Memories of a Lifetime

Memories of a Lifetime
Writing & Photography by Christopher Harper

I grew up in a small city on the Gulf Coast of Florida. At a young age, I found myself watching my father, waiting for him to clean his cook stove, open his backpack to air out, or to shake out the tent and sleeping bags. Such actions were indicators of an upcoming hiking or camping trip. The outdoors fascinated me, as did the thrill of pursuing my passion with my father.
I loved hiking and backpacking as a kid because each one brought another special memory with my father into my life. The fresh air and sunshine brought back life in every way, shape and form coming off normal life in society. The birds were chirping, and the squirrels scampering about enjoying their life in the trees. The buzzing of lawnmowers, the roar of passing cars, and the long drone of the train whistle as it rumbled down the tracks. All are sounds of man, and the manic pace of everyday life. However, when trees were sparkling like diamonds in the early morning light, coated heavily with dew, and the leaves swaying gently with the slight breeze, and the rhythmic breathing as we hiked down the trail. These are just a few of the many joys hiking and backpacking with my father have forever imprinted in my memory. These memories during day-to-day life still bring me a sense of solitude and peace.
Memories of backpacking trips gone by have a very special place in my heart. While the summer’s scorching heat had us driving to the coast to find some sand and a nice rolling tide, the mild winters would have us deep in the pine forests of Central Florida. My dad and I would spend countless hours with a rod and reel in hand casting the surf with live shrimp, or looking for arrowheads along the trails of Central Florida. My dad, uncles and grandfather were avid outdoorsmen, and no matter the time of year, I would tag along with them on their various adventures throughout Florida.

When I close my eyes, I can see and hear my father whistling a soft tune as he sat patiently watching his cork as it danced in the ebbing tide. As on cue…the whistling would cease, his body would tense and his fishing rod would sweep up in a graceful arc as he set the hook and stated “Gotcha”. The aluminum johnboat would rock as I looked on in awe as he tired the red fish down and into the waiting net. To this day when I fish the salt, I use his techniques, which always give me confidence because as a kid, he taught me, not only how to fish, but also patience and a deep respect for the outdoors.
Being outdoors had a peace to it as I recall. The days were hot and long but the late evening breeze would cleanse the soul and enrich the spirit. As the day’s light would start to fade and the birds’ sweet song would fill the air as they took flight, a feeling would come over me that told me fall was just over the horizon. The changing of seasons would start once again and the leaves would change color, as they would start to fall from the trees. I sometimes wondered why the leaves would change color and fall from the trees. I figured maybe the continuous wind that the change of seasons brought might have been the culprit.
The rustling of leaves and the tinny sound of rakes hitting sidewalks and walkways replaced the sound of countless lawnmowers roar. The evening light would start fading away sooner, little by little with each passing day. The days grew shorter and the nighttime air carried a slight coolness that would wash away the summer heat.
Fall was upon us... the mystical Halloween and the great pumpkin was just around the corner, which meant the holiday season was fast approaching. Pumpkins would be placed on the front porches of houses throughout the neighborhood, which glow, eerily in the setting sun. As soon as it came, the mystical holiday would pass. Talks of Thanksgiving and Christmas filled the air as I watched for signs of Santa Claus to show up in the stores. Thanksgiving would arrive, as my family would gather to fill up on food and laughter as they recounted the years’ adventures.
Soon after Thanksgiving 'Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer' and 'Jingle Bells' would play from our radio, and Television, as my mom would decorate the tree. Christmas would come, the air would be cold and a hint of winter magic drifted on the Christmas Eve breeze. The yearly cycle would repeat itself as time passed, as did my anticipation with the changing of the seasons.
I am older now with a wife of my own. I often think back to my childhood and I can still feel the cool night air during early spring. I can still see the building of the clouds as they gathered momentum that would sometimes turn into lightning, thunder and rain as we hike down the trail. I can still smell the asphalt after a daytime shower in the heat of a summertime afternoon. I can still feel the cold after the occasional front that would make its way down….a icy slap in the face, the numbing of the nose and the watering of the eyes. I look into my mind’s eye, and can feel the magic that has followed me all these years. I just do not look at the changing of seasons at face value. I look at each season, and the outdoor magic each brought, and recall my memories of the past. Times have changed, but my love of the outdoors will forever feel the same.