Dear Stranger that I met while camping in Vermont,

You were already set up at your campsite at the base of Mt Mansfield, the tallest mountain in Vermont. I was the latest arrival to the remote campsite. You saw me pull up in my tiny Hyundai Accent and check in at the ranger’s cabin across the gravel road. You already had a fire stoked and were settling in for the evening. I felt you watch me as I returned to my vehicle and set up my tent. I guess you could tell that I was still restless. I went for a short saunter around the campsite, exploring where all the other occupied campsites were. I went and found the trailhead that would lead me to the summit of Mt Mansfield the following morning. I stopped along my wanderings and looked at billboards with their flyers informing the campers of mountain conditions and events at the very secluded camp base. The campsite we were staying at was only open during the summer; the winter weather rendering the roads leading to it impassable. I finally ceased my restless exploration of the campground and returned to my campsite. Your campsite was adjacent to mine. Close enough that if I were to talk to myself, you’d think I was talking to you. I looked over at you and you, at me. You were one of those types of gentlemen who insisted on having an abundance of wood on you so that you can possibly share it with nearby campers who may need it.

I’m more forthcoming than you are. I knew you were alone and you knew that I was obviously alone. I can be a social creature sometimes, especially in this case because I was in the middle of a week-long solo road trip driving through New England to hike its highest peaks. I was due for some conversation and well, I’m not afraid of strangers. In fact, you were not the first stranger I walked up to on my travels at that point. But that’s another story. It was finally dark and we met eyes. You were sitting like Buddha at your fire and I bluntly introduced myself to you. It seemed like common courtesy, but the hiking/camping community is quite unpredictable. Strangers don’t know other strangers’ reasons for being alone in the woods at the base of a mountain. You asked if I’d like to sit at your fire with you and I obliged. We exchanged names. Your name was Michael and you’re from Massachusetts. I’m Sarah and I’m from Pennsylvania. I’m on a road trip that started in Watkins Glen, New York. Then I visited a friend in Ithaca, New York, where I explored waterfalls and visited the Cornell Ornithological Lab where I hiked amongst a vast species of birds. A birder’s dream. Then I headed north near Lake Placid, New York, where I camped and hiked a total of 19 miles up and down its highest peak, Mt. Marcy. My next stop was here, where now I’m sitting next to you at the fire you built. Tomorrow, I will awaken early and hike up Mt. Mansfield and then find something to do afterwards; perhaps go to the Ben & Jerry ice cream factory. You mentioned a brewery in Stowe, the town on the other side of the mountain. You were also going to awaken early in the morning to hike up Mt. Mansfield. We didn’t agree to hike up the mountain together. Besides, I preferred not to. I wanted to hike at my own pace and have time to think. I think you preferred the same. I thanked you for the fire and said good night.

The next morning, we played leapfrog while going up Mt Mansfield. You’re a faster hiker with your long legs and long stride. I’m short and squat, but have good endurance. We provided each other encouragement but went on our own solitary ways. We eventually met at the summit, via the Long Trail. We were not the only people there. An incredibly steadfast trail runner eventually arrived at the top, informing us that he runs up the mountain several days a week. We marveled at him as we ate granola bars. Finally, two trail workers summited the mountain. Their jobs were to maintain the trail and stay at the summit to provide guidance and knowledge to the other summiteers. They pointed out adjacent mountains like Camel’s Hump Mountain—a round hump far in the distance. Little did I know that two years later I would be summiting that mountain with my boyfriend after having broken both ankles. Little did I know that seven months later, after meeting you, I would break both my ankles. At the summit, we got our picture taken together.

I invited you to join me in my explorations in Stowe. Maybe we can go to the brewery or get something to eat somewhere. You seemed willing to join me. We lingered on the summit for a little bit. I shared a package of tuna with one of the trail workers. We laughed at the idea of eating an ocean-dwelling animal on the top of a mountain.

We eventually descended the mountain at our own paces. You are nimble on your feet and I am not. By the time I finally arrived back to my campsite, you were in a fresh change of clothes and doing yoga at your site. You informed me that you were going to go do your own thing instead of joining me. I respected that and so, I went and did my own thing. I enjoyed walking around the town of Stowe. I bought a John Muir shirt for my boyfriend. I went and got pizza. I went to the Ben & Jerry factory and had maple flavored ice cream (because it’s VERMONT) and marveled at all the solar panels on their property. I came back to my campsite and you were sitting there at your campsite reading. We waved. I packed up a little bag of books and a small bottle of rum and took a walk to a nearby mountain stream where I sat on a rock in the middle of the stream and soaked my feet in the cold water for I had walked a lot that day. I drank the entire bottle of rum and read through a book. When I arrived back to my campsite, you invited me to your fire again and I obliged.

I learned more about you that night. You were at one time a teacher but you had to quit because your father became ill and you moved in with him to take care of him. Your retreat to the base of Mt Mansfield was your way of getting away from the responsibilities for a little while. You felt guilt for taking time for yourself. Not knowing you or your circumstance well enough, I kept relatively quiet. I know I said something about how it is okay to take care of yourself, as well. But you didn’t seem to agree. You were afraid to talk to your dad on the phone about your vacation away. You knew your father wanted for you to take this time for yourself. But you didn’t want for your father to know how relieved you were to be away. You didn’t want to provide gorgeous, liberating details about your time away. You didn’t want to plant the seed in your dad’s head that you feel more at peace now that you were away. I understood.

You asked me about my boyfriend Brian because I had mentioned the previous night that my boyfriend inspired me to go on a road trip on my own. By that time, Brian and I were only dating a few months. Why is it that talking with strangers can be so much easier than talking to a good friend? I was blunt with you and said that I cared deeply for Brian but didn’t want to get my hopes up because you never know what will happen. By that time, I had been through two break-ups that rendered me a bit reserved and hardened toward mens’ affections. I felt like maybe I was something Brian was holding onto until he found something better. That maybe I was Plan B before Plan A came along. I told you that my intentions with Brian were good, but my heart was still on-guard because love and all its nuances were so unpredictable and can often lead to heartbreak, which one can never be ready for.

You seemed taken aback by what I said. Being the gentleman that you are, you defended Brian who in your eyes seemed like a great guy. You took what I said as cynicism. Perhaps it was; but I was protecting myself. Nevertheless, I offended you, a gentleman who defends gentlemen. I’m not one for tension, so I changed the subject. Whilst staring at the fire you built, I noticed that one of the burning logs resembled the shape of a heart. You watched me kneel near the fire to take a picture of it. I explained that I had a collection of photographs of hearts that I found in nature. You also got close to the fire to photograph the heart. You immediately texted the picture to your girlfriend.

Prior to that, I knew she existed. You didn’t talk about her as much as you talked about your father. I didn’t ask about her because it’s not my business and I didn’t want for you to get the idea that I was trying to gauge or judge your relationship with her. We were two strangers meeting under lovely circumstances at the base of a gorgeous mountain. To anyone else, this could be a romantic anecdote. But to us, it wasn’t. It was a platonic meeting of two people on their own solo excursions. You seemed like a very sensitive man only willing to give up information at your own terms. I respected that.

You asked where I was heading to next. I mentioned that Boston was my next stop after meeting with another friend named Michael. Being from the Boston area, you told me that Boston wasn’t the best place to explore unless you knew exactly what you wanted to do. Because of your advice, I ended up visiting Hyannis near Martha’s Vineyard instead. You recommended a pizza place in Hyannis and you were wearing a shirt from the pizza place.It was getting late and I had an early morning of driving ahead of me. I bid you farewell and good luck with everything. I appreciated meeting you. I went to my tent, slept throughout the night, woke up in the dark, packed everything in my little car, and drove away before sunrise. I never saw you again. We never exchanged information to keep in touch.

Thanks for your advice. I went to Hyannis and had a good time walking miles and miles in the little seaside town. I ate at the delicious pizza place you recommended. The pizza was handmade in front of me. I walked to the beach and a taxi driver politely pulled over and offered to drive me there the rest of the way, free of charge. Because I’m crazy and talk to strangers and angels must be lining my pockets, I got in. But the taxi driver took me exactly where I asked. That trip by that point has led to me trusting so many strangers and doing things that others may shake their heads at. But I’m still here, unscathed, but with stories to tell. The beach was amazing. I came across a dead horseshoe crab. I was very excited and had a timid, grossed-out family take a picture of me holding the prehistoric-looking carcass.

From Hyannis, I went to Mystic, Connecticut and kayaked on the Mystic River. I also ate at Mystic Pizza. When finding a riverside place to eat my pizza, I met yet another stranger; an older Jewish gentleman and his dog whom only understood Yiddish. He taught me some Yiddish commands as I ate my pizza and admired the river.

From Mystic, I went home to Pennsylvania for my last stop at the Delaware Water Gap so I could hike up Mount Tammany before sunrise. It was a gorgeous conclusion to my week-long road trip in New England.

Why am I writing you this letter? Because you’ve remained on my mind. I regret that we did not at least become pen-pals. I so badly want to tell you that I had nothing to worry about with Brian. You were right; he is a gentleman. I have opened up to him over the last three years and he has been there for me through the most difficult times of my life. I can trust him and I’m simply marveling at how you defended his honor, without even knowing him.

I hope that all is well with you. I hope your father is doing okay and that if he isn’t, that you are persisting and doing okay.

Remembering You,

Sarah