60 Nickels • Notes from the Mountain No. 19

For as long as I can remember, a nickel has meant something special in our family. When my mom was a little girl growing up with her grandparents, the neighbors would pay her a nickel to shovel snow from their driveways. It was hard work, but she was thrilled to earn that nickel. A nickel could buy a big pile of candy from the store down the street.

Even today, at nearly 83 years old, she still gets excited when it snows because she "gets to" shovel. As soon as she's finished, I'll usually get a text asking, "Do I get a nickel?"

Of course she does! So I immediately text her a picture of one I have saved for such occasions and we laugh.

Over the years, the nickel reference became one of those family things that probably made no sense to anyone else, but meant everything to us. Whenever my brother, sister or I did something that made Mom proud, we got a nickel. It didn't matter whether it was something small like finishing a task or a major accomplishment like winning the Nobel Peace Prize. To her, both deserved exactly the same reward.

Getting a nickel from Mom was a really big deal.

Looking back, it's not hard to see where I learned how I wanted to move through life. My mom has always been one of the kindest people I've ever known. One of the things she always says is that you have to believe most people are doing the best they can with what they have. You don't know their circumstances, their upbringing, or what shaped them into the person they are today. So you have to start with understanding instead of judgment.

My mom listens. She encourages. She has an incredible way of making people feel seen and included. If you've ever been lucky enough to meet my mom, you know exactly what I mean.

Those are some of the qualities I've always admired most in her. Without ever thinking much about it, I came to believe that if you're fortunate enough to be able to help, encourage, or simply make someone feel valued, you should.I always thought that's what being "rich" meant. And I suppose those lessons followed me into Mountain Goat Soap Co., too.

I've always wanted this business to be about more than what goes into the box. I care about what it feels like when you open it. I pack every order like I'm sending a present to my mom. I choose samples that I hope you'll love. I try to give a little more than you expect. And if something goes wrong, I want you to know I'm listening and that I care about making it right. I want the people who have supported my business over the years to know that I notice...and that it matters.

I think my Mom taught me that part, too.

This year I turned 60. For my birthday, my mom came up with an idea that I never could have imagined. Without telling me, she contacted my brother, sister, sister-in-law, my son, daughter-in-law and my husband. She asked each of them to write short notes about things they remembered me doing for them over the years.

She collected sixty of those memories, printed each one on a little folded card with a picture of a nickel on the front, hand-glued sixty actual nickels onto a board in the shape of the number 60, and sent them all to me. She told me something was on the way and made me promise I would call her the minute it was delivered and that I wouldn't open it in advance so she could be on the phone while I did.

When it arrived, she told me I had to open the flat package first.

It was the "60" in nickels. That made me laugh. Then I opened the bag with the notes....

I cried through most of it. So did she.

Some of the notes described moments I remembered immediately. Others were things so ordinary that I'd completely forgotten them. Most weren't grand gestures in the sense that they were big or expensive. They were simply little moments that had stayed with someone else for years without me ever realizing it.

The things we think are ordinary are often the things other people remember forever.

What moved me most wasn't reading about the things I'd done. It was reading how those moments had made people feel. They were the ones that said I listened. That I didn't judge. That I made people feel valued. As I read all of those words, I realized those were the very qualities I'd admired most in my mom my entire life. If they're true of me, it's only because I had an incredible example to follow.

After I finished reading all sixty notes, I sent a message to everyone who had written one. I told them, and not trying to sound morbid, that it was the greatest gift I'd ever received.

Because the truth is, most of us don't get to hear what we meant to the people we love while we're still here. We save those words for eulogies when we could have shared them over the phone, around the dinner table, or in a handwritten note. So if there's someone in your life who quietly helped shape the person you've become, tell them. Tell them about the little thing they probably don't even remember doing. Tell them they mattered.

And Mom...Thank you for every single one. It took me sixty years to understand what you were really giving me. ❤️

P.S. And Mom...when you read this, I already know exactly what's coming. A nickel...and the crying emoji. ❤️😭

From the Trail:

A short reflection inspired by the outdoors.

"Not every mark we leave behind is one we can see.”

More soon,

Dianne

Bring the outside in.