I was going out walking again.

It was October. Summer had come and gone, winter was acomin’ on, fall was upon us with the promise of sudden blasts of chilled air, so I took my knitted cap, wearing it against the weather, covering the top of my ears, reminding anyone who might pass by that where we were was mere months away from being ski country.

I reached the bottom of the hill just above Dunsmuir Avenue, the Main Street, when a sudden gust of frigid air rushed down the valley and blew my hat right off my head, up into the upper branches of the tall tree in the parkway.

I tried to jump and retrieve it, a futile gesture, an inadequate hop.

I took one of my walking poles and reached up. Too short.

I tossed the pole up accurately to dislodge my cap.

The pole caught in the branches and hung down beyond my reach, taunting me.

I threw my other pole to dislodge the first. It caught in the branches, the two hanging down like a pair of hangers on, the hat triumphantly above, all most sadly out of reach.

I turned and hobbled back up the hill, a discernable gradient.

I refrained from climbing the last bit on all fours, though it would have been easier on me, but would have provoked curiosity or worse from anyone passing by.

I reached the house, the steps, the porch, opened the door to confront the voice that said, “You look different. What happened to your hat and walking poles?”

My explanation prompted a quick trip down the hill in the car, a quick assessment with a measured eye, then back to the house, then back to the tree with our tallest ladder, propped against the tree trunk, to no avail, still too short.

A quick call to the fire department, the hook and ladder engine and a gathering crowd, cheering the retrieval of the rescued items.

The fireman, to universal applause, said half sheepishly, half with professional pride, “I usually rescue cats. This is my first hat.”

Safely back home, I wondered if I would ever venture out again.

I girded my resolve with courage, but swore next time I’d wear a different hat, one with a chin strap to obfuscate the winds.