High up in the mountains of Norway we found a path. As we walked we witnessed the seasons shifting. From early summer with unriped berries, to spring of wet moss and melting glaciers, then finally as we ascended to the peak we entered the vast whiteness of winter. By then our boots were long soaked and we trudged onwards through the wet and endless snow one knee-deep step by one knee-deep step. I may have been cursing my husband inside my head at that moment, but there was no choice but to follow his lead and continue forward. After a few torturous kilometers when we finally reached the descent and saw the first patches of grass, it was like arriving from a shipwreck to land.
Now that it’s all done and dusted, I realize that although the hike was one of the toughest I’ve been through, I would’ve done it all over again because – as cheesy as it sounds – I would probably follow him anywhere, through all the seasons and back.