One muddy moment, one golden reminder
Some days in nature are full of “meh.”
Cloudy skies. Uninspiring compositions. Mud that makes you question every life choice that led you to be ankle-deep in a forest instead of on your couch with hot tea and a soft blanket.
This was one of those days—until it wasn’t.
I was hiking Fillmore Glen, and Norm had decided to head back to the truck early. I pushed on a bit farther, hoping for one last chance at something beautiful before calling it. And then—it happened.
Gold.
Not metaphorical gold. Actual shimmering light in the water. I couldn’t tell if it was the sun reflecting off rocks below, or spring leaves bouncing their color just right, or maybe a glint of magic between the trees. But it was there. Real. Untouched by Photoshop. (pictured above)
I stood in awe, took the shot, and shouted back to Norm, “I struck gold!”
From where he stood, it was just muddy water. But from my angle—it was pure alchemy.
He waved and told me to take my time. I promised myself I’d just go to the next bridge and then turn back. The trail was slick after heavy rains (which, let’s be honest, is ideal waterfall photography weather), so I stepped carefully in my hiking boots.
I made it through the worst of the mud.
And then… boom.
Down I went.
A Not-So-Graceful Descent
I hit the ground hard—camera-first. When I opened my eyes, my head was about six inches from the edge of what was a 20-foot drop. My tripod was busted, a significant crank on the tripod head was sheared off. My knees were muddy and bruised. My camera? Also muddy. But miraculously, not broken.
Neither was I.
Turns out, that terrifying “cliff” was just a steep slope. And the “river” below? Maybe six inches deep. Some boulders to crack my skull on. But I didn’t. No dramatic rescue required.
Just one thoroughly shaken photographer and a very bruised ego.
So, I did the only thing there was to do:
I lay there for a moment. Assessed the situation. Laughed a little. Then slowly gathered my gear—and my pride—and hiked alone the half-mile out of the glen.
Stairs, mud, and all.
That night, I had a gourmet dinner of microwave Stouffer’s lasagna, lovingly prepared by Norm. (He heated it. He served it. He cleaned up. That counts as love in this house.)
Also on the menu:
- A generous helping of Arnica gel
- Several rounds of Ibuprofen
- Ice packs on both knees
- A large side of humility
What Does This Have to Do with Resetting in Nature?
Everything.
That fall wasn’t just a fall—it was a wake-up call.
I’ve known for a while that I need to get stronger. More agile. Shed some weight. Carry gear more confidently. But like so many of us, I’d been putting it off. Life gets busy. Comfort becomes convenient. And then one muddy misstep reminds you: your body is the only one you’ve got.
This year, I’m choosing to take care of myself like I take care of my camera—carefully, intentionally, and with reverence.
Because sometimes the trail teaches you not through peaceful beauty—but through a hard landing and a muddy lens.
So Let Me Ask You:
What has been your “fall”?
A relationship that ended out of the blue?
The job you loved that let you go without warning?
A health scare that made you realize you’ve been putting yourself last?
Sometimes it takes a jolt to remember that the best version of you isn’t something you find later—it’s someone you rebuild now.
Introspective Journal Prompt:
When was the last time life knocked you off your feet—literally or metaphorically?
What wisdom did the fall reveal that you couldn’t see from the comfort of steady ground?
Write about it. Don’t censor it. Let the truth spill out, mud and all.
Nature Quote to Reflect On:
“The wound is the place where the Light enters you.”
— Rumi
Sometimes the brightest gold is found right after the fall.
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