To the Summit

We drove up the snowy, winding road towards the cozy A-frame cabin.

We always like driving with the windows down, and the heat blazing in the car. It gave us the best of both worlds, the crisp fresh air rushing in our lungs, and the soothing warmth of the heat to save us from certain hypothermia. The mountains were a nice change in scenery in comparison to the bustling concrete jungle we were familiar with in NY. A few times along the way, we pulled to the side of the road, got out of the car, and just soaked in the taste of freedom. The sweet aroma of the pine trees comingled with the fresh mountain air and provided us with a brief moment of serenity. When we would close our eyes and we could simply “be” in the present moment.

“Here we are, my love!” I said as we pulled into the driveway of our home for the next few days. I grabbed our bags, and we made our way into the home.

I decided that it would be wise to eat something before embarking on our quest up the mountain, so I unpacked the ribeye steak, and the whiskey I had brought along. I held the bottle in my hand for a moment, spinning it around, and looking at it with intention. “I’ll save you for later, I need a clear head right now.”

I ignited the gas stove, it clicked, and the fire bloomed. I rested my iron skillet on the flames and began seasoning the skillet with some extra virgin olive oil. To the side, I began preparing my ingredients, garlic, rosemary, thyme, Kerrygold unsalted Irish butter, sea salt, and black pepper.

The skillet began to smoke, so I threw a dollop of butter on before placing my beautifully seasoned ribeye on top. I was particularly lucky with this cut because the marbling on it was phenomenal, not quite A5 wagyu, but certainly more fatty than a NY strip. The whole point of being here this weekend is to be out of NY, so a ribeye felt appropriate. I placed the steak down in the pool of luscious, melted butter, and it eased its way into the pan with a gentle hiss. After about 5 minutes with a high flame, I added in my aromatics. I love the smell of freshly peeled garlic and rosemary. First I added the garlic, and then I clapped the rosemary between my hands to break the cell walls and really release its full aromatic potential before adding it as well. I flipped my steak with some iron tongs, and added more butter on top, the trick to making a good steak is butter. You have to consistently attend to the needs of the meat, and repeatedly bathe it with butter by using a metal spoon to scoop up all the soupy goodness of the garlic and rosemary.

After about 5 more minutes, and a good sear, I removed the steak from the pan, and let it sit on my plate to rest for about 5 more minutes. The juices seeped into the plate, and lunch was calling my name. I ceremoniously clapped my hands together and said “Itatakimas” as I indulged in the bliss of that first bite. After a short while, I was fueled, and ready to begin hiking, the summit we were hiking to sat at an elevation of 11,000 feet. I considered hiking with a group, but I decided it would be better if we had our privacy on the way up.

With my DSLR camera in tow, we made our way up the trail and made sure to be present with each step. I felt like I was hiking a mythical mountain, perhaps we would see the Giants of Jotunheim, or a greedy dragon hoarding gold in the center of the mountain. Instead, we did see some deer, a doe, and a buck. For a moment, the buck and I locked eyes, and with a slight bow of his head, he continued on his path. I was embarrassed that I may have interrupted his date.

We later saw some mountain goats and I laughed to myself, because I had recently seen Thor Love and Thunder, and all I could think about was the chaotic good of those crazy bleating menaces. Also, in our paranoia, we would mistake the sounds of breaking branches and shuffling leaves to be bears, when in reality it was just a feisty little squirrel tromping around.

My friend always had such a fascination with squirrels, so I decided to capture some photos for him. They were such curious little fellows, always poking their noses where they don’t belong, and raising mischief wherever they saw fit.

Our hike to the top took about 3 hours, but boy was it worth it. We were awed and humbled by the majesty and grandeur of the peak. The snowy peaks seemed like they reached out into the essence of infinity, and they stretched out toward God.

I let out a sigh of relief, satisfaction, and reflection. I saw the vapor go off into the ether. I sat down on a boulder, and packed up my camera while simultaneously digging out my bottle of whiskey from before, “Heaven’s Door Straight Rye Whiskey.” I also dug out a small copper mug and poured my first shot.

I closed my eyes and embraced a solemn feeling in my soul. When I opened my eyes again, fresh tears welled and rolled down my cheek. I stared at the mug and poured its contents into the mountain.

“For you my friend,” I said to myself.

Out of my coat, I dug out a picture of my dear friend, “Fritz.” He was a stout, German gentleman with a salt and pepper beard, and a snub little tail. His eyes were a soft brown, and he loved wearing his black skull sweater, it always made him feel “super cool.” Those are his words, not mine.

“I’m sorry that I couldn’t get us here sooner old friend, I think you would have really liked the view. It’s so unfair how the good die young, and you were certainly the best I could have asked for. You were always great company to be with, I appreciated all your warm greetings, kisses, and cuddles. I miss playing fetch with you, and watching you defend the house from those pesky squirrels.”

With reverence, I drew a small tin out of my coat pocket and held it in my hands. I brought the tin to my lips and gave it a kiss. The metal was cold, but the tears on my face were warm.

With a shaky voice, I said, “I love you, and I miss you. Dogs are too good for this world, and that’s why their souls pass on much faster. It wouldn’t have mattered if you lived 100 years or 12, it still would have been too soon for me.”

I opened the lid of the tin and walked to the edge of the cliff. With a gentle shake, I let his ashes go with the wind, to run free one more time, completely free and uninhibited.

I walked back over to the boulder and poured a second glass of whiskey for myself. I threw it down the hatch and said, “Salud!”

“Goodbye my old friend, rest easy, be free.”

Although your body is no longer tethered to this earth, you will always live on in my heart. I like to think that our loved ones are always with us, you don’t need to go to a gravestone to see them, or even look at a photo. All you have to do is close your eyes, and remember them. Remember them with all your heart, and they will live on forever. I may walk down this mountain alone, but I can still feel you in the breeze, in the warmth of the sun, and running in my beating heart.