Legacy

November 17, 2025

Greetings from the heritage,

There is a certain legacy that parents pass on that might sometimes be overlooked.  Like many aspects of the role, it is a small thing, but whose impact can be felt daily, and decades later. This morning, I want to clear a space to remind us of that legacy, and a share a good sample of its purpose.

Back in July, I joined my brother Douglas, his wife Lee, daughter Cali, and my sister Dawn as we took a ten-day hike around Mont Blanc.  We backpacked most of what we needed, hiked from one hostel to the next, grinding our way over a hundred miles, over thirty thousand feet in elevation gain.  It was a beautiful and challenging experience.

On the ninth day we encountered The Ladders. The Tour Mont Blanc weaves through the Alps, through valleys and over passes, and while there is no technical climbing, it includes some rugged bouldering. The one section where the trail fails to dominate the mountains was in this place, where decades before us someone began installing a way up the rocky cliffs.

Our sister Dawn was already struggling, some from fatigue, some from depth-perception, some from what would turn out to be vertigo. The miles and the climbs had taken a toll on all of us, but on this day, she was feeling a little unsteady.

We arrived at the place where the mountain was its most stubborn to the trail. It was a series of steel ladders bolted to the granite, bent from rockfalls and snow.  In other places there was a cable or a metal rod to hold onto while you navigated a ledge, or a timber step to make the jump from one edge to the next.  It is one of the more intimidating sections of the climb, and many hikers choose another route to avoid it. 

While we waited for Dawn to catch up, we watched people inch up the ladders.  It was going to be a challenge for any of us, but we worried it might be overwhelming for Dawn.  Douglas looked up at the cliffs, and then down the trail where his sister was still hiking. He said: “I’ll carry my pack up to the top and then climb back down and carry Dawn’s pack up.” I scanned the line of climbers already pulling themselves up the side of the rock. Whatever doubt I had came out in a curse word. While I was still sifting through other options, Douglas turned to the ladders and started up. 

Dawn arrived and she was delighted at Doug’s idea. She would still have to make her way up the rock, but without her pack, it would be far safer. We stood craning our necks up the mountain, trying to find our brother in the cliff stretching before us.  Finally, we saw him waving from the top of the ridge, outlined in the blue sky hundreds of feet above.  He scrambled down, passing other climbers fighting gravity.  Douglas slid down the last ladder and pulled on his sister’s pack, and we all began climbing again.

When we reached the top of the ladders, we realized there was a dangerously steep climb from there, and then more ladders. We stood leaning over our knees, catching our breath, peeking back over the cliff into open below, all of us a little amazed at what we’d just done, and a little hesitant to attack the next pull. And then, still carrying his sister’s pack, Douglas lifted his own pack and strapped it on his chest, and then, teetering slightly, began climbing again. 

The hikers around us witnessed this, others who were breathless and shaking, clambering over the rocks, watched in awe as Doug pulled himself up the steep trail, and up the last section of ladders, carrying two backpacks.  He looked like he was being devoured by them.

It was just a couple of hours in a ten-day adventure, but it stands bright in my memory.  We were surrounded by people who ran into all manner of obstacles, bad weather, river crossings, a host of injuries.  People who fell and got up, who got lost and kept going, and people crushed by fear who wouldn’t quit. And among all those stories, there were heroes.  My brother Douglas was one of them.

 After we levered over the last ladder, we stood at the crest of the climb, about to continue on the trail, I reached out to my brother, and we shook hands.  I said, “Your parents are proud of you.”

It’s hard to know how much this would mean to Douglas.  For most of his life he has been pretty self-directed, even when the direction seemed uncertain.  He was on his own at a young age, and for most of his adult life he lived thousands of miles away from our parents.  Much of his growing up he did on his own, but somewhere in that time he found his feet, and put them on a good path.

In truth, there were many places in his life I might have offered this message from our parents. Douglas found a wonderful partner in Lee, raised a delightful, talented daughter, grew in a challenging career, he went back to school and earned a degree. He played hockey, raked the mountains with his snowboard, and challenged himself in adventures. He’s gathered experiences and friends like bright stars.  At nearly any place in his life, in victories and in challenges, anyone who knew him might say they were proud of him, especially the people who first set him on his journey.

I think it’s a commonly held truth that how we see ourselves, and maybe the people around us, is seasoned by the people who raised us. Those people often have diverse titles, but the ones we think of first are our parents.  At some point they think: “From the time you were born I had great hopes for you, that you would live a rich and fulfilling life, that you would matter to others, and make the most of all the gifts you are given. And now I see it happening, you are an incredible human being, and I am grateful.”

We feel it as parents and, hopefully, we share it with our children, and they find a way of living into it, and one day, share it with their children.

Our parents have passed on, many years now, and I don’t presume to speak for them, but I knew them, and I know their children, well enough to say they are proud of all of them, for good reason.

This week my brother Douglas will celebrate a milestone birthday.  I’m happy to have been part of that celebration already, along with family and friends that gathered around him.  But I want you to know that in any of these moments we acknowledge the life that Douglas has lived, our parents would have been honored to step up and shake his hand and say, “We are proud of you, son.”

Hope this finds you feeling it,

David

Copyright © 2025 David Smith