by Kary Wright

Created on: July 16, 2008   Last Updated: August 22, 2008

The scenery was spectacular on the mountain trail. Winding through the tall spruce trees on that early summer morn, she could smell the sweet fragrance of the high-mountain air, with a hint of pine needle, sage and fragrant flowers. The trail climbed slowly as it meandered through the trees, the gentle gurgling of the brook that it loosely followed off somewhere to the left, occasionally revealing itself through the underbrush. In a clearing she paused and kneeled down where the stream and trail met, and after a refreshing drink of crystal-clear frigid water, Hazel admired the sunshine illuminating the mountain valley she found herself in. There was a raven loudly cawing to announce his presence in a bold voice, and squirrels making it known that they had noticed her with their chatter. She reached for her walking stick to help her to stand on her frail legs. She recalled seeing the walking stick just this morning, patiently waiting in the corner of her apartment, painstakingly engraved so many years ago. The walking seemed to limber up the old joints, and her limp was nearly gone now, she had the notion that maybe she should've tried exercising more in the last twenty years.

A little farther ahead and the trail began to get steeper. There were roots and rocks to step over, but she seemed to be able to negotiate them fine, even adding a little bounce to her step every now and then. She was beaming a smile from ear to ear, wondering why she hadn't done this in years, and could feel herself was getting stronger with every step.

Edgar and Hazel were married in 1936, and right away made camping, fishing and hunting a huge part of their lives. They loved the Rocky Mountain scenery, and spent summers traveling and camping up and down logging roads in search of new lakes and streams, regularly hiking several miles for an overnight lakeside tenting adventure, complete with bears, wolves, elk, deer, and of course the all-important trout. It seemed that they knew every square inch of the Eastern slopes of the Rockies, and it always felt like coming home when the lakes and ponds finally melted in spring enough to allow them back to their beloved lifestyle. They were never very affluent, and couldn't care less as they bumped along dusty logging roads in their old camper van, loaded with fishing gear, knitting, books, food, tent, sleeping bags, and of course the odd refreshment to set in a cool mountain stream. They never had children due to medical issues, but their lives

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