Not a lot of words needed for this trail story.
My son agreed to go snowshoeing with me.
We managed to find a day we could both go snowshoeing.
We went snowshoeing.
It didn’t rain and dump snow on us all day.
We didn’t kill each other.
My heart is full.
The End.
Edit: Okay, maybe a few more words. I hate selfies. Especially when you get home and realize you had something stuck in your teeth. But I can’t tell you what these pictures (and memories) mean to me.
I’ll try. They mean we survived. Our relationship survived. Survived the teen years. Survived dealing with the death of his father during those teen years. Survived kicking him out and letting him back in. Survived his moving out and moving back in. Survived all the yelling and slammed doors. All the frustration and emotion. Survived his not wanting to go down the same path his father did. Survived all the ways he dealt with all of that; some good and some not so good.
We made it.
This was a snowshoe I scouted just a few weeks ago, in hopes it would be a good one for this day after YEARS of asking my son to join me on a hike, let alone a snowshoe. It was perfect.
For more details on this snowshoe, visit Lanham Lake Snowshoe.
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