Personal Narrative: The Sawtooth Mountains

I stand tall like the pines surrounding me, my body craving the sun, hoping to feel the warmth of the rays on my skin while the presence of the forest engulfs me. As the mountain chickadees begin their daily call, I feel the mountain air fill my lungs bringing me back home with each inhale. A slight breeze tugs at my hair and sends my soul tumbling to the worn trails leading back to the days I spent growing with my family in the wilderness. My parents first met in college while working at REI, they got engaged on a backpacking trip, were married in the sawtooths, and spent their honeymoon biking across southwestern Washington. When I was nine months old they took me on my first bikepacking trip; I rode behind them in a canary yellow trailer,

After seeing the beautiful meadows and rivers of Idaho tarnished by forgotten candy wrappers and empty cans I was taught that the earth was my mother and that she, and her children, should always be treated with the utmost respect. And the feeling of pride after hiking miles upon miles to a campsite nestled in the sawtooth mountains taught me the difference between earning something and deserving it; hard work

By the age of fourteen I battled with self doubt and a constant fear that I was not worthy of love. During this period of my life the trips my family took into the mountains became my refuge from junior high stresses. Laying on cold granite watching the constellations hang like paintings above me, my worries seemed to float away into the vast starry night. Here, my problems were miniscule compared to the expansive wilderness that encompassed me; and I realized that my problems would march on, and I would remain strong and resilient.

I cannot shape the wild, but the wild shapes me in ways I can only begin to fathom. I know that no matter where life takes me, when l feel the wind brush my face I will fall back to the miles I walked alongside my loved ones creating and finding myself in the great