Dedicated to Marge Pyle, my birth mother, on Mother’s Day.
“The life which is not examined is not worth living.”
Socrates
Stats
Mountains: Chocorua (3,500) and Middle Sister (3,340), Albany, NH
Date: May 11, 2008
Time: 8:30 - 5:52 pm – about 9.5 hours
Weather: Sunny, temperature in the 70s and 80s, light breeze
Miles: 9.2
Steps: 32,237
Elevation Gain: +2851
Trails: UP – Piper Trail to Nickerson Ledge Trail to Carter Ledge Trail to Middle Sister Trail to Piper Trail
DOWN – Piper Trail
Whoooo Hoooo! Pat and I are back on the White Mountain hiking trails and it feels SO incredibly good.
We leave Keene at 5 am. I’m so happy to be heading north I don’t even make a crack about getting up before dawn or whimper, “It’s kinda early, Pat.” As we approach the White Mountains, I am used to seeing clouds clinging to the highest summits. But today there is nothing but blue over our heads. We arrive at the trailhead and don our packs. Clearly I have forgotten that it is spring, not winter, and I brought everything imaginable and my pack weighs a ton. Instead of having to choose a fleece to leave behind, Pat offers to share the load. Aware there is still some of the white stuff above 3,000 feet, we hitch our snowshoes to our packs, which is where they stay all day.
We start up the Piper Trail at 8:30. Piper Trail – how fitting is that? And the trail is beautiful. But of course it would be, named after Pat. On the Piper Trail, enclosed in the woods, we talk about our February trip to Chile and all that we learned from the adventure. This self-examination and processing can be tough at times, but we stay honest and caring and grow from the experience.
As we climb we can see two of the Three Sisters and Chocorua standing proud in the sunlight. Our hike up has lots of ledges, steep pitches, beautiful views, crystal blue sky, light breeze and new life bursting forth all around us. It’s so wonderful to see the budding trees and delicate flowers -- nature springing into action after a tough winter. It is a PERFEECT hiking day and we are both reveling in the glory of the scene at our feet, the lakes getting smaller and smaller as we get higher and higher, the horizon filling in with bluish-purple mountains.
I had been worried that maybe my body had atrophied during our spring hiatus from hiking while we waited for the snow to melt. But I’m chugging right along; even the ledges aren’t sending me over the edge of angst. We reach the top of the Third Sister at 12:15 pm, and I am filled with relief and joy that I can still get myself up the mountains. We have lunch, then do a brief dipsy-doodle and find ourselves on the summit of the Middle Sister where there are the remains of an old stone fire tower. We can see snow-covered Washington in the distance. As a matter of fact, we can see everything there is to see; a 360-degree view that includes many of the 4,000 footers we have climbed over the past two years. We continue on to the top of First Sister and head up to Chocorua .6 miles away. Some of the trail is covered with easily negotiable snow, from which I make a snowball and throw at Pat, amazingly hitting my target. The last half of the trail to the top is open ledge surrounded by only sky and anchored by gorgeous scenery. The top is crowded when we arrive at 2:15, but thins out quickly.
As we stand on the summit of Chocorua seeing the foreverness of the world laid out like a patchwork picnic blanket at our feet, I know in my heart this is why I hike. I love getting to the top under my own steam, and reaping the rewards of my efforts, standing with my best friend on top of a gorgeous view that always gives me a new perspective on the world. My problems seem smaller, the gifts of life feel larger, and I have a sense of wellbeing that settles into me. I feel like I could stay on the top forever.
Pat and I find a semi-flat ledge and lay our bodies down on the hot rock for a bliss moment in the sun. Ahhhhh……. As I lay there I am thinking this is the perfect way to spend Mother’s Day. After all, it was becoming a mother that gave me the impetus to look for my birth mother. And that incredible search was the beginning of a committed quest to know myself from the inside out, which now manifests itself in climbing all the 67 4,000-footers in New England.
After maybe 15-20 minutes on top of the world, Pat and I reluctantly stand up. Before heading down, we chat with a young man on the summit.
“What trail did you take?” he asks.
“We came up over the Three Sisters,” Pat says.
“Wow, that’s the hardest trail!” he says. “How many miles is that?”
“Oh, probably 9 or 10,” she answers.
“When did you guys start?” He asks.
“8:30 this morning,” Pat says.
“Wow” he says.
As we make our way back down on Pat’s namesake trail, I find myself thinking about his last word – “Wow!” Wow is right. I have been profoundly changed by my experiences with Pat in the mountains. And it all started 20 years ago on a search for my birth mother. And it was on that journey that I found all I would need to summit mountains.
********
My parents adopted four children, including my twin brother, John, and me. I grew up having no resemblance, in any way, to my siblings or my mother and father. My parents told us we were adopted and were very clear that we should never need to know any more.
It was 1988 and Don and I had Kelly, age 5, and Jess, age 3. Watching the miracle of children unfold and blossom, like the flowers along the hiking trails, is amazingly beautiful. And it was even more amazing for me because Kelly and Jessie were mine. As they grew, I saw how they looked like me, smiled like me. I loved watching their personalities develop, seeing pieces of Don and myself in both Kelly and Jess. And in that realization, I knew I wanted to know more about where I came from.
At this same time my life was profoundly changing. Everything I though I knew, I no longer knew. The foundation of my life had shifted and was not strong enough to hold me up. I had started to remember my childhood and was coming to grips with those memories. My mother was a very unhappy woman who knew only anger. For 34 years I had been praying that someday she might love me. But, knowing what I had finally allowed myself to know, it didn’t look promising. Maybe, if I could find my birth mother, I would have a second chance at having a mother who would love me. It felt very scary. But one step at a time, just like climbing a mountain.
I knew I was adopted through a State agency and, from my years volunteering for the United Way, knew of only one: Child and Family Services of NH in Manchester. I called them up on May 27, 1988, and asked if I was adopted through their agency. It took a few phone calls on my part and some searching on theirs, but the answer came back – yes. I had formally started the search and I felt alive with anticipation and fear, not unlike how I feel climbing over ice on a windy day in the Presidentials.
I asked the agency what they could share about my adoption. They explained that it was a “closed” adoption and that the only thing they could give me was an adoption summary with all the names, dates and places crossed off. They told me if I wanted contact with my birth mother, I would have to petition the court to find her and if she wanted contact with me, they would facilitate the process. I never considered going this route. I knew I would do this my own way.
I received the adoption summary, an 8-page typed document with dark black splotches covering all the important information. It was emotional reading, learning about my mother and her family and a bit about my father. It took me weeks to assimilate the information. Months to let it in. Tears came often in those days.
Through the summary, I started to find myself. “Mother is 5’2” with green eyes and brown hair. She uses her face and hands in an expressive way for indicating her feelings. She verbalizes easily and well, thinking through her feelings as she talks. She has been a stimulating person to work with.” There I am, I thought, in my mother.
After months of reading and re-reading the document I had a few clues. First there was this sentence: “Miss. ______is a high school graduate and has completed two years of Teachers’ Normal at Keene, New Hampshire, where she hopes to return in September 1954.”
I also knew that my mother had to live in New Hampshire in order to put us up for adoption in a state agency. And I knew that Keene Normal School was Keene State College.
I noticed something very interesting about the adoption summary. It was typed using an old “pica” typewriter where each letter was exactly the same width. So I could draw vertical lines through the document and count the number of letters in the crossed off words. I knew my mother had a 7 letter last name, and a 17-letter hometown. I also knew I had a 7-letter first name, and John a 5-letter first name. When I figured this out, a memory surfaced from childhood. I remembered finding a piece of paper in a baby book in my parents’ library. On top of the paper were the words “David and Debbie.” Huh, David – 5 letters and Deborah, 7 letters -- it fit. I had been Debbie.
continued...
“The life which is not examined is not worth living.”
Socrates
Stats
Mountains: Chocorua (3,500) and Middle Sister (3,340), Albany, NH
Date: May 11, 2008
Time: 8:30 - 5:52 pm – about 9.5 hours
Weather: Sunny, temperature in the 70s and 80s, light breeze
Miles: 9.2
Steps: 32,237
Elevation Gain: +2851
Trails: UP – Piper Trail to Nickerson Ledge Trail to Carter Ledge Trail to Middle Sister Trail to Piper Trail
DOWN – Piper Trail
Whoooo Hoooo! Pat and I are back on the White Mountain hiking trails and it feels SO incredibly good.
We leave Keene at 5 am. I’m so happy to be heading north I don’t even make a crack about getting up before dawn or whimper, “It’s kinda early, Pat.” As we approach the White Mountains, I am used to seeing clouds clinging to the highest summits. But today there is nothing but blue over our heads. We arrive at the trailhead and don our packs. Clearly I have forgotten that it is spring, not winter, and I brought everything imaginable and my pack weighs a ton. Instead of having to choose a fleece to leave behind, Pat offers to share the load. Aware there is still some of the white stuff above 3,000 feet, we hitch our snowshoes to our packs, which is where they stay all day.
We start up the Piper Trail at 8:30. Piper Trail – how fitting is that? And the trail is beautiful. But of course it would be, named after Pat. On the Piper Trail, enclosed in the woods, we talk about our February trip to Chile and all that we learned from the adventure. This self-examination and processing can be tough at times, but we stay honest and caring and grow from the experience.
As we climb we can see two of the Three Sisters and Chocorua standing proud in the sunlight. Our hike up has lots of ledges, steep pitches, beautiful views, crystal blue sky, light breeze and new life bursting forth all around us. It’s so wonderful to see the budding trees and delicate flowers -- nature springing into action after a tough winter. It is a PERFEECT hiking day and we are both reveling in the glory of the scene at our feet, the lakes getting smaller and smaller as we get higher and higher, the horizon filling in with bluish-purple mountains.
I had been worried that maybe my body had atrophied during our spring hiatus from hiking while we waited for the snow to melt. But I’m chugging right along; even the ledges aren’t sending me over the edge of angst. We reach the top of the Third Sister at 12:15 pm, and I am filled with relief and joy that I can still get myself up the mountains. We have lunch, then do a brief dipsy-doodle and find ourselves on the summit of the Middle Sister where there are the remains of an old stone fire tower. We can see snow-covered Washington in the distance. As a matter of fact, we can see everything there is to see; a 360-degree view that includes many of the 4,000 footers we have climbed over the past two years. We continue on to the top of First Sister and head up to Chocorua .6 miles away. Some of the trail is covered with easily negotiable snow, from which I make a snowball and throw at Pat, amazingly hitting my target. The last half of the trail to the top is open ledge surrounded by only sky and anchored by gorgeous scenery. The top is crowded when we arrive at 2:15, but thins out quickly.
As we stand on the summit of Chocorua seeing the foreverness of the world laid out like a patchwork picnic blanket at our feet, I know in my heart this is why I hike. I love getting to the top under my own steam, and reaping the rewards of my efforts, standing with my best friend on top of a gorgeous view that always gives me a new perspective on the world. My problems seem smaller, the gifts of life feel larger, and I have a sense of wellbeing that settles into me. I feel like I could stay on the top forever.
Pat and I find a semi-flat ledge and lay our bodies down on the hot rock for a bliss moment in the sun. Ahhhhh……. As I lay there I am thinking this is the perfect way to spend Mother’s Day. After all, it was becoming a mother that gave me the impetus to look for my birth mother. And that incredible search was the beginning of a committed quest to know myself from the inside out, which now manifests itself in climbing all the 67 4,000-footers in New England.
After maybe 15-20 minutes on top of the world, Pat and I reluctantly stand up. Before heading down, we chat with a young man on the summit.
“What trail did you take?” he asks.
“We came up over the Three Sisters,” Pat says.
“Wow, that’s the hardest trail!” he says. “How many miles is that?”
“Oh, probably 9 or 10,” she answers.
“When did you guys start?” He asks.
“8:30 this morning,” Pat says.
“Wow” he says.
As we make our way back down on Pat’s namesake trail, I find myself thinking about his last word – “Wow!” Wow is right. I have been profoundly changed by my experiences with Pat in the mountains. And it all started 20 years ago on a search for my birth mother. And it was on that journey that I found all I would need to summit mountains.
********
My parents adopted four children, including my twin brother, John, and me. I grew up having no resemblance, in any way, to my siblings or my mother and father. My parents told us we were adopted and were very clear that we should never need to know any more.
It was 1988 and Don and I had Kelly, age 5, and Jess, age 3. Watching the miracle of children unfold and blossom, like the flowers along the hiking trails, is amazingly beautiful. And it was even more amazing for me because Kelly and Jessie were mine. As they grew, I saw how they looked like me, smiled like me. I loved watching their personalities develop, seeing pieces of Don and myself in both Kelly and Jess. And in that realization, I knew I wanted to know more about where I came from.
At this same time my life was profoundly changing. Everything I though I knew, I no longer knew. The foundation of my life had shifted and was not strong enough to hold me up. I had started to remember my childhood and was coming to grips with those memories. My mother was a very unhappy woman who knew only anger. For 34 years I had been praying that someday she might love me. But, knowing what I had finally allowed myself to know, it didn’t look promising. Maybe, if I could find my birth mother, I would have a second chance at having a mother who would love me. It felt very scary. But one step at a time, just like climbing a mountain.
I knew I was adopted through a State agency and, from my years volunteering for the United Way, knew of only one: Child and Family Services of NH in Manchester. I called them up on May 27, 1988, and asked if I was adopted through their agency. It took a few phone calls on my part and some searching on theirs, but the answer came back – yes. I had formally started the search and I felt alive with anticipation and fear, not unlike how I feel climbing over ice on a windy day in the Presidentials.
I asked the agency what they could share about my adoption. They explained that it was a “closed” adoption and that the only thing they could give me was an adoption summary with all the names, dates and places crossed off. They told me if I wanted contact with my birth mother, I would have to petition the court to find her and if she wanted contact with me, they would facilitate the process. I never considered going this route. I knew I would do this my own way.
I received the adoption summary, an 8-page typed document with dark black splotches covering all the important information. It was emotional reading, learning about my mother and her family and a bit about my father. It took me weeks to assimilate the information. Months to let it in. Tears came often in those days.
Through the summary, I started to find myself. “Mother is 5’2” with green eyes and brown hair. She uses her face and hands in an expressive way for indicating her feelings. She verbalizes easily and well, thinking through her feelings as she talks. She has been a stimulating person to work with.” There I am, I thought, in my mother.
After months of reading and re-reading the document I had a few clues. First there was this sentence: “Miss. ______is a high school graduate and has completed two years of Teachers’ Normal at Keene, New Hampshire, where she hopes to return in September 1954.”
I also knew that my mother had to live in New Hampshire in order to put us up for adoption in a state agency. And I knew that Keene Normal School was Keene State College.
I noticed something very interesting about the adoption summary. It was typed using an old “pica” typewriter where each letter was exactly the same width. So I could draw vertical lines through the document and count the number of letters in the crossed off words. I knew my mother had a 7 letter last name, and a 17-letter hometown. I also knew I had a 7-letter first name, and John a 5-letter first name. When I figured this out, a memory surfaced from childhood. I remembered finding a piece of paper in a baby book in my parents’ library. On top of the paper were the words “David and Debbie.” Huh, David – 5 letters and Deborah, 7 letters -- it fit. I had been Debbie.
continued...
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