There were no guests, and no photographer, and no music playing, just the wind moving through the pines and my daughter’s careful, deliberate steps.

When we reached the end, she looked out at the mountains and took a deep breath.

“What are we supposed to do now that we finished the path, Dad?” “Now,” I said, putting my arm around her shoulders, “we get to decide where we want to walk next.” That small moment became the beginning of a tradition.

Every year, on Rebecca’s birthday, Hannah and I choose a place in the state that neither of us has ever been, and we go.

Some years it is a hike up a mountain trail, some years a museum, some years just a new restaurant in town where we order dessert before the meal.