J​ohna, Claire and I road-tripped to Hot Springs, Arkansas, recently. Hot Springs is nestled in a National Forest, its busy downtown area centered around Bathhouse Row, a series of eight buildings that have served the community for almost 150 years. We were in front of the complex when I remembered that the springs feed the buildings from behind. The hot water flows down the mountain and into the structures. Intrigued, we searched out the Grand Promenade, a path behind the buildings that led us through the area where Nature and the facilities meet.

I have to admit, when I chose Hot Springs, I imagined lounging outside in pools of hot mineral water. I was disappointed when I discovered that wasn’t possible. Patrons are forced inside, utilizing the bathhouses. I was annoyed until I experienced the steaming water descending the stone troughs. I stuck my hand in the rushing water and pulled it out with a shriek. The water was 180 degrees. Adding cool water to this near-boiling magic mountain water and filling tubs to soak in suddenly seemed like an excellent plan. We vowed to visit the next day.

In the meantime, we were dressed for dinner. Sundresses and sandals were perfect on the near 80-degree sunny day. We planned to make a loop through town when I saw a sign in the woods, “Peak Trail.” My heart raced as I suggested, “Let’s see where this goes.” With a name that included “peak,” we all knew where it went. “We don’t have to go all the way to the top,” I lied. Once I had them on the trail, their fate was sealed. They didn’t seem to mind. We climbed steadily. My daughters smiled and followed me, maybe because it was the day before Mother’s Day and two days before my birthday. It was a BIG birthday, one that ends with a zero. That’s why we planned the trip. We chatted as we hiked; they probably teased me a little or maybe a lot. Eventually, we found ourselves at the end of the trail, looking at a watchtower that rose another 200 feet above the mountain top. I wondered how I would convince them to climb all the stairs. I had already forced them to climb a mountain, after all. I was relieved to find an elevator that would lift us to the top.

When we stepped out on the observation deck, we were met with the wildest wind I have ever experienced, with the exception of a microburst. Mother Nature whipped our hair in circles as we held our dresses down. I imagined, unreasonably, that I might be lifted off the ground like someone wearing a parachute. The fact that my thoughts were unreasonable didn’t matter. I was still scared. Somehow, I peeled myself off the side of the building and attempted to appear casual as I walked toward the edge of the platform. It was too late though, Johna saw the fear. Claire was struggling too.

In a move akin to using “monster spray” under the beds of the kids she nannied for, Johna whipped out her phone and took pictures of us. She laughed and carried on until we forgot our fear. The three of us engaged in a fun-filled photoshoot complete with Nature’s wind machine. We laughed. A lot. Maybe with relief, adrenaline, or joy. Perhaps it was a combination of all of those things. The resulting images are portraits of raw spirit. I don’t get to share Johna & Claire’s. I can share mine.

I love these pictures. Every time I see them, I will remember that we towered over Hot Springs because my children humored me. They hiked in sandals and kept smiling. Claire braved the lookout despite her fear. Johna saw discomfort and dissipated it creatively. Johna and Claire grew up to be compassionate, loving beings. The day was perfect. The trip was perfect. I am a very lucky mom.

📷 Moonbeam