Last year we tried it and had to turn back. I was so disappointed. We just weren’t prepared. It’s not like it is the highest peak in Colorado, or anything. I have climbed the highest mountain in Colorado, but I was sixteen.

Fremont Peak is just west of Cañon City and is the forehead of the “sleeping maiden.” The Sleeping Maiden was a beacon of hope during severe drought for the Ute Indians that inhabited this area. She would awaken when food returned. (She still hasn’t woken up. Gardening out here is terrible!) It is also the mountain shown on the Colorado State License Plates.

Our son, Andrew, and his friend, Gage, made a plan to come down and climb the mountain with us. Last Sunday, it was a gorgeous 63 degrees in February (we are in a winter storm at the moment) and could not have been a prettier day.

We talked easily along the winding trail up, stopping at overlooks that spanned across the Sangre de Cristos covered in thick white snow, and the San Juans, just barely touched. We looked over the Royal Gorge bridge and the sleepy Arkansas river below us, sluggish from thick ice.

I was worried about whether Doug and I would make it up the last stretch, a practically vertical slope of land laden with cacti and slick rocks. I was determined. I was getting up to the top of that peak!

The thrill of making it to the top left me grateful, joyous, and inspired as I signed the little book at the base of the rock pile. The views were beyond incredible. To the south and west, layers upon layers of mountains, and to the east, a barren expanse of prairie and cities. Pikes Peak stood quietly to the north.

Just reaching a goal was the reward. It is never too late to set goals, to dream. We are not too old, too frail, too busy. We are full of potential.