One More Ride Down the Hill

Earlier last week, despite all the travel I have coming up, I saw a post for a local Muslim women’s retreat and signed up. I’m glad I did.

The Follensbee Inn in New Hampshire was quaint and beautifully decorated, but I may remember the breakfasts most. Scott, the owner, served them on fancy China on colorful chargers: fresh biscuits and frittata one morning, then halal chicken and waffles with cheese grits the next. The Southern flavors felt a long way from home, while the maple butter and maple syrup reminded us that we were in New England.

I chose a seat facing the lake. There is something about water that calms rather deep inside me. The lake was perfectly serene, with rolling hills reflected so clearly that I could hardly tell where one ended and the other began. Some trees had rushed into fall, their orange leaves falling like slow confetti. Most were still holding on to their green, as if the warmer days had only just left.

I spent forty minutes kayaking. At one point, I paddled to the middle of the lake and stopped. I sat back, let the kayak turn on its own, and took in the quiet around me.

That peace followed me onto the bike path. I hadn’t ridden in ages, but pedaling along the unpaved path felt familiar. I worked my way up an incline, then let the bike glide down with the cool breeze on my face.

Suddenly, I was no more than ten again, racing three friends toward the River Indus on rented bicycles far too big for us. Someone had to help me onto mine, and I had to tilt it to the ground to get off. So much time has passed, yet for a little while on that path, it felt like none had.

The ride was longer than I was ready for. I overdid it. My throat was parched, I felt nauseated, and for a frightening moment I thought something was wrong with my heart. I walked the bike for the last ten minutes. Then saw the downhill stretch leading to the inn and couldn’t help getting back on for one last glide.

We had come without much of an agenda. We slept, ate, read, made puzzles, beaded bracelets, and took in the surroundings after the rain. The only real brain activity was an Islamic trivia game on Saturday night.

On Sunday morning, we lingered after breakfast, reluctant to let the conversations end. I watched one sister quietly help another pack before checkout. It was such an ordinary gesture, but I keep thinking about it.

I came home grateful for the ease of being with sisters who make room for one another. Sometimes care looks as ordinary as occupying the seat next to you and staying a little longer at the table. And sometimes, after you’ve caught your breath, it looks like letting yourself enjoy one more ride down the hill.