The Way We Remember

It has been just under a year since Courtney and I began life together in marriage. For our anniversary, this past weekend we went to Yellow Springs, Ohio for a couple of days. I had been to the area two times before and thought it would be a good getaway spot. We were particularly excited about walking through Clifton Gorge.

It is funny how certain events trigger memories. It is particularly hilarious how we tend to remember those things. Somewhere near Lima, Ohio as she thought about the past year Courtney remarked, "You know, looking back on our honeymoon, it was really great. I mean it was perfect!" I stared at her for a few moments, trying to decide whether or not I should jumpstart her memory and whether or not it would ruin our trip. I knew exactly what she was thinking about. A section of our honeymoon was perfect. Maine was beautiful, we had a great place to stay, we ate wonderful food, watched the sunrise over the bay, stayed up late on the dock and listened to the breeze and the water lapping on the shore, we biked around the island, it was a great time. What she was failed to remember was the 20 hour drive there, the crappy hotel in Albany, the too small tent in Connecticut, the wasted drive to Rhode Island, the food poisoning, the last second really crappy hotel, the food poisoning, the hospital visit, sleeping on the floor at a friends house whose air conditioning was broke while their entire family was there. We had some great times but perfect seemed a little far fetched. I reminded her which made her laugh at her oversite. We decided we remembered it as perfect, therefore it was.

Upon arrival we scoped out our hiking route through Clifton Gorge and headed through the limestone carving. As expected it was beautiful. I can't say this is the most amazing place I've been in my life, or even the top ten, but living in Northern Indiana for several years gives a person the ability to appreciate any minor change in geography; It is sort of like having your eyes gouged out in order to gain a better sense of smell or hearing. All joking aside, as you walk through the gorge the rock walls and trees filter out the oppressive elements of an 85 degree day, multiple brooks make their way to the stream and produce the ever calming sound of running water on rocks, and the birds work like DJs during rush hour playing all your favorite hits. Mixed with some hearty exercise the hike made for a relaxing experience.

By the time Courtney and I had made our first 2 mile pass through the gorge we were a bit pasty but not winded. As we looked at the trail map we considered our options for the return trip. Our top two nominees were the North Rim Trail (which was more inviting to our sweaty feet as it was a half mile shorter) and the Conestoga trail that was a bit longer and made us eventually pass parts of the trail that we had already walked. Though we thought the second half might be a bit boring as it would involve some retracing, we wanted to stick close to the river and see if we could catch some new scenery.

We made a good choice. After a while we started seeing familiar territory, but at a different angle. We started seeing things a little differently than we did the first time. We caught different angles of the river, saw some new vistas that we didn't turn are head enough to see the first time. It actually felt like it was a new trail, new but still familiar.

Courtney's comments earlier that day, mingled with our trail experience got me thinking about memories. I had been to Clifton Gorge before. Being there brought back strong scenes, some great, some not so great. As I went back over the memories I noticed things I hadn't before, partly because of things that had happened since then, but mostly because looking back brings a new clarity and muddiness. The harsh edges are taken off the bad memories, making it possible to think about the softer moments you couldn't experience at the time; it's mercy really. Forgetfulness is a form of mercy.

I now have new memories of Clifton Gorge and the enchanting Yellow Springs now: Making up stupid poems with Courtney; staying up late talking with our transplanted, in your face, Chicago hostess about faith, life, and polotics and all the other things you aren't supposed to talk about with people; amazing food like fresh dates with goat cheese wrapped in bacon in Yellow Springs; talking music and documentaries with the record store owner named Josh; dangerous mountain bike trails in John Bryan park; great.....uh.... conversation with Courtney. It was a perfect weekend. At least, that's the way I remember it.