When we drove out of the mountains that
morning it was hot, the sun climbing higher in the sky, heating up the plants
and the air around us and the metal of our car as it barreled down a neck of Lincoln Highway woven like thread through the Pennsylvania Laurel Highlands. Ethan was in his car seat, chatting away, my
wife Michelle and I both quizzing him about our weekend stay in the mountains —
often asking if we had seen a black bear while hiking two days earlier. “Yes
we did!” he kept answering, a certain electricity in his words.Our cabin that weekend was buried deep in Lin Run's cool woods, beneath a canopy of tall
old trees. Cell towers sparsely dotted the mountain, like hair on a balding
scalp, and my phone had no service until we hit the main road, nearly 10 miles
away. We were blissfully out of reach. For four days I didn’t check email —
either personal or work-related. And during that time I felt the muscles in my
neck uncoil. The anxiety that normally hung in my chest like a lingering cold
was absent.