I reached the summits above the 300th and 400th steps and stopped counting after that. As I got higher, the azure-blue sky began to wrap around the treetops, and I could see more hues of gold, amber, and burgundy. Juxtaposed against the peaks of the mountains they stood on, each tree appeared to be carefully and selectively painted there. Dark greens complemented cinnamon-colored leaves and fire-orange leaves adorned with bold yellow tips. The clouds appeared milky-white, resembling fluffy rabbit tails. Tall and thick elder fir trees that had fallen were now vertical logs covered in mushrooms and algae. Soft, green moss covered the tree roots and was scattered throughout the forest bed and up the incline. I heard the distant wail of a train whistle but had no idea where it was coming from. It sounded like it was about to run right on top of me! I felt a faint vibration beneath my feet on the rocky stairs and experienced a short-lived panic, as the word “avalanche” snuck in and out of my brain. Don’t be silly, I told myself, as I clutched my walking stick even tighter.

It was at that time that the lone female hiker ahead of me turned around and began descending down the steps. I got slightly discouraged when I noticed that she was ending her trek, and when she passed me, I almost offered to walk with her to the top so she wouldn’t give up. Sometimes, just another person with you on your journey helps, even if no words are spoken. “You’re not giving up, are you?” I said, but my words were drowned out by her earphones. I guess it’s not up to us how somebody else navigates their journey.

At the next summit, and just under 900 feet above sea level, I had discovered that I had finally surpassed The 1,000 Steps. I had done it. There were signs indicating the Mapleton Overlook, which offers a scenic view, and The Dinky Shed, where fragments of the old quarry rail and some stone quarry ruins still remain.

As I continued winding up and around the mountain, I was soon met with a large stone boulder. Stacked and layered sedimentary sandstone, the result of tectonic plate collisions that occurred 400 million years ago, was what I saw. The sharp and angular formation was made by erosion and tectonic folds that evolved after a time when that ridge was once a marine basin, completely underwater.

A little farther up the ridge and getting closer to the outlook, a young couple and their friendly pit bull passed me coming down, and the gentleman said, “Almost there!” Whew, I thought. I needed those words of encouragement. Dilly-dallying up the flat walkway and beneath pinecone-clad evergreens, the train whistle blared again, and I carefully made my way to the edge of the scenic vista. Two entangled squirrels fell from the tree boughs, wrestling each other for the ownership of a precious acorn, a rustle of fur amongst pine needles. Beneath me, and seeming to come out of the mountain itself, there puffed the long train. Snaking out beneath me on its tracks before splitting into a crossroads, the train laid the groundwork for the shimmering and awe-inspiring Juniata River Valley. It was then that the natural painting of the river, mountains, trees, and sky was complete. The sunrays emitted down across the ripples of the Juniata River, and the way the trees swayed in the wind looked like an enormous wave, a blanket made up of colors only reminiscent of fall, of harvest, and really made me want to drink some hot apple cider beside a crackling bonfire.

When the wind began to blow colder and I knew that sunset was approaching, I began my descent back down the mountain. It’s all downhill from here, down-mountain rather, I told myself. “Almost there!” I told passers-by, now understanding that those words of encouragement really did matter. I was met with a man coming up that warned me of a black snake around the 400th step. I thanked him for the heads-up and tightened the grip on my walking stick. To my relief, no snakes were spotted that day.

As the Allegheny forest began to glow with the golden sunset and my calf muscles began to complain, I prayed that my shaky legs wouldn’t give out. I stepped off the final step at the foot of the mountain, and placed my walking stick with the collection of others. “If you need it, take it.”

I needed this. I needed all of this.