this one.
Chunky's favorite summer.
Words can’t really describe hiking with my family in Switzerland. I hate to admit it, (because this was Evan’s big choice for our trip) but I think this was my favorite part of our big adventure—thus far. Every day—for five days—we would sit at our hotel breakfast together and Evan would talk us through the hike for the day. Usually it was about ten miles and Marcelline would hike about one or two miles. We were SO proud of her. We ARE so proud. And you could see her building confidence and pride in herself. Little things, like unclipping her backpack clip herself, made her burst with pride, “I did it, Momma!”
On the trail, Evan and I took turns carrying Marcelline. The trails were NOT easy hikes, but we found so much joy in the beauty, the mountains, the wildflowers, making the tram that the hut host at lunch said we would NEVER make (p.s. we made it in time for me to even grab a half-bottle of rosé for the ride down), singing Frozen at the top of our lungs with Marcelline (lost in the woods, anyone?), and listening to the cows bells sing through the mountains and fields. We took so much joy in each other and the sweat of it all. I kept thinking, “Life is for living. We’re doing it.”
And while it wasn’t easy, it also wasn’t the hardest thing ever. We hired a company to porter our luggage from hotel to hotel, so we weren’t exactly dirt-bagging it like the days of yore. The Swiss Alps felt like a combination of Yosemite (where I lived in a tent for two Summers), the Tetons (where I moved when I was 21 and where Evan grew up), and parts of parks near Seattle (Rainier, specifically). Save for the Seattle area, the other places I was a complete dirtbag, but I was a dirtbag who could do pull-ups and was also having the time of my life. (who oft over-drafted her measly checking accounts.) On our hikes, Evan and I would talk about our past-selves. We asked each other what the “best summer of your life was?” Without really thinking twice, we beamed as we both answered, “This one.”
While being young and irresponsible in the mountains of Yosemite and Jackson were soul-forming and more fun than should be allowed, traveling and adventuring with Marcelline and Evan is expanding my heart outside of all barriers that I thought existed. It’s like I was the Grinch, but my heart started at (what I hope was) a normal size.
We laughed a ton on the trail. Marcelline decided to give us all nicknames after Paw Patrol characters. She was “Rocky”…
She named Evan “Chase”…
And then she named me “Chunky”…
That’s right. THERE IS NO “CHUNKY” ON PAW PATROL. I asked Marcie over and over, “Are you saying, ‘CHUNKY’? And they are from Paw Patrol??” And every time she would respond with, “Yes, Chunky!” And when I would say, “Marcie, what the hell?? I know I’ve had more cheese, pastries, and wine in the last two months than the rest of my life combined and five days of hiking doesn’t cancel out 75 days of indulging, but c’mon!” she would respond with, “No, I’m ROCKY, not Marcie!”
Touché, Rocky.
Our last day in Switzerland, I decided to take the day off whilst Evan and Marcie went for a hike. I hung around the hotel room and did a tarot reading, read on the deck, took a sauna, then a luxurious bath, and then ended up at the bar. When I ordered a manhattan, the other two women at the bar asked where I was from. I told them Seattle and then they told me that they were old friends traveling together, but that they lived in separate places in California. One woman (named Lisa) told me she lived on a ranch right outside of Yosemite. I lit up and told her about my Summers there. I asked her about employee housing now and told her where I used to live. I told her about how many friends I had made during that time and the life I formed there. She asked how I got to Seattle from Yosemite and I told her that after my first Summer in Yosemite, I moved to Jackson Hole, Wyoming. The bartender perked up and he said, “I have a friend from Jackson.”
– From Jackson? My husband is from there! What’s your friend’s name? I’ll ask if he knows them.
– Her name is Cossette… Cossette Burnham.
– I KNOW COSSETTE. And she’s not from Jackson, but I know her from Missoula, Montana.
The two women were astonished, like the bartender and I had just performed some magic trick. The bartender was less impressed with the whole situation. (he was French… par for the course.) The women asked me about my friendship with Cossette and one of them told me they grew up going to Flathead Lake. I felt I was taking a tour with them of all the thousand women I used to be as well as the thousand women they used to be.
That night, after we put Marcelline to bed, Evan and I sat on the deck and watched spectacular meteors going by while we sipped manhattans and talked about it all.
The next day, we took many modes of transportation to get to Lake Como. We’re technically staying in Lezzano, which is infamous for being home to a witches coven that used to cast spells on men to make them love them so much they would die. (I fucking love that. also, watch out, Evan.)
Our eighth wedding anniversary was yesterday, so—as is tradition—I brought my wedding dress all the way to Italy to wear to dinner on our anniversary. The same dress I wore to bike out to our wedding spot in Grand Teton National Park.
Marcelline, Evan, and I had spent the day at the lido, swimming, so I had the dress in my bag. We went to grab a spritz before our dinner at Restaurante Sociale and I decided now was time to go change into my wedding dress… at this random bar in Como. In the bathroom, I put it on, struggled to zip it up, and then went to try and button the buttons on the back… when I heard it rip. My dress ripped by the sleeve, kind of in the armpit area.
“Ohhh nooooo, Chunky,” I said to myself. Kind of laughing. Italy feels like the perfect place to retire this tradition. At dinner, Evan and I toasted to getting through one of the hardest years yet and being the partner we each needed for each other. We toasted to living this life and encouraging each other to do so. Let the rain fall, let life come at me, let the dress rip… as long as I still have our daughter…
and you…
Chunky’s happy.
There’s not enough room to add photos from our Switzerland trip. (too damn wordy!) But I’m thinking I’ll do some real photo editing and put up week recap posts on my Instagram after our trip is over… in less than three weeks… *sobs.*
As always, thanks so much for being here for these privileged musings on life after a big leap. I feel so grateful. For this life. For you.
xxo,
Rachel.