, about clothes, about how our world is changing (both micro and macro), and about what we want to do with our lives. Like any child needs to know what body dysmorphia is. No way…. This was my time to work through my processes and feel heard and validated. And all while remembering how to do it differently with my own child when those same issues will come up.
Sara and I cursed the trail quite a bit too. The gradual switchbacks became steeper as we continued to climb. The Lower Lena trail is about 7.2 miles with just over 1300 feet of elevation gain. Nothing horrid. But as the day crept closer to 85 degrees, I really wondered why I was wearing clothing. Sweat dripped down my chin and lower back resulting in more stops to wipe my face off and peel my backpack from my shirt. So lovely.
As we continued on, there was no visual sign of water anywhere on the trail. We could hear Lena Creek with its false sense of closeness to a water source, but all we saw were trees. Some standing tall, some crooked as if to mark where Indigenous peoples had once created a marker for a path, some toppled over exposing their massive root systems. We came to a sign where the trail splits off to either continue to The Brothers, a summit trail with class 3 climbing, or Upper Lena Lake, a second lake up another 2+ miles and 3300 feet in elevation.
We hiked on a little farther and out of no where the landscape opened up, and we were met with a stellar view of the lake. The rocky overlook allowed for several photo ops. An older couple was sitting in the sun sharing lunch while we took our photos. After viewing the photos Sara took of me, we laughed at how she captured me swatting away horse flies and cursing. I also noticed that I need to work on my posture….still. This has been an on going thing since I shot up in height in 5th grade. Not being someone who liked excessive attention (and needed to duck to hear people), it kinda stuck. A friend asked me recently if I have ever been called “stretch” in my lifetime. I may need to adopt that one.
We finished our mini photoshoot and took in a final view before hiking down to the lake shore about 30 yards down. The shoreline was a mix of dirt and rocks, enough rocks that I wished I had brought my hiking sandals. We put down our packs, and I finally took off my sweaty tank top before jumping in the lake. And yes, it was fucking cold! Sara and I swam around long enough to get used to the massive temperature change. And also long enough to attract a group of ducks. Based on their dark eye line and mottled brown feathers with a peek of blue, we determined they were all mallard hens. They had no fear as they waddled up to us in search of food, sometimes coming within a few inches of us to see if they could get a chip or apple remnant. No luck though. Once they determined we were not going to give them any of our snacks, they moved on to the next group of people.
Sara and I partially dried off and got our clothes and boots back on to start back to the trailhead. We had timed to spend about 45 minutes swimming and snacking at the lake so I could make it back in time to pick up Stone from daycare. Even with a day without the full responsibility of a child, I still had that responsibility to go back home. The trek down was much quicker than the struggle up. It took about 2 hours to make it from the trailhead to the lake. And only one hour to return. Gravity is a motherfucker. After driving back to Hwy 101, both our phones returned to full service and no notifications popped up. Thankfully. This was another worry I had as I left town. I knew that I would have phone service for most of the highway, but once we approached the trail head we lost service. I had already contacted one person that I trusted to grab Stone. And, of course, he has emergency contacts listed but neither of them have a car seat. I breathed a sigh of relief knowing that he was fine and there were no voicemails to check.
We stopped in Hoodsport to grab a blended coffee from the Hoodsport Coffee Company. Sara also grabbed a pineapple banana sorbet. I may have sang an impromptu rendition of “Raspberry Sorbet” to the tune of Prince’s “Raspberry Beret”. Being in my own element and fully myself results in some strange, goofy behavior. I also sang to the ducks which Sara caught on video. I always say there’s a side of people that we don’t get to see. In my own home, by myself, I act so much different than when I am at work or grocery shopping or even talking on the phone. As I get more comfortable with my friends and with myself, that goofy strange side comes out more. Sara has had the chance to take late night car drives with me on backroads listening to Fleetwood Mac and Concrete Blonde, singing along. She’s crashed at my place when we stayed up too late eating mochi and talking about how fucked up our jobs can be. She has called me when she needed help with a wasp situation at her place cause she hates flying bugs. She’s talked me through so many big life decisions about my body and finances and home projects. And she still does.
As Sara drove us back home, we listened to one of her brother’s playlists on Spotify. It was mostly Red Hot Chili Peppers with a sprinkle of old rock. Sara handed me her phone to pick a playlist. I started playing some blues songs and introduced Sara to Black Joe Lewis and the Honeybears, Blues Traveler, and Fantastic Negrito. It seems small but it’s really an intimate moment. Sharing your favorite songs and laughing over lyrics like “Bitch, I loooooooove you!” is true medicine. And it’s only truly possible as a mom when your kids aren’t around.
