A year after taking our 32-year-belated honeymoon in New Hampshire, my husband and I returned to celebrate the anniversary the way we increasingly seem to celebrate things: by walking uphill for hours.

We began July 13 with another climb up Mount Washington along the Cog Railway access road. The mountain gave us blue skies, virtually no wind and unusually warm temperatures.

It was almost too hot, which is not a typical complaint from someone hiking Mount Washington.

The clear weather gave us long views across the surrounding mountains. By the time we returned to the bottom, we were exhausted and ready for Lafayette Place Campground in Franconia Notch, where we had stayed during our belated honeymoon and on another trip with three of our daughters.

Then we discovered someone had taken our campsite.

After some frustration, confusion and discussion, we ended up taking the site those campers were supposed to occupy. Their assigned site turned out to be considerably nicer than ours.

The following day was deliberately slower. We relaxed, ate and prepared our packs for the hike up Old Bridle Path to the Appalachian Mountain Club’s Greenleaf Hut.

AMC operates eight high-mountain huts in New Hampshire’s White Mountain National Forest. All are reached on foot, and during the full-service season overnight guests receive a bunk, dinner and breakfast.

That was the part that fascinated me. There are plenty of hotels and inns with mountain views. Greenleaf is different. The hike is not just how you get there. It is part of the stay.

Old Bridle Path began pleasantly enough before becoming steeper and rockier. As we gained elevation, openings in the trees revealed increasingly broad views across Franconia Notch.

Then came the Agonies, the appropriately named steep pitches on the approach to Greenleaf.

We reached the hut about 5 p.m., as clouds moved around the building. We had climbed into them. After checking in, we had about an hour before the 6 p.m. dinner. The sleeping arrangements immediately made clear that this was not a conventional lodge.

The bunks were stacked three high in a shared room, with mattresses, blankets and very little personal space. There were shared bathrooms, composting toilets and no showers. The hut was surprisingly quiet overnight, aside from the occasional snore, which did not bother me. I am used to sleeping through train horns, loud televisions, barking dogs and plenty of household noise.

My husband and I may have been the only couple trying to share one bunk. It was a tight fit.

We also happened to arrive while Greenleaf’s regular “croo” — young adult staff members who manage, cook and maintain the Appalachian Mountain Club high mountain hut — was taking a well-deserved break. In their place was a seasoned relief group that included Libby Boghossian and her father, Paul Boghossian, along with several other helpers.

They were exceptionally friendly.

When my ankle began bothering me, Libby took the time to wrap it for me. It was a small gesture, but one I especially appreciated in a place where everyone still has to hike back out.

One of the younger helpers, a 17-year-old grandson of one of the group members, told us he had hiked Old Bridle Path when he was 4.

In flip-flops.

I had to laugh.

I have several children who have shown up for hikes wearing footwear that would never appear on anyone’s recommended gear list. We have had summer hikes involving shorts, T-shirts and snow boots, and plenty that began with someone wearing flip-flops.

Last year, my youngest even climbed Artist Bluff in New Hampshire in Dollar Tree flip-flops, which may be among the least mountain-ready footwear ever manufactured.

So a 4-year-old hiking Old Bridle Path in flip-flops sounded strangely familiar.

The dining room was where the hut really came alive.

Long tables were filled with hikers who had arrived by different trails and for different reasons. We sat beside people we had never met and soon began hearing where they had come from, what they had climbed and where they planned to go next.

Dinner was served family-style. Bowls and platters moved down the table. Someone passed the salad. Someone else passed the bread. Conversations moved just as easily, from trail conditions to weather to past hikes and plans for the morning.

That camaraderie became one of the best parts of the stay.

At a restaurant, you can sit beside strangers for an hour and never speak. At the hut, everyone already had something in common before dinner began: we had all climbed to get there.

There was plenty to do even without the usual distractions. Shelves held books and board games, and hikers gathered around the tables to read, play games and talk. The “croo” also kept a close eye on the weather, posting updated Higher Summits Forecast information from the Mount Washington Observatory as it became available so hikers could plan the next leg of their trip.

The relief “croo” helped make all of that feel welcoming and communal.

They introduced themselves, took questions from guests and explained some of what goes into operating a high-mountain hut. They cooked and served the meals, helped hikers and kept the place running while the regular “croo” got its break.

They also entertained us.

One skit encouraged guests to leave tips. Another demonstrated how to fold the blankets properly before leaving in the morning. The information was practical. The delivery was not especially serious, which was part of the fun.

The “croo” had also prepared a special vegan meal for us: salad, white bean soup, pasta with sauce and tofu ricotta, followed by chocolate cake.

Everything was delicious, and by the end we were thoroughly stuffed.

A large meal feels especially satisfying after climbing a mountain to reach it, and food takes on a different significance when you know how much work goes into keeping a remote kitchen supplied.

After dinner, the combination of hiking, food and an early mountain schedule caught up with us. We went to bed early, surrounded by other hikers settling into their own narrow bunks.

We awoke to a beautiful view of Mount Lafayette, with clouds rolling across the mountain.

From the tables outside the hut, we watched the landscape appear and disappear as the clouds moved through. A rainbow formed that morning, adding another layer to a view that was already difficult to leave.

Early that morning, my husband and I quietly exchanged rings and vows again.

There was no ceremony and no audience. A year after our belated honeymoon, it was simply a private moment between us in a place we had reached on foot and would remember long after we hiked back down.

A CHANGE OF PLANS

Our original plan was to continue to the summit of Mount Lafayette, but the forecast and a sore ankle changed that decision.

In the mountains, changing a plan is not failure. Reaching a summit is optional — returning safely is not.

Instead, we stayed near the hut long enough to enjoy breakfast and the changing view.

Breakfast included oatmeal with blueberries, raisins, walnuts and brown sugar, along with vegan sausage and a blueberry muffin.

Once again, everyone gathered around the long tables. Food was passed, conversations continued and people compared plans for the day ahead.

Eventually, we packed our belongings, folded our blanket as instructed and began the descent.

Walking away from Greenleaf, I kept thinking about how unusual the place felt. It had bunkrooms, a kitchen, bathrooms, running water and a dining room full of people, but everyone inside had arrived under their own power.

When the hut door opened, it did not reveal a driveway or parked cars. It opened back onto the mountain.

The experience followed us home.

I began making vegan versions of several recipes associated with the huts, including blueberry muffins, white bean soup with kale and broccoli, and a rustic bread recipe we found even though that particular bread had not been served during our stay.

The family loved them.

At Greenleaf, the “croo” had also served an oatmeal bread that everyone around us seemed to enjoy. We could not eat it because it contained honey, so I made a veganized version at home.

Everyone liked it, although the rustic bread remained the family favorite.

Greenleaf was our first stay in AMC’s system of eight New Hampshire high huts, but one night was enough to turn the huts into a new family project.

We now have plans for four of the eight this year: another stay at Greenleaf, plus Lonesome Lake Hut, Lakes of the Clouds Hut and Zealand Falls Hut.

Some of our sons are joining us for the return to Greenleaf as part of a birthday trip, while other stays will mark family occasions and give us a chance to experience different parts of the hut system.

Four huts this year. Four more to go.

AMC also operates three wilderness lodges in Maine: Medawisla, Gorman Chairback and Little Lyford. I plan to explore those, too, although they offer a different kind of experience.

The Maine properties are more like traditional wilderness sporting camps, with central lodges and cabins rather than high-mountain bunkhouses. Some can be reached by road during part or all of the year, while winter turns others into ski-, snowshoe- or dogsled-access destinations.

What stayed with me about Greenleaf was the combination of it all: the climb, the three-high bunks, the “croo” skits, the shared meals, the stories around the table and a quiet exchange of vows above the clouds.

Our belated honeymoon in 2025 was meant to make up for a trip we never really had as teenagers. Instead, it started something larger.

There are easier places to celebrate birthdays and anniversaries. Apparently, we are not very interested in them.

Rebecca Richard is an award-winning staff writer for the Maine Trust for Local News.