"Is this making us old or keeping us young? "my husband asked as he lifted the three heavy backpacks from the canoe.
"I don't know, I replied. The heat and mosquitoes were getting to me, and I was wondering whether we were crazy to have started a canoe trip during the hottest week of the summer. But even in fall, our canoe trips — while certainly cooler — are no easier.
I've always loved getting away from civilization to enjoy the peace of nature, to be on a news blackout(中断)and to reflect on the past year and the year to come, which is why we've been doing this regularly for most of the 38 years we've been together.
Now as we're getting older, it's getting harder-aching knees, aching feet, aching backs. So, we're changing our habits. Instead of extreme whitewater trips in the far north, we're going on lake trips closer by. Instead of pulling on the heavy pack myself and rising from a sitting position, my husband lifts it up while I thread my arms through the belts. Along the way, I might stop to admire the green plants beside the path or feel the soft surfaces of the moss, and my husband is usually waiting at the other end, wondering why it's taken me so long. During the night, we no longer stay up late to see the stars. Instead, we now get into the tent by 9 p. m. —exhausted after one day's hard work — and drift to sleep listening to birds sorrowful call.
Over the years, my canoe-tripping experience has evolved to focus less on the physical and more on the abstract things. Like a solar battery, I store up the energy I absorb from the forest, rocks and waters to help me through the rest of the year. The rhythm of paddling becomes a process of deep thinking rather than an endurance test.
"How long can we continue doing this?" asked my husband at the end of the last trip.
"I don't know," I answered, but inside, I thought: "As long as our bodies and minds hold out. I hope forever."
