Today’s guest post is by Eliana Osborn, who is a writer and everything else in Arizona. She blogs most weeks for the Chronicle of Higher Education about adjunct professor life at the community college level.
It’s so wet I can’t smell the sulfur of the volcano even though it is right ahead of me. Instead it appears we’ve been hiking for a mile down a gravel path, rainy season in full force, just to read about geological happenings. My four year old is a blueberry in his insulated raincoat, hood pulled tight. Strapped to my front in the baby carrier, Owen’s six months old and having the time of his life. He’s got a hat and a waterproofed nursing cover draped around him. I’ve got my purple North Face jacket open to shield his arms and an umbrella overhead.
As we stand at the edge of the abyss, all I see are clouds. Every so often though the fog lifts and a crater appears, striated with color and puffing little bursts of steam up to join the clouds all around.
“Should we try the jungle path for another view?” My husband can tell this isn’t the Costa Rican vacation I thought we were getting into. We’re here, though, so what else is there to do but hike?