Take Time to Smell the Roses

Rosa and I had every intention of attending a church service this morning.  We set our alarm accordingly and ate breakfast before walking into town.  We strolled up to the door, confident that we were arriving 10 minutes early, only to discover the service had actually started at 9:30 and not 10, as the community newsletter had told us.  Rather than awkwardly walking in, we decided to get ice-cream instead.  We took our chocolate and vanilla swirl cones on a walk around town and discovered The Garden of the Senses.  It was lovely and tucked away as a Sneem special gem.  We spent an hour walking around and talking.  I really love getting to know Rosa.  My favorite part was the rose garden and the sign within it that said “Take time to smell the roses.”  I kept that thought with me all day as Rosa, Dominik, Josh and I set out to climb McDuffy Mountain.  We hiked to the half way point using a trail and climbed the next fourth of the way without one.  We made it to a beautiful lake where we went swimming and ate lunch.  We then ventured to what I thought was the highest peak but only turned out to be the second highest peak.  That meant that we had to go upwards once again.  My body told me it needed to stop and give up, but my mind told my body that that was not a possibility.  I made it all the way to the top and back down again.  Once we got back to the house, we celebrated by eating chocolate cake, the best way of celebrating, of course.  I felt completely exhausted after an absolutely amazing and adventure-filled weekend.  To give you more insight into my climb, here is a short excerpt from my journal:  I have this total feeling of accomplishment.  For most of the hike up the mountain, there wasn’t a path.  We scaled rocks, at times holding on to nothing but dirt and wild grass.  I was physically inferior to the other three, often stopping for an extra second to catch my breath.  The feeling of being less fit than the rest of the group was foreign and made me want to give up, but the view at the top thanked me for pushing on.  I loved the moments when I looked out and could see the mountains and ocean and houses in the distance.  Tipping my eyes upward, I could see cotton ball sized sheep scattered across the mountain and could hear the echo of the collie rounding them up in the distance.  Once at the top, we raced into the lake, only to race back out again.  We ate our lunch on a rock edge and sat in silence listening to the water fall against the jagged bottom below.  Weeds, long and thin, spread themselves across the lake, forming patterns that swirl like paint beneath a skilled artist’s brush.  To the left is the peak of the mountain, solid and stoic in stature.  The browns and greys melt into the greens, leaving a mirror image in the weedy lake below.  Tiny bugs called midges anxiously fight about who should say hello first.  The courage of the first one leads to a swarm of hello’s that I desperately wish were good bye’s.  I leave my feet covered in a towel, not yet ready to return to the soggy socks, which are a result of my incapable running shoes that were no match for the muddy bog.  The hood of my sweatshirt is tied tightly, and I feel a sense of warmth knowing that the money used to purchase it is going towards the kids in Honduras I left my heart with.  The wind picks up speed around me, as I slip into my Northface – a jacket that has been with me during most of my favorite adventures.  It has been a witness to my character transformation each time I’ve been to the edge of the world and back.