It was an exceptionally warm October day as the sun rays cast a golden glow on the treetops that were preparing for their annual spectacular show of colors. It was the kind of day that beckoned one outdoors to smell the fresh air, feel the sun’s warmth, listen to the chirping of the birds and just enjoy.
Enough of this torture, I thought. Calling to my husband Chet I asked him to get his book and two chairs as I gathered a few things for snacking.
“Where are we going?” he asked.
“Where else but to the mountains? I hear them calling my name,” I told him.
There is peace and tranquility sitting by the lake at Frances Slocum Park observing the beauty surrounding us. It is a place where one comes to air out the brain and rid it of the weight of daily living. A place where the mind can wander to the past, future, nowhere or upward to heaven. This is a place to shut the world out in Mother Nature’s arms.
It was a weekday in the middle of the afternoon with not too many people in the park, only a few fishermen, people walking their dogs, and others sitting and observing as we were. I could not help notice the lovely lady sitting at a picnic table with a book in hand gazing into space more than reading. Passing in front of her, I greeted her with a hello and asked what she was reading.
Her response was very pleasant as I prepared to go on my way. “Please sit down, maybe we could talk a little bit,” she said to me. Sensing the loneliness in her voice I obliged and took the bench facing her.
It was not too long after our introductions that I learned she is 90 years old, lives alone and all her children except one lives in the area. She spoke with a distinct accent and related Germany is her birth country, and she migrated to America as a young girl with no family. The story of her romance and life unfolded with a smile on her face, and mine as well.
Sadness shadowed her eyes as she told of her husband’s passing and how her life has been uprooted. “It is very lonely. I go to church and people are very friendly, but never ask how I will spend the day.” As tears filled her eyes, I reached for her hand and told her I understood — for I, too, walked that road many years ago.
Hugging as we parted, I said a silent prayer for her and for all who suffer the pain of loneliness. Walking back to sit with Chet, I wondered if that was one of the reasons the mountains called my name that day.
Settled close to the lake’s edge with an open book, I could not concentrate on the written word. I pondered in my mind the events of our annual fall foliage excursion taken yearly with my daughter Marilyn and Chet. It has become a yearly tradition that one day, while the mountains are inflamed in magnificent colors, we take a road trip to bask in the beauty surrounding our valley.
“Where would you like to go this year, Mother?” Marilyn asked.
“The Delaware Water Gap.”
She gasped. “Why there? There is nothing to do.”
“You pick the place. Make it a surprise,” I said.
On Monday, Marilyn arrived and we were on our way to this adventure.
“Mar, if I guess where we are going, will you tell me?” I asked.
“Yes,” she nodded.
The guessing game began. Is it Wapwallopen? Marilyn shook her head. “We are going to Wyalusing,” I declared. Again, the shake of the head. With that I put it to rest and began to observe the foliage and that bright reds predominated the country side.
Riding, basking and commenting of my pleasure at viewing Mother Nature’s wonder I saw a sign that read Williamsport. “That’s it we’re going to Little League country. “ No. Once more I sat back to enjoy the scenery on roads that were windy and leading to the top of the mountain. If I thought about it the dizziness would start.
Another sign was in sight. It read Eagle’s Mere. I let out a screech.
I went to Eagle’s Mere many years ago with my three spirited friends and working companions, Antoinette Dominick, Roseann Manganaro, and Anna Rose McMulty. Looking around the little village it was so unlike that day when the streets were crowded with visitors, the shops were open and thriving and the ice cream parlor was the place to stop.
Driving through Eagle’s Mere, I recalled in my mind and heart that other day many years ago when the town was jammed with people, but more importantly I was thinking of the three young women who accepted me as their friend and in a way it was they who looked after me and also drove me crazy with their unexpected antics. So many cherished memories.
Our road trip ended with pleasurable memories. Thank you, Mar.
One thing is for sure — before the colors of the trees fade, I will hear the mountains call my name and I will go.
