Inspired Writer Contest Top 20
A Tower’s Keeper
Solace in Shared Rituals
My calves burned as I climbed the last stretch to the ridgeline. The large rock in my backpack jostled unevenly against my spine. “Almost there,” I coached myself. It had been a year since I’d summited that particular hill, and I looked around for changes. Deer scat covered a wide area; that was new, but the bench was still rickety and green, and the geo-cache tin canister still poorly hidden.
I was actually more surprised by what hadn’t changed than what had.
A tall, well-placed tower of rocks stood on the same crest of the hill as it had ever since I found this place ten years ago. More astonishing was the vase, filled with water and a fresh rose that couldn’t have been more than a couple days old. This tower was clearly lovingly maintained. Once again, I asked myself the questions: Who is the tower’s keeper? What’s their story? Is it a painful tribute to the loss of a loved one? Or, is it a watchtower for the safe return of one missing or in danger?
That was the reason for why I was here.
I looked farther down the hill at the oak tree, where I had started and restarted my own tower over the years. The rocks had toppled but still lay, slipshod, near the base. I walked over, picked one up and turned it over — the date I’d written faintly appeared on the back. I first began this rock structure when my son entered the military and began rigorous training periods; there have been many different schools and deployments over the years where communication is sparse or non-existent. Ranger school. A deployment to Iraq. His wife’s deployment to Afghanistan. More rigorous training. His current deployment.
How was my carrying rocks up a hill, helping anything? Me, a middle-aged mother? It certainly wasn’t ending any wars.
After all my years as a military spouse and mother, this I did know: Parents and loved ones of service members often carry a heavy burden, especially as their soldiers continue to answer the call in these long wars that have spanned generations. What are we supposed to do with this worry? Often, we feel like we are alone as there are so many other news stories taking precedence, and frankly, that’s fine — no news is often good news. Our military faithfully does their duty, under the radar.
So, I heave my worry onto a rock and carry it weekly up 3 miles to build a tower by a beautiful California oak overlooking golden hills. And I pray. Pray for his safe return, for the soldiers he’s with, for the leaders making the decisions, for peace in our world. And now, there’s Covid, too, so I pray for the safety of our soldiers serving overseas in a pandemic. So much has stopped, but not their missions.
This ritual of mine doesn’t abolish my fears, but the act definitely helps. It is comforting to schedule the climb on my calendar, to find a worthy rock and put it in my backpack, physically climb, mark the rock and place it on the tower; to contemplate quietly afterwards. And finally, the satisfaction of that lighter pack on the descent back to my car.
Rituals are defined as “a sequence of activities involving gestures, words, actions, or objects, performed in a sequestered place and according to a set sequence.” Rituals are comforting; our attraction to them is a part of being human. They are anchors, providing a way to navigate the unknown. Whether we realize it or not, we perform mini rituals daily, whether it’s a note in a lunchbox, grace before meals, a stretching routine before a competition, or a kiss on the cheek before a loved one walks out the door. Then there are the larger rituals we perform in community, the seventh inning stretch at a baseball game, holiday dinners, weekly Mass, weddings and ceremonies. So many of these we’ve had to give up because of Covid.
We’re all dealing with a vast range of emotions intensified by this pandemic. The New York Times recently published a piece confirming that rituals can help us deal with Covid by centering us and providing us with a sense of power in this uncertain world. If we can’t keep the old ones that sustained us before Covid, then we need to devise new ones: the clapping for healthcare professionals, family zoom calls, mantras, meditations. These are resilience builders as long as we own them, and they don’t own us. If anxiety rises when we don’t perform a ritual, then we may have turned it into a superstition.
Back to that rock pile that towers over mine and is much better cared for. When I finish placing my rock, I’ll climb down the hill, and scan the hikers climbing up, looking for a single fresh rose in a hiker’s grasp. My curiosity is strong; I can’t help myself. But, will I really say something if I find the person?
Perhaps no. It’s enough that we share a similar practice that brings us comfort. Our struggles may be individual struggles, but the fact that we seek comfort from a beautiful place upon a hill from elements as rudimentary as rocks, elevates my experience; that’s transcendent.
We are in this thing called human experience together. That’s enough.
(Amy Moellering, July 20, 2020)
