Climbing the Cliff- Childhood memory

On a warm summer afternoon, my parents took us for a picnic in the nearby Blackleaf Canyon. After we ate, we went for a walk to see the mountain views. The daunting rock cliff loomed before us. I wanted to climb to the top and see the view from there.  My older male cousins climbed to the top and challenged us to join them. I knew going up would be easier than coming down. They assured us of an easier way down on the other side. I studied the route I had seen them take up the wall of the cliff and determined places where I could put my hands and feet. I started to climb the easy path, but it quickly became a challenge. I stopped and looked for the passable route. A jutted rock worked for a place to put my foot while I grabbed a branch to pull myself up. I slowly picked my way up the rock cliff.

The calls of encouragement from above also included the advice to not look down. I didn’t listen and looked down and saw how far I had come. I knew at that moment there was no turning back and no going down. I loved the feeling of mastering the mountain. The challenge intensified and for a few minutes I thought I was stuck.  I eventually saw a way I could reposition my body and continue my ascent.  The crevice in the jagged rocks then provided plenty of secure placements, making the way easier, and before long I had reached the top. I enjoyed the exhilaration of the victory and the panoramic view. My parents down below looked like miniature versions of their former selves.

 As I looked down, I saw my younger sister climbing up the cliff. She struggled to find a way and got scared. She reached the challenging spot and stopped. Terrified and stuck, she couldn’t go on. The fear hit me and I felt responsible for the predicament she was in. She wanted to go back down, but I knew she wouldn’t make it. She refused to even try to continue. I knew she couldn’t hold on forever. Somehow I had to get her to continue upward. I knew if she could just get past that spot then the rest of the way she wouldn’t have a problem. I assured her that was the hardest spot and finally got her to calm down enough to listen to me. Flat on the ground, hanging partially over the edge of the cliff, I pointed to each rock and told her to put her foot there and grab that rock with her hand, then pull herself up. With a lot of coaching and encouragement, she finally made her way to the top and collapsed in tears. I don’t know that she ever looked at the view.