I agree with that sentiment. However, I think we tend to gloss over another aspect of motherhood that deserves just as much attention. Respect. 

Love and respect often intermingle, but they are not one in the same. Respect confers high esteem. It accepts the individual, the being, for what it is. It demands that the holder be held in high regard, and given deference. Failure to respect those due it comes with consequences. This is a reality of human consciousness.

A month ago, I would have asserted that few people alive now have more respect for Mother Earth than myself. Besides spending years of my life advocating for the planet and making concerted efforts to educate the public about issues affecting Earth, I attend traditional events and ceremonies that rely on the natural world to take place. I am also a child of the outdoors. As an avid runner and hiker, I often spend my days outside, enjoying the landscape and wildlife while maintaining my physique and training for races. 

A few weeks ago, I traveled to Albuquerque, New Mexico, for a law conference. I had planned to hike the La Luz Trail in my off hours while I was there. I anticipated that the hike would be especially challenging, in fact I was counting on it. Despite my full schedule, I try to get in at least one difficult mountain climb a year, and I’d set my sights on Sandia Peak this year, which stood at the zenith of La Luz. To get to the La Luz Trail, I would first traverse from our vehicle up the Tramway Trail. All told, reaching Sandia Peak would involve hiking about 11.5 miles one way, and climbing an elevation of around 3,000 feet. 

I’d done my research. Even though temperatures hovered around 70 degrees in April, it would be much cooler at the top. Even so, most of the heavy snow should have melted at least to the point of being passable. There was no rain in the forecast. My husband insisted on joining me because he was concerned about my safety. While not as much of a fitness buff as myself, my husband is in decent shape. Last year, he climbed Mount Washburn in Yellowstone National Park with me. We would make the climb and take the tram down to the base, so we wouldn’t be hiking back the way we came. Taking the tram on the descent would save us time and energy, not to mention—what a view!

We’d planned to head out at dawn, but learned that red flag warnings were going to be issued that day due to high winds. Surely the tram would be closed for the day, and our plans foiled. On a moment’s notice, we decided to begin our hike that day by three o’clock. That would give us about four and a half hours to make the trip to the top. We’d have to stay focused, but we thought it was achievable.

This wasn’t our first rodeo. We dressed appropriately in layers. I wore my seasoned hiking sandals. We ate first, relieved ourselves, and had fresh water in tow. We once again reviewed the map, and set out for Sandia Peak under blue skies. By the time we reached the end of the Tramway Trail, my husband realized the altitude change affected him a lot more than he thought it would. He had trouble holding a conversation, having to focus on his breathing instead. He felt like he was slowing me down, to the point that I would not be able to complete the climb before dusk.

At about three and a half miles, we made the joint decision that he would turn back, and that I would venture on alone. I wanted to finish the La Luz Trail so badly. I thought I would be heartbroken if I didn’t reach the Peak. After reaching the halfway point, I stopped running into other hikers and climbers. Still, I was truly delighted by the experience. I took some photos and identified Native plants as I passed them and caught their fragrant aromas. As my ancestral homelands are in the northern plains, it was my first time encountering some of them in the wild.

The path increased in difficulty the further along I got, and eventually, it got scary. Sections of the trail were not marked, and GPS was not reliable. Cell reception also vanished in especially remote spots. I came across sections where the trail stopped, and I was required to carry out technical rock climbing to continue. This hike was definitely advanced. The scenery was breathtaking, though. I found myself immersed in prayer, with a heart full of a potent mix of fear and awe. 

Finally, at around half past six, the end was in sight. By then, I was traveling across snow and ice. According to GPS readings at the top, I was about a half mile from the Peak. As I rounded the corner, I finally ran into another climber. I excitedly asked her if she’d reached the Peak, which was right there. She said no, surprisingly. She slumped down, laying on the narrow path, exhausted. She was in full winter gear, complete with snow pants, gloves, and trekking poles. She had started the La Luz Trail early that day. She said that the snow was too deep, and the path ended just before the peak. Between us and the tram, there was a 25-foot-deep snow drift. Apparently, there had been an avalanche that morning that we were wholly unaware of. It was then that I saw that she was wet up to her chest. I took a moment to contemplate whether I should attempt to cross on my own. Not only was the snow deep—there was no way of knowing if I would be stepping off the mountain, to my death, if I tried to cross. The snow obscured the trail so I could not tell where the edge of the mountain was. No one was reaching the peak that day.

In that instance, my hopes were dashed and I was struck with the realization that I had to turn around. I only had about an hour until sunset. Once the sun went down, it would become even more difficult to see the trail. I might encounter bears who are seen there more often at dusk, or run into other nocturnal creatures. Even more worrisome was that I was in the desert, so the temperature would drop like a rock after dark. I told the other hiker that I was going to run for it. I was worried about the woman who hailed from New Jersey, but she said she was a nurse, and that she had already sent for her husband. “Do it now,” she said. She quickly recounted stories of other hikers she’d treated in the ER, who had hypothermia, broken limbs, and a host of other conditions, after having been rescued from the very same trail we were standing on. She still chose to climb to Sandia Peak knowing that—and I get it, because there I was.