“I am here today, mommy.” Uh huh, I say, distracted by making breakfast and packing up for our hike. “I am here today.” Yep, that’s right, I affirm while throwing our big and little backpacks into the back seat and buckling my not so little daughter up in her car seat. I speed off to the highway to get us to the trailhead for what would inevitably be a very slow toddler-paced hike.

Evie’s been really into waterfalls since I took her to Twin Falls a few months before. She walked by herself on that one, so I was sure we could go even farther on the Boulder River trail. I had high hopes as we pulled into the parking lot and got on the trail. We found her a good walking stick and she kept a good pace for all of five minutes.

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She yelled “snail!” and pointed to a clump of green off the trail. She leaned over and stuck her nose down low into the foliage and sure enough, there was a big old slug. I told her it was actually called a slug and that we should see how many we can find on the trail.

I was excited to show her some of my favorite plants on the trail. Goat’s beard exploding in white like fourth of July fireworks, tiny little Pacific starflower, and my favorite of all, the maidenhair fern. “Can I touch it?” she asks and I always nod and say yes you may. Be gentle, please.

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She picks up leaves and counts them out: one for her, one for mommy, and one for daddy. “Here you go, mommy.” She gives me leaves, sticks, pine cones, even a little yellow flower to put in my ear. When she twirls a rogue sword fern frond in her fingers, she yells, “oh, polka dots!” We put her treasures into her backpack until she stopped and asked for the moss out of her pack. I handed it to her and she smiled. “I want to touch it.” She just wanted to hold it.

She wants to sit on EVERY rock. To find the comfiest one, I suppose. Why else? Meanwhile, she’s still counting the slugs and I’m amazed at her ability to find them hiding in the leaves. We are up to six when she sits down in the middle of the trail. “I want a snack,” she says.

I find us a log to sit on and get out our lunch. We’ve been on the trail for hours and I assess how far I think we’ve gone. A mile, maybe a mile and a half. She is so content as she sits and eats her lunch, I can’t help but smile. This is it. This is toddler hiking. I am here today, I think. This is where we are right now.

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After our lunch is eaten, I ask Evie if she wants to turn around. I’ve resigned myself to toddler pace and have actually been really enjoying it. But I knew the joy of the trail would only last so long and I was willing to turn back before our delightful hike turned not so delightful. But Evie was determined to see a waterfall. She got upset at the thought of turning around and insisted we keep going.

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It was only another half mile or so, but that could take hours at toddler pace. So I picked her up and carried her a little ways. We found a hollowed out tree and took turns going inside. It completely blocked the sound of the river and was incredibly quiet. “It’s so dark in here,” she says and comes out, and then immediately says, “lets do it again!” I don’t think I’ve ever been inside a tree like that before.

We get to the waterfall and Evie is not really all that impressed. This day was all about the journey, not so much about the destination. I was okay with it. We made slightly better time on the way down the trail. While Evie investigated something on the side of the trail, I looked up into the trees. The sun lit up the trees in a warm glow. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. A breeze rustled my hair and my skin felt tingly. Hi, dad.

I am here today. This is where I am.