Friedrich Nietzsche
Yesterday Madeleine took her first tentative, tiny tiptoe steps, a feat accompanied with giggles of glee, egged on by her applauding onlookers. There is no less wonder the third (and fourth!) time around than the first. For the first year of life is laced with miracle steps – the first smile, the first chuckle, rolling over, sitting up, the experimental smatterings of language (‘mamamama’); the shared gestures (arms raised expectantly beckoning to be picked up; the flapping of arms with excitement; the rubbing of eyes for tiredness) and then...the first marvelous tiny footsteps. I remember being transfixed with wonder with Cameron and Erin as I reflected on this next significant stage of babyhood development. It is such a profound achievement - the first step to independence, the gradual severing of the child’s intimate reliance on us as parents as the world beckons and widens.
I consciously recall pondering with Erin where her first step would lead – where in the world these miraculously formed feet would transport the equally perfectly formed rest of the body; what adventures those feet would entice her towards! And there is deep irony in this memory. For Erin was born in to a hiking family – a family where the connection with nature, the togetherness as a family was set against the backdrop of towering mountains and powering rivers. Those little feet at the tender age of almost-eight had hiked more trails than most adults have. At the age of three she summitted unaided Stawamus Chief, our local mountain peak with a formidable wall of granite on its west face. The following year she plodded up the path to the look-out point over the shimmering emerald Lake Louise. Wherever we traveled we would search out hiking trails and over the years she’d walked trails and climbed mountains across the globe - the Pembrokeshire coastal paths; Cape Town’s Table Mountain; American meanders in Washington State, Idaho and California; Chinese and Mexican mountain tracks and Hawaiian trails. On our final holiday together in December 2014, I have warm memories of hiking up Hong Kong’s Victoria Peak because the tram’s queues were too long; we took a wrong turn and couldn’t find the correct path to reach the summit, even though it was in sight. Erin’s little legs were weary, and still jet-lagged, she turned tear-filled to her dad to be carried the final leg. We reached the top as the sun was setting over the panorama of twinkling lights of Hong Kong city, the children's efforts rewarded with the most expensive ice-cream cones ever!
When the children were older and could carry their own backpacks, at the end of August before school began, we headed in to the magnificent back-country surrounding our home for an overnight trip. The first year Cameron’s backpack load was his family of Mario stuffies. In subsequent years as the children grew taller and stronger, they bore more backpack weight as we looked to extend the number of nights in the wild. In the solace of nature, surrounded by alpine meadow flowers, thundering rivers, and crystal clear star-studded night skies, we cemented our close bond as a family.
And of course, we were regular walkers in the holidays with the Lions’ Bay Monday hiking group. Our children were two of only a handful of children who walked but they knew the local trails well and always bounded ahead. On that fateful morning I had called down to Erin to be careful as she descended in to the river valley that had flooded the week previously, washing away a bridge. On reaching her, I set down my backpack to take out snacks and my camera, and asked her to move nearer my brother to take a family photo.
A step, one step; two steps. A tiptoe tiny step redefining the future; reshaping our lives and losing hers.
And so Madeleine’s tiny tentative footsteps are profoundly symbolic. They open up a new burgeoning world – a world of adventure, of exciting new vistas, international travel – and mountain walks. They also beckon precarious steps into an unknown and potentially dangerous future. For 'YES', we will still walk with our children: even though nature can be an unpredictable and fickle friend, enjoying the grandeur of the natural environment is a legacy that Erin beckons for all of us to embrace. Even in the womb, in the latter stages of my pregnancy I managed my gestational diabetes (a hazard of having twins) by walking with a newly acquired Furry Creek friend. My precious cargo would kick and prod me or were lulled to sleep on the Furry Creek golf course paths as we solidified our friendship through the rain, sleet and snow of the long winter months. For being in the outdoors is simply what our family does. And when Madeleine and Sebastian were born at just 4 weeks I headed up Stawamus Chief with my tiny two in memory of their spunky, resilient big sister, accompanied by a group of girlfriends, initiating our new family's walking adventures.
So footsteps to the future. Madeleine and Sebastian are launched. Here we come…