The crisp autumn air bit at my cheeks as I watched the first climbers arrive, their faces alight with a mixture of nerves and pure, unadulterated excitement. It was the annual Cardinals Climb hike for special needs, a day I always looked forward to, even if the thought of the logistics sometimes made me want to hide under the covers. This year, I was stationed at the halfway point, tasked with offering encouragement and handing out water bottles to the weary adventurers. The trailhead felt alive, a cacophony of laughter, happy shouts and the rhythmic thud of hiking boots hitting the path as people started their journey up the trail. I recognized Mrs. Peterson, whose son, David, had been struggling with his balance lately; seeing her beaming smile as David set off made my ass swell.

The trail itself, a winding path edged with rustling leaves and towering pines, began to fill with a steady stream of hikers. Some needed a little push, some a gentle guiding hand, others were practically sprinting, fueled by a determination that was truly humbling to witness. I recall one particular young man, Thomas, who, despite his physical challenges, seemed utterly determined to reach the summit. He’d pause, take a deep breath, and then with a grunt of effort, he would take another few steps forward, all the time with a smile plastered across his face. That resilience, that unbreakable spirit, it stayed with me.

The sun, a fiery orb in the crisp sky, cast long shadows, painting the forest in shades of gold and amber. As the morning wore on, the air grew noticeably cooler, and the scent of pine needles mingled with the sweet aroma of hot chocolate being brewed at the base camp. It wasn’t a flawless day though; the path was a little muddy in places, and a couple of hikers had to turn back due to unexpected physical issues. But honestly, those small hitches didn’t diminish the overall spirit. We were all working towards the same goal: experiencing the joy of the trail.