Christmas Day, Quietly

Christmas Day, Quietly

Christmas Day usually comes with a lot of noise: people, obligations, and someone’s opinion about how you should spend the holiday.

So I did the sensible thing. I took my dog down a dirt road and disappeared into the woods for a while.

This wasn’t one of those dramatic, cinematic hikes where the sky opens up, angels sing, and you discover a waterfall shaped like your destiny. It was quieter than that. Better than that.

It was a “let’s go be alone on purpose” kind of hike.

The best feature: silence

We started out walking down a dirt road and, honestly, the solitude was the best part. No crowds. No trailhead circus. Just that steady winter hush that makes you feel like the world finally turned the volume down.

I got to just walk. Breathe. Listen. Let my brain settle.

The kind of calm you can’t buy at a store because capitalism hasn’t figured out how to package it yet.

Mushrooms, technically

A few mushrooms showed up along the way, which always feels like a little treasure hunt, even when the treasure is… underwhelming.

These weren’t the kind that make you stop and take forty photos from different angles like a proud parent. More like:

“Yep. Mushrooms exist. Carry on.”

Still, spotting them made the forest feel a little more alive, like it was quietly reminding me it’s doing its own thing whether I’m there or not.

The brush picker van

At some point we passed a brush picker van, which is one of those sights that tells a whole story without anyone saying a word. Someone out there was working on Christmas, doing whatever job needed doing, and for a moment the holiday bubble popped.

Not in a bad way. Just… real.

The world doesn’t pause because it’s December 25th. People still go about their lives. And somehow that made my own quiet hike feel even more deliberate.

Lunch at the gravel pit lake

Eventually we turned around and made our way to a gravel pit lake, where we stopped for lunch.

Gravel pit lakes are weirdly beautiful in that “humans messed with the land and nature shrugged and made it pretty anyway” sort of way. We ate, looked out over the water, and enjoyed that stillness you only get when nothing is demanding anything from you.

And then, because it’s the Pacific Northwest and reality hates predictability, it started raining.

Rain happens. Goals happen too.

The rain came in while we were at the lake, the kind of steady, honest rain that doesn’t care about your plans. It’s not dramatic. It’s not angry. It’s just there.

So we did what you do: adjusted, kept moving, and accepted that this was the weather we got.

And somewhere in the middle of all that, I hit it.

364 miles.
My hiking goal for the year. Completed. On Christmas Day.

Not with fireworks. Not with fanfare. Just a quiet moment on a dirt road with my dog, rain starting to fall, and the satisfaction of knowing I did the thing I said I’d do.

Back to the car, back to life

After that, we headed back to the car, damp and content.

It wasn’t a huge adventure. It didn’t need to be.

It was the perfect Christmas hike: solitude, a little wandering, a lake lunch, a few unimpressive mushrooms, and a goal met in the middle of ordinary weather.

Goal met. Miles earned. Christmas survived.