the weekend Trey was born, alan and i had driven up for a week to see him; and despite having been the first week of february, and the middle of winter, we had spent two nights in the surrounding hills, in a national forest they called pisgah. and already by that second night of easter weekend, i knew alan was ready to get back into the mountains as soon as a break presented itself in the family plans; and so, while he paraded and mapped out our anticipation, i performed my younger brother responsibilities of delicately explaining to everyone in the family why we needed to go, and that we would indeed return.
and so the evening passed, and i couldn’t even tell you what we talked about, how well we slept, or even how beautiful the sunrise was; and never have details mattered less to how happy we were on that rock face, by a fire, sleeping under stars, and waking up knowing the brother we loved most wasn’t too far away. few things went right that night. in fact, a great many of the important things went wrong, but we awoke to easter morning, and never has a day past since then that would make me tell that story any less than the greatest trip i have ever taken.