The Significance of A Lost Hat

Something happened last weekend on our trip to Fort Ebey. At the time it seemed fairly insignificant in the grand scheme of things, but now it has taken on great meaning to me. I lost my stocking cap. My favorite hand-knitted, Red-Heart, wheat-colored, with little flecks of blue and red and yellow hat. I must have dropped it along the trails as we hiked down to the beach. It was very hot that day and I was sweating. I took off my jacket and wrapped it about my waist and tucked the cap into a pocket. It was only when we returned to camp that I noticed it was missing. But I was far to weary to retrace our steps that day. The next day I took a shortcut down to the beach and searched high and low among the driftwood and kelp. But it wasn't there. It was probably somewhere along the grassy bluff, or maybe a gust of wind had blown it into the water. I hated to leave without it, but it was time to go.

You see, this hat was my 'doggin' hat. The one I alway wore when out with Koda in cool weather. I thought it's nubby texture and wheat colors matched her beautiful golden coat and her rugged beauty. I know you might think me silly to have coordinated my hat to my dog, but it somehow made me feel cozy inside and well-just happy. We were a pair, she and I, and it felt good to look the part.

After my sad parting with Koda this week, I'm glad I left the hat back there. Right in the place where my friend and I had last walked happily together. This is the place I'll choose to leave my memories of her. Where shocks of golden grasses wave to the sun and where the ocean touches the horizon. That hat, somewhere along the trail, will be my tribute to my dear, dear canine friend.

And today, after having taken the past few days to grieve, I've decided to pick up my knitting needles and to make a new hat. I'll pick rich, happy colors as a symbol of good days to come, and of the time that once again, with a new canine companion I'll don my hiking boots and hat to walk the forest trails and the rugged Northwest beaches. Yes, I am still very sad. Yet I know that 'weeping may endure for the night, but joy cometh in the morning.' So I'll take my time to knit that hat, knowing that as meticulously as I weave the yarn together into a beautiful and useful garment, so my Father is taking up the threads of my life and  binding up my ravelled heart-carefully  fashioning a life of beauty and meaning in me.

Thank you all for your kind words and thoughts.  It means more than you can imagine.