New York State of Mind

I had big plans last weekend.  I would be hiking Letchworth Falls, the “Grand Canyon of the East,” a massive gorge carved out by the Genesee River in western New York.  Upon arriving Friday the sun shone brightly on a wedding rehearsal as hot air balloons skimmed along the slow moving current above the rain-fed falls.  I took a quick tour of the park area and mapped a plan in my mind for the next day.  Would I do the 26-mile east ridge or several shorter trails, one of which crossed over a stone bridge at the lower falls?  Would I eat at the Glen Iris Inn or cook atop the fire pit at Cabin Creek where I was staying on 100-acres of verdant forest?  These were the questions that I pondered while drifting off to sleep that night wearing a smile.

At 4:00 am I heard the first raindrops on the tin roof porch and I fell back to sleep contentedly enjoying the staccato drumming.  I don’t recall what time it was when I next awoke, but the once calming rain had taken on a different tone, an angry beat reserved for nasty downpours.  Through the large, triangular windows in my room I could see it was still dark, the kind of dark that you can peer into and never really determine what it is beyond the blackness, and I wondered what the day would bring.  I had intermittent phone coverage at best and couldn’t see what the weather was going to be, but I was confident the weekend wouldn’t be a washout.  Boy, was I wrong.  The rain continued its assault on the roof, sometimes growing in such intensity that I wondered if some New York giant was dumping huge buckets of water from above.  I made breakfast and resigned myself to get dressed and be ready for when the rain would abate, but that time never came.  It rained all day and into the night, never relenting even to a drizzle that I could get a quick run in.

The rain continued Sunday morning and I packed and headed for home, somewhat disappointed in all I missed.  But as I reflected on my time in the cabin – napping, snacking on healthy foods, and reading without technology or distractions like laundry and chores that are often the consolation of rainy days at home – I realized that the rainout was a gift.  That the gloomy grey and stark darkness had forced me to focus inward, finding a beauty more grand than any waterfall or tree line, fancy meal or cookout.  What I learned is that sometimes life changes your plans, and if you listen closely (whether it’s to raindrops on a roof or to the beat of your heart) you’ll find that the change is perfect in every way.

I had big plans last weekend ... and God laughed.  Fortunately, so can I.