A story about three sisters — a poet, a documentarian, and performance artist — who reach the summit
It’s fitting to read this one during quarantine as hiking has become the activity we do as a foursome, out there in our new world beyond the same-old, the four walls that we are beginning to know so well.
When beloved Auntie B sent this via snail mail last month both kids (ages 8 and 5) devoured it. They were absorbed with the tiny illustrations and the enormous magical redwood trunks: “are there really trees like that?”
“Yes, and one day when this is all over we will go see them!” I say.
In the meantime, we take notes on our close-to-home flora and fauna. The kids were inspired to keep their own nature journals to rival Wren’s sketchbooks, the note-taking sister in The Hike. In 2019, we saw (and drew) the beach huts in Brighton and Notre-Dame on the Île de la Cité. In 2020 we record the local and mundane: the forsythia above and periwinkle underfoot, the rhythm of woodpecker birdsong, and the racket of the occasional train barreling through the silence of our treks along the Hudson.
C'est la vie. I’ll take it, gratefully.
