It started when the kids, walking along the creek, looked up at the highest peak they could see above the trees.

“Dad, can we climb that one?”

We talked about how it would not be easy but that we would see if it was possible.  We asked our hotelier couple for advice and he told us the name of the peak was Brünnstein.  In halting English, he mentioned that it was “dirty” along the way and that we should drive closer to the peak before starting out, for the “kinder”.  He is a father of four as well and understands the limits of smaller lags.  He suggested we park in a lot closer to the peak.

So we loaded up in the car on a bright morning and wound through tiny towns on our slow climb in elevation.  It was an easy, weekend morning and people were out for drives, and bike rides.  As you enter a town, clinging to the hillside, a radar display would show your speed.  Cafe tables were within inches of the road.  We passed a wedding reception full of guests sitting outside and sunning under a large cafe canopy.  We continued to drive higher.

We finally found a parking lot and this detailed hiking map.  Good work by the Bavarians!  We would be tackling about a 2000 foot elevation gain over 5 kilometers each way.  An ambitious effort for our clan.  The sign references Brünnsteinhaus and we guessed that the summit of Brünnstein was just past this “haus”.

The path climbed above the parking lot and over well-engineered drainage culverts.  We watched our car disappear through the trees.  Emerging into a view of the valley and the towns we’d driven through, a few mountain bikers labored slowly past us.

Will found a “walking” stick right away. We trod up to a sign that directed two different paths to Brünnsteinhaus.  The trail numbers were clearly delineated and adequately marked along the way.  Decision time.  Should we go the faster way (likely steeper) or the slower way (likely less challenging)?  We made up our minds to go steeper on the way up.

The kids got out ahead of us and conspired together.

We entered into a darker path besieged by tree roots and denser foliage filtering out the available light.  I stowed my sunglasses.

We frequently encountered barbed wire at turn points.  Wooden steps were built to allow hikers access over the barbed wire.  We discussed the fun of tetanus shots and encouraged the kiddos to take care.  The barbed wire keeps the grazing cattle from wandering. Over a rise, we spotted a deer that bounded away.  The patterns of our shoe soles filled more and more with the adhesive mud.

Frequent breaks kept us all in the game.  Here’s Will really getting into one of those short breaks.

Of course, our small ones had brought their Harry Potter wands.  Sometimes you have to do quite a few spells when you are out in woods.  You have to constantly be prepared to fight off any lurking bandits.

 

With the muddy trail too narrow for two-abreast hiking, big brother stayed out in front.  I was the same way as a kid.  If a smaller sibling got out there, it was a race.

Ascending slowly on the narrow trail, we moved aside for another couple and heard a native English speaker!  It was the first one we’d heard.  A short conversation revealed he was a Colorado native now living in Munich.  His German wife looked at us and said, “Why are you here?”  I loved that.  I think she meant why were we Americans in a non-touristy area normally reserved for Germans.  Perhaps we were the bandits ruining the party!

A hiking couple, passing us on the way down, stopped to try and communicate something to us.  I picked out, that around the next “sale” was something at least a “meter” long that we should be careful for.  It could “poke” the kinder.  I was grateful but as he walked away, a bit unclear if it was a sharp root, barbed wire or a large snake.  We warned the kids, rather generically, and continued on the steepening trail with Dad in front.  Around the corner, we found what he was attempting to get across.  The narrow path was pinched between a rocky face on one side and a drop off down the slope on the other.  A 3-4 meter cable was anchored into the rock for hikers.  We started on the cable gingerly as a Middle Eastern couple waited behind us.  She was in a head shawl and modest dress of some type (an abaya?).  At a few points, you had to cling to the cable and try your footing in various spots to ensure a strong foothold.  A small plaque mentioned a name and a date.  Had someone passed away here?!  We kept the kids marshalled into the cable and away from the dropoff.   Luke had slid his hand along the cable and had cut himself.  The helpful hiker had benn trying to warn us about a sharp wire sticking out of the cable at one point.  After some trying moments, we all emerged safely into the light of an opening in the trail.  The boys stumbled off the trail through mud and manure, the girls carefully picked their way through.  Luke’s hand was bleeding so we bandaged him up.  The kids understandably felt torn between a confident self-reliance that they’d overcome that section and a wariness of coming down this same way.  We took a break and noticed the Middle Eastern couple must have turned back.  We tried to calm down the mama bear.  I didn’t blame her one bit.

The trail opened up further into more cattle grazing and we enjoyed cow bells. We rounded a corner and came upon a bench and a wooden carving of Jesus on the cross overlooking the valley.

Ana exclaimed, “Everytime I look at a cow they are pooping!”  Later, Ana stepped in a cow-provided trail biscuit, “EEeww, get it off, get it off!”  Will stepped in one a few minutes later, but didn’t seem to mind.

In a couple of areas, we traversed grates placed over steep sections of the trail.  Twice, metal grates ferried us over small waterfalls.  Then I caught a glimpse of the Brünnsteinhaus.  Or rather, I saw what looked to be 40-50 people at tables on a kind of ledge.  Had all these people hiked the way we’d come?  How come many didn’t look sweaty at all?  Hey, they’re cheating!  How can you come out to the woods and end up with a huge beer like that guy has?  Is this legal?  Are we disturbing the entire mantra of getting out into nature when you end up enjoying a big slice of cake like that couple has over there?  There were kids everywhere and we’d seen no kids on our trail up.

We sidled by tables full of folks enjoying the day and sat by a small playground on the hillside.  Kids played, swung and giggled and we broke out our sandwiches.  I looked up at the 200-300 vertical feet left to go to the summit.  Were these people enjoying the veranda and the sunny tables and the beer going to continue on to the summit?  I wasn’t sure our little tribe was going to have the energy either since we still had a long hike back down.  We already had about 2.5 hours of strenuous hiking under our belt. This was quite challenging to my mindset as I realize I’ve always liked to go out into the woods and reach the summit, or the goal.   I was more used to a crumpled-up PB&J and a Nalgene bottle of warm water with a great view.  This was a mild earthquake to my assumptions.

Lisa and I discussed it, it was clear that wisdom must keep us from going higher on this sunny day where we’d spent a lot of energy on the way up.

Those beers over there and sitting at those tables was beginning to look pretty darn good.

After the kids played for a while, we decided to amble on over.  We finally got a seat at a table with a magnificent view and we had enough Euros for our own beer and cake!  Hmmm, these Europeans might be onto something with this concept.  Refreshing local “weiss” beer too, after that challenging hike.  Lisa said it was the best beer she’d ever tasted.

But, here in Europe, Visa is not everywhere you want to be!  We were not surprised that the mountain house didn’t take credit cards but neither do several locations throughout our travels.

We laughed and recounted all our adventures on the way up and everyone seemed to walk a bit taller.  But we also decided not to go back down the way we’d come!  The Middle Eastern couple were there, evidently coming up another way.

Leaving Brünsteinhaus after a great rest, the sweat had begun to cool on my back.  It was time to start moving again, into the late afternoon.

We stepped lightly across the grass of an alpine meadow and found the easier trails that others must have come up.  We went slowly because the mountains were so breathtaking that we kept forgetting to watch our step.  Others meandered across the meadow, taking other paths to their own destinations.

Happy cows!
We stepped over the wooden steps of a barbed wire fence into a tiny corral.  The trail took us within feet of a curious horse.  The girls were delighted.  Ana neighed to the horse who responded with his ears.  We diverted our eyes as a family ahead of us helped a toddler use the facilities under a tree.  We followed them and all discovered wild raspberries!

The longer path was indeed less steep.  We sang a few songs and talked as a family to keep all of our minds in the game.  Will began to sit down whenever we stopped.  Lisa’s sock kept disappearing into her shoe.  Someone’s foot was hurting, then it was someone else’s.  We trudged a little slower and took more breaks.  The girls were elated by the discovery of grazing horses on a hilltop.  “Daddy, take some pictures!”

Our view of the valleys grew slowly flatter.  Isn’t it interesting how the climb is always far more interesting than the easier descent?

That beautiful sight at the end of a hike finally emerged from the trees—our car!

There is an old saying about wherever you go, you cannot escape yourself.

I run one morning, buoyed by just being on the trail and able to run.  God is so kind.  I didn’t realize that I once subconsciously wondered if my running days were over.  Dangerous bloodwork numbers once slapped me into an ambulance and two blood transfusions.  Several doctors huddled to narrow the possible scenarios.  I spent my first-ever night in a hospital bed.  One of the doctors flipped on my hospital room lights early the next morning with two huge needles and not nearly enough anesthesia for a bone marrow biopsy wakeup. There was no snooze feature option.  I ended up covered in sweat and learned a bit more about pain.  The pain experienced is different for everyone, but I felt radiating, electric pain down my legs and in my lower back as the needles went deep into the back of my hip.  When they extract the marrow, the vacuum the syringe creates makes me want to scream.  That afternoon, he came back for the appointment he’d set for Lisa and I.  He had a kind face.  He dropped himself into a spartan chair and drew the curtain around us with eyes carrying weight and sadness.

When you are with your spouse and the earnest doctor looks into your eyes and explains how you have cancer.  When you don’t even know what Multiple Myeloma is.  When that punch collapses your windpipe and there’s nothing to punch back at.  When the walls close in. When you have to remember to breathe and your chest tightens around your heart.  When you are partially relieved they finally know what it is, however terrible it may be.  When you sit in that bed, hooked up to those monitors and hold onto your wife.  When the tears begin to burn at the corner of your eyes.  When you have to ask your spouse to leave the room because you realize right then nothing on Earth can hold you.  When you begin to glimpse the horizon of losing your grasp on hope.

That’s when you run.  Run for help.  Oh please, help.

I ran right to my Father, like a child.  Just like when you were small and scared and you didn’t know what to do so you just dropped everything and ran for safety.

A few years back, we were enjoying a park with baby Luke at the end of a Reagan Airport’s runway in DC.  Luke was playing in the grass on that bright day and a plane took off seemingly right over us.  Ear-deafening noise directly over his head.  I just watched him because I’d seen the plane coming.  His face melted into pure terror and he forgot all about his toy and started tearing across the grass towards me as fast his little legs could carry him.  He wrapped himself around my legs, then looked up.  I will never forget it.

Many have a similar cancer story.  And everyone is dealing with something.  I know I am not unique in being challenged.

I now have scars to remind me.  Scars on my arms from the peripheral catheters they surgically installed.  They lay you down on a metal table and a surgeon spears your arm.  I later learned the catheter was over a 18 inches long and ran from the inside of my arm to just above my heart.  The peripheral catheter delivers the killing drugs of life.  Thank God for those researchers in their labs and the physicians that care for us all.

My lower back is marked by a few round biopsy scars.  I’m only at five bone marrow biopsies though, I’ve read of a man with over thirty.  The doctor or PA must find a large bone close to the the skin so they lay you on your stomach and go in through the back of your pelvis/hip at your lower back.  I am grateful for these scars.  Amazingly, they help me to remember.  How can I wander at all from those painful days?  The truth is that I forget sometimes.

When I was weak from recovery, I would see the runners on the road and would be so envious.  Running is freedom. Freedom from walls.  A temporary respite from the immediate in front of me and a chance to slow down time.  I wondered if I could get that freedom back.  Our home’s one flight of stairs would send the blood pounding through my ears.  During the nightly story, the kids would ask if I could read louder—I couldn’t.  I couldn’t draw enough breath to sing.  In church when the worship songs finished, I would immediately deflate down into my seat.  I would unsuccessfully fight off afternoon naps and I hated my fatigue.  I’d cram a pillow over my head to block out the days’ noise, struggle with my thoughts and try to relax for a few quick restorative winks.  I’d pray for energy and try not to extrapolate my current situation, baldness, and weakness into an infinite future.

So I run this morning along the trail, I just run and it feels like freedom.  And I try not to let my willing heart carry me past the strength of my legs.  Because it wants to.  What a wonderful time to be outside.

It is exquisite here, and quiet.  There is peace and the sound of water over rocks.  And despite the shape of these Alps, it could be a trail in New Jersey or Oregon or Nebraska or Texas.

Somehow, I can get concerned about saying the right thing, or doing the right thing or even what people might think, but then I remember I have a Father who loves me.  My thoughts can become my reality.  I build sandcastles in my head and forget they are not necessarily even true.  And then, I remember—but for the grace of God.  He was there and He knows.  He will be there.  I can’t ever be good enough and I don’t need to be.  Somehow He loves me though I don’t deserve it.  I will never fully grasp that mystery but it sustains me.

Near the end of the Return of the King, J.R.R. Tolkien has Sam ask the wise Gandalf, “Is everything sad going to come untrue?”

What a beautiful way to try and paint the idea of a redeemer who exists outside of our understanding of time.

Ellie Holcomb’s “As Sure As the Sun” shines through my earbuds and I smile and run a little faster.  My shoes crunch the gravel but I look up.

There is good news
There is good truth
That you could never change
No matter what you do
You are loved
More than you know
More than you could hope for
After everything you’ve done

As sure as the sun will rise
And takes away the night
His mercy will not end
His mercy will not end

There is good news
There’s a promise
That no matter where you go
You will never be alone
In the dark
In the doubting
When you can’t feel anything
Oh, his love remains the same

As sure as the sun will rise
And takes away the night
His mercy will not end
His mercy will not end

Even through the night
Silver stars will shine
Hope of glory’s light
That will wake us once again

As sure as the sun will rise
And takes away the night
As sure as the sun will rise
His mercy will not end
His mercy will not end

 

The German way of saying hello is “Guten Tag” (good day, literally).  But in Bavaria, it’s Grüß Gott.  The German ß is pronounced like an “ss” and I discovered it as an alt-S on my keyboard.  Grüß Gott (“Gruss Gott”) means “may God greet you.”  In the mornings, it is said quietly as you pass people on the sidewalk.

 

I was curious about the mysterious chalk message scratched on many doors here and found it in our Rick Steves’ travel guide.  This house blessing is done on Epiphany (celebrated Jan 6th). Epiphany is the Christian holiday celebrating the Magi’s adoration of the baby Jesus.  Epiphany is observed more strictly in Catholic Europe than in the US.  The message is “20 + C + M + B + 14”.  The letters are the initials of the three wise men Caspar, Melchior and Balthazar— and also stand for the Latin phrase Christus mansionem benedicat (“May Christ bless the house”).  The small crosses between the letters remind all who enter that this house has been blessed in this year (20 + 14).  On many Oberaudorf doors, the previous year is smudged out and the new one written over it.  The European Epiphany holiday includes gift-giving, feasting, and caroling door-to-door—often for a charity organization.  Those who donate get their door marked up in thanks.  Seven months later, nearly every door in this small town proudly sports this inscription.

I understand Europe has many holidays, many of them religious.  We’ve witnessed a few of these store and bank holidays already.  I’ve read the churches in Europe are often dying, but you wouldn’t guess it by the frequent state religious holidays.

 

We have loved our place in Oberaudorf.  The pictures just above are from the view off our balcony. The picture below is the front office.

We slumber beneath individual duvet comforters only and on top of a fitted sheet.  The windows are covered by a rolling, plastic shutter people lower at night.  The shutter is hoisted and dropped into place by a thoughtful canvas strap inside the window casing (you have to look closely in the shot below). The “garage door” shutter keeps light and noise out.  In the mornings, people  let in the morning sun by rumbling their shutters up.

The oversized, screen-less windows sport ingenious handles.  The window is locked closed while in the six o’clock position and in the “swing open” position at three o’clock.  The twelve o-clock position allows the top of the window to be tilted into the window providing ventilation and the security of a locked window.  Our patio door works the same way.

Active lifestyles are king here.  Kayaks on cars and people on bikes enjoy the winding roads. The hometown hero is Bastian Schweinsteiger who plays for the German national football (soccer) team.   He is a professional player and helped Germany capture the World Cup last month.  His footprints are on display outside the town’s tourist information.  His dad’s sports store—Sport Schweinsteiger—is next to the ice cream store and the bakery in the heart of town.   He doesn’t carry the tennis balls we were looking for but we did buy a soccer ball from his store.  We struggle in our German to tell him we enjoyed watching Bastian in the World Cup and the dad brings out autographed shots of his famous son.  We spot a couple wearing Schweinsteiger Bayern Munchen jerseys snapping a selfie in front of the store.

Our walls hold a Bavarian calendar that has a monthly scene of life through the year.  August’s page displays this great shot of rafters enjoying beer and greeting naked people frolicking on the river’s beach.  Too bad, I didn’t see any sign-ups for such trips!

The family “ski lodge” hotel includes the swimming pool room, 80s style fitness room, ping pong room, and a sauna.  I enter the sauna area one evening to use the men’s restroom.  The sauna itself has a glass door and glass wall.  I lock eyes through the glass door with a naked man and woman sitting in the sauna.  Without meaning to, I immediately turn to read any signage on door assuming I’ve entered a private area. No such sign is posted.  It’s just good ‘ol, naked Europe!

We love the lodge and its playground but the trail down by the town’s small river is somehow ours.  We walk and run alongside the trout facing into the current.  Sometimes there are rainbows.  But mainly it is a gravel path with the sound of rushing water.  Trees, footbridges, a candle shrine to a beloved daughter, a few houses, chickens and sheep border our trail.  There are worn, granite rocks to build kid bridges and “secret” places to dig.

On the day before we check out, the family who runs the place comes to our door and delivers a picture book of the area and a delicate coffee mug.  Bavaria is a treat.