Maybe this just isn’t the year for keeping things the same.

I didn’t chose a word.  I didn’t make our annual list of things to accomplish this year.  I already told you guys all that.

But we always take a hike on the first day of the new year – or a day really close to that.  It’s not just a regular hike, it’s a hike designed to be about creating a little time for reflecting as a family and for looking forward as a family.  We also always pack along a bottle of sparkling juice of some sort and our own small glasses.  The best part of the hike is usually the toast to the new year and all it holds on some mountain side with a sweet view and, of course, a cold breeze.  Generally we’re sort of freezing but laughing and our “cheers” is hurried because we want to shove our hands back in our pockets as fast as possible.

Even though our hike was scheduled for about eight days after the new year began because that’s when it worked out, I had hopes for at least maintaining the annual toast.  It was bitterly cold (remember that week?) so I even was willing to cut the hike short and stay a little closer to home.

We chose nearby historical Poinsett Bridge as our destination and even tossed in a fun lunch at a local pizza place before hand to improve all of our attitudes.

 

 

I carefully looked over the sparkling juice I had bought a month earlier just for this day and read that we did not need one of those twisty cork screw things.  Everyone pocketed their tiny pottery mug and we hit the road.

After our lunch we drove the lovely back roads and found the quaint little bridge.  It was so very cold.  Of course, the boys were excited anyway as they are impervious to the weather somehow.

We walked around, admired the old archway (an archway that plays into some novels by an author I enjoy – Robert Morgan – so that was cool for my literary fan self) and then walked to the top of the bridge to prepare ourselves for our toast.

 

 

Bergen tried to open the juice.

 

 

Piper tried to open the juice.

 

 

Mosely tried to open the juice.

Otto tried to open the juice.

London said we should open it at home.

I tried to open the juice.

Suddenly, the cold air whipping around our heads, the historical bridge under our feet, the lack of my other traditional new year thoughts and plans already rejected and forgotten, I decided that this was one annual event that we were not going to miss.  I was not going to toast to the new year in our own home.  I was going to toast to the new year on that bridge, right there, right then.

 

 

Bergen and I joked that if we let failure beat us for this small task then it was like an omen for our entire year.  (I don’t actually believe that – but right then, it sort of felt enough true to work a little harder to get that ridiculous bottle open.)

I wedged the cork between rocks and began to try a new method.

What I got for my efforts was a broken cork with the remaining cork shoved in the bottle too far to even twist.

The kids rebelled and refused to wait in the cold any longer and all took to the car, expect Hawkeye, as determined as I was.  I searched the car for something helpful.

We tried the sharp end of Otto’s metal airplane.  (I would have been happy with just shoving the cork all the way in and floating in the bottle.)

We tried a pencil.

I tried this knife.  Not helpful, you guys.  And not wise.

 

 

Finally, I ordered the dangerous show to end and we started the car, the sad stench of defeat heavy on our shoulders.  (Actually, no one really cared as much as I did.  That seems about normal.)

As we headed home, I took a different route because that’s what I do.  I realized we drove right by our friends at Look Up Lodge.  And so – positive that there would be some sort of corkscrew there, I pulled in, phoned our friend Walter, who happened to be around camp and happened to own a corkscrew, and he came to our rescue.  (It’s not even the first time Walter has rescued us in some manner.)

Anyway – we cheered when Walter opened the sad little damaged sparkling juice bottle.

 

 

We drove to the highest point at Look Up Lodge, found a fabulous view, and had our frigid little ridiculous delayed toast up there.

Cheers.

 

 

And immediately following the toast, the girls were ensconced in the car and the boys were like this:

 

 

I hope our entire flop of a tradition is not a sign of our new year in any way, shape or form.

But, I guess if it is, a little help from our friends is neither a new nor a terrible theme for this family.

 

 

 

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