A CAIRN ALONG THE WAY
Those who know me know that the mountains are my endless source of learning. That time and space I give myself whenever I can, where nature and knowledge merge; trial and error; effort and joy; finiteness and infinity.
Where the soul expands the very instant the tremendous experience of smallness comes over you.
Where the path is drawn by nothing but your own footsteps…
And on that walk, on this most recent walk, I stopped to look at those objects that accompanied me and my climbing partners throughout the whole trek: THE CAIRNS.
Beyond other meanings, in mountaineering "cairns" are small mounds of stacked stones built by passersby themselves, indicating “a possible correct path." They are marks on a trail that give us signs and directions. Unique, rustic, simple, sometimes unstable. Built up "stone by stone" by whoever wishes, along their own journey, to contribute something for those who come after.
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When the path dissolves into rocky ground or vegetation, when the trail forks and we find ourselves confused, when, exhausted from so much walking, we lose focus and direction; the cairn is there, telling us “We're on the right track,” "It's this way!" — an invitation to keep going, a message of safety and calm when everything feels uncertain.
Cairns are not sophisticated or high-tech markers. I would even dare say that, in many cases, they become "vital" on the trek, outdoing the most expensive GPS devices or the track from whatever app we may be using. Those force us to look at a screen. Cairns, on the other hand, blend into the landscape, inviting us to keep our eyes on nature, reminding us — no more, no less — that we are part of it.
There is no mountaineer so experienced and bold who doesn't notice their presence. If nothing else, to question their own expertise, challenge themselves, and keep walking with peace of mind.
Some will call it "professional bias" (I'm fully aware of it), but it's hard for me not to associate those cairns with parenting and education in general. Cairns are reaffirmed through a simple, profound gesture: placing one more little stone on that mound as you pass by.
It's that artisanal, rustic, experiential, selfless kind of knowledge that guides us along the way (as parents, mothers, educators). It is shared experience, the trace left by someone who walked that same path before and wishes to share what they lived.
It's that word, that spontaneous gesture, that outstretched hand, that shoulder to lean on when we have nothing left to give, when we feel lost.
It's feeling that, even if the trail blurs, even if the silence of the mountain (of parenting, of the act of teaching... of life itself) finds us alone, we always feel accompanied by the living testimony of those who walked, sweated, and admired that same land before us.
Thank you to every hiker who, humbly and generously, has chosen to pause their own journey so that someone else can enjoy the trek.
We're on the right track! It's this way!.
