Wanting to take home a little reminder of our trip to the Arctic, I chose a small print of an Inuit woman and her baby looking at each other within the hood of her amautik. The amautik, a parka with a built-in baby pouch in the hood, is a clever garment, developed out of necessity to keep the baby safe from the elements. It also creates a beautiful picture of mother and child sharing one vessel as they go about their daily activities. I could never have known when I purchased the print how relevant that image would be to me just two years later.
Wikipedia tells me that our feet and ankle structure contains 26 bones, 33 joints, and more than a hundred muscles, tendons and ligaments. Each of these tiny parts bears not only my weight but often the pack on my back, and they are called to manouevre over uneven, often accident-prone terrain. Yet, all things considered, very little has happened to them and they continue to take me faithfully wherever I’d like to go.
I remember the odd alpine start on a climb where I was geared up and ready to go, but faced a delay. Whether a partner needed some extra time or the weather was suddenly looking questionable, unexpected delays such as these have often sucked the energy right out of me. This morning my husband remarked that this is how he feels as we wait for our baby to initiate his or her entrance into the world, and I certainly agree.
Suddenly I’m counting down the days, not months. As I write this morning I am taken back to the very roots of this project.