A Valentine

by Cari Tucker

In the month of October, when I agreed to contribute an article for the February Compass, a January deadline was a comfortably distant point on a nearly unimaginable horizon…after a trip to Hawaii, after a dozen holiday events…heck, it was NEXT YEAR!

Why I made this commitment—I am not a writer!—was the deep seated belief that the February issue of the Compass would not be complete without some mention of Valentine’s day. We simply must acknowledge the impact of love. After all, hasn’t it hit all of us at one time or another?

Can you remember the first time you fell in love?

What a magical moment it is! For me, that realization came in a sudden rush of emotion—a tidal swell of something inside that was larger than I was, made up of equal parts of awe and angst and pleasure.

I don’t remember how old I was—young enough to not really be able to identify the feeling, but at the same time old enough to know that something extraordinary had happened.

I remember every detail of the instant. Like many young girls, I was horse-crazy. Living in South Florida in a suburban area, however, meant that horses were luxuries whose company was restricted to birthday presents and saved allowances. My mom would drive me an hour and a half to the stable, where a dozen or so inept riders would be led on a “trail ride” that lasted less time than it took to drive to the barn. It was on one of these treasured outings that I first experienced what I came to realize was falling in love.

On this particular day, we set out later than usual—there were only two other people waiting to ride—a boy about my age, and an older woman. I think the stable hand was stalling in hopes of getting a larger group, but this didn’t happen, and eventually we headed out.

The first part of the ride was uneventful…the usual trail, the standard head-to-tail broken up by a thrilling “gallop” for a few hundred yards. But then our guide said that one of the bridges was out; we would cut across a field instead, pick our way through a distant stand of pines, and then double back to the barn behind the lake. Since this actually involved controlling the direction of the horse, I found it quite entertaining and was really not paying attention as we cleared the pines.

I looked up—and suddenly I noticed. And in a split second of time, I was in love.

Late afternoon sun lit the small lake in a glorious sparkling reflection of gold. Startled, a small deer on the far side of the lake froze, and then bounded into the tree cover. In my suburban, sidewalk contained little life, I had never seen anything more pristinely beautiful. I reined in my horse and refused to move for several long moments.

It wasn’t real wilderness, of course— and why this scene struck me as different from any of my other wooded horseback adventures, I have no idea, but the entrancement was complete. I had no more reality after that than the preteen girl who suddenly sees a rock star in the pimply lead singer of a backyard band.

Unlike most first loves, my infatuation with nature has lasted more years than I am willing to admit. We have had our falling outs—during the tempestuous teenage years, during the hassles of young parenthood—even during the occasional thunderstorm on the side of a mountain when I swear I will never leave my warm and cozy urban home again. Our divergence never lasts. Sooner or later, I always return…and I always feel the same rush of emotion as I felt in that first moment of seeing.

I am lucky enough now to have a partner who not only understands (occasionally, I feel a need to be alone with my first love) but who shares my passion for the wilderness. We spent our honeymoon backpacking in the Tetons—a fabulous ménage a trois of me and Peter and nature. I expect that we will be home this Valentine’s Day—it is, after all, a work night—and our celebration will be quiet. And when I think of the things in life that stir me, that lend a passion and fire, I will think first of my husband. But not far behind will be the cherished memory of a sunlit lake or a mountain overlook. I can ask for nothing more. Happy Valentine’s Day!