She lounged on one queen-size bed in the rustic motel room and stared at the ceiling. “Tomorrow we go back to the real world,” she sighed.

“What is real?” I said, echoing the plaintive question of the velveteen rabbit. For 48 hours we had hiked in nature. Ten miles on Saturday. Ten miles again on Sunday. Not bad for two women over 60. Was that not real? Was it not intensely real that first day when I summited the canyon toward the ruin, feeling famished and hungry and ready to break into my lunch in the shadow of ancient dwellings, only to turn and see that she had fallen 50 yards behind; short of breath, cold and clammy and at the same time hot and sweaty. She sat to rest and I had nothing to offer her but water – which she also carried. We soaked a bandana and mopped her face. That was real. So real that we altered our plans for the next day to take a less strenuous – but equally long-trail.

Was it not real thrashing through the undergrowth, hair and glasses and arms snagged in unwelcoming branches, just to find a secluded place to relieve myself? Earthy smells. Musty leaves, damp creek beds, cottonwoods, pinyon pines and junipers. These are not real? Blue skies and biting winds and being thankful for a hiking partner because there are places in Bullet Canyon you simply cannot boost yourself when you are 5’3” or even 5’7.”

“Is this the real world, or is it fantasy?” For two days we saw no one but the occasional avid hiker. For each other we acted as human hand rails, pushed, pulled and otherwise offered a hand; shuttled back packs, assisted in withdrawing snacks from top zippered compartments and intentionally went looking for solitude and beauty.

Cedar Mesa, The Bears Ears; this was the real world for the ancient ones. The place they raised their children, ground their food, set a look-out, struggled each day to provide and survive. And the struggle was real. Yet, for us, it is a place of restoration – her favorite place to get away on vacation.

Tomorrow we go back to the real world. Out of necessity we spend our days at the office. In the city. In a place where we struggle each day to provide and survive. We set a lookout for intruders and competitors. We perceive our real world as the world of a more advanced civilization, yet when we get away we escape to a more primitive world.

Two real worlds with the challenge of survival and provision and protection in common, is there not more to ponder? Is it a real world without Nature? Without Art? Without Music? Without relationships? We go beyond mere survival.

We build. We communicate. We make art. A very real world, indeed!