The Hitchhiker

I found this grainy photo of my mom, and on the back, in my grandmother’s cursive was written “The Hitchhiker”.

It was the summer of 1974. Those old enough to know, will remember the newfound freedoms the 70’s were bringing.


Mom, freshly divorced and having reached her milestone fortieth birthday, decided to celebrate in a big way.


She hitchhiked from her new hometown of Port Angeles, thumbing her way 500 miles to her parent’s cabin in Northern Idaho. 


Everything she needed was in her backpack. She’d already spent two nights under the stars and was about to hike deep into the forests near the Canadian border. Alone.


Not many would be so brazen to venture into the wilds with only a buck knife and a few provisions. 


She came back home with a vision to buy some forestland and build a cabin.


It’s not surprising that she did. 


It would take me many more years to understand my mother, not that I ever fully did. But as I hold a grainy photograph of her in my hand, I admire her spirit of adventure and her defiance of the norms that limited so many.


Happy birthday, Mom. You left an indelible footprint.


April 10, 1934-August 9,1991


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