by Sophia Mattice-Aldous
We all know there are things you don’t do at family gatherings if you want to keep the peace and not have a brawl before you get to dessert. Don’t talk politics and stop asking your nieces and nephews when they are going to get married and/or have kids (really, Aunt Deborah, it is almost too expensive to have a dog in this economy, much less human children).
Thankfully, my family is pretty much on the same political spectrum, which means we don’t ask invasive questions about kids and matrimony. Speaking of dogs, however, another familial consideration that popped up recently was maybe, don’t think you’re more athletic than your family’s dog. Bear with me, that’s a specific addendum for a reason.
Earlier this month, my mom’s side of the family gathered for our annual reunion at Emigrant Springs State Heritage Area in Oregon. Yes, we actually like each other’s company enough to make hanging out a tradition, and Emigrant Springs is a good in-between location, considering where we are all traveling from. Near the summit of the Blue Mountains, Emigrant Springs State Heritage Area is a campsite and recreation area where people, including ye olde travelers on the Oregon Trail and Native Americans, would replenish their water supplies. While the heritage area sits next to a loud freeway that travelers of the Oregon Trail probably would’ve wished they had the benefit of if they knew what a freeway was in the 1840s, it’s a gorgeous site in late spring/early summer. It’s about a 20- 25-minute drive from Pendleton and has plenty of hiking trails (and horse trails for those who prefer that mode of wilderness exploration).
After plenty of time spent lounging about visiting and eating purposefully non-healthy food, I decided I should go for a walk on one of those trails, where my aunt Michele and uncle Bert accompanied me with their dogs, Darius and Delilah. Darius and Delilah are both of the snausage variety, short, spirited, occasionally noisy and amiable. Feeling good after a dopamine hit from homemade pecan banana bread and the overall beauty of the day, I offered to walk Darius, an adorable fellow with a wiry haircut and the typical “the-world-is-mine” terrier attitude. Before we were too long on our trek, we came upon a fallen tree that blocked the trail. Thinking that I was somehow serving as an athletic example to a creature whose legs just happened to be shorter than mine, I took the lead, stepping toward the tree with Darius’s leash in my left hand as he looked at me quizzically.
“You can do it, Darius,” I encouraged, as if he had asked me to do so in the first place. “It’s a small tree. Just do what I do.” I wish it had been a huge tree, dear reader. Not quite an old growth, but one of impressive size that would have soothed my bruised ego in the aftermath of my attempted hurdle.
“Like this,” I advised, attempting to jump jauntily over the trunk. As soon as the words were out of my mouth, my jaunt turned janky and the toe of my shoe caught the tree, tripping me and sending me face-first into the dirt.
When you’re not injured psychically, sometimes the only balm to your embarrassment is to laugh at yourself, which I promptly started to do, much to the relief of my aunt and uncle, who hurried to see if my swan dive had resulted in injury.
“You’re laughing, so you can’t be too hurt,” Bert said, smiling. A fair assessment. I looked at Darius, whose front paws were resting on the downed tree, leash trailing over the bark where I dropped it, his soft brown eyes assessing my efforts. “How about not like that?” his look seemed to say.
Sophia Mattice-Aldous is not a doctor, dietician, extreme sports enthusiast, or a mini Sasquatch, though some of her exes may disagree with that last one. She just enjoys the opportunity to be outside and hike. If you have any recommendations where she should go next, email [email protected].
