There wasn’t another living soul as far as she could see, in front of her or behind her, when Fatema Rangwala spotted the boulder perched over the glacier she had to cross.

The rest of the trekkers in her group had moved far ahead. They were still days away from the base camp of K2, the second-highest mountain in the world -- and the most dangerous.

Rangwala looked at the boulder balanced atop a peak and wondered if it would come tumbling down and crush her as she tried to pass under it. She sobbed as she trudged across the harsh, barren terrain -- cold, exhausted and alone.

What had drawn this 54-year-old Pakistani American mother of three on such an inexplicable adventure?

She has run a Kumon tutoring center in Clayton, Missouri, for more than three decades and is far more adept at coaching math facts than scaling mountains. In fact, she had never climbed a single mountain -- nor hiked for more than a couple of hours -- before embarking on this 20-day excursion toward K2's base camp, a destination 16,896 feet above sea level.

“It was not on my bucket list. I’d never even thought about it,” Rangwala, now 62, said.

One of her childhood friends was arranging a trekking trip for a group of Pakistani physicians from California, and she convinced three of her friends to join them. The adventure went far beyond what Rangwala could have imagined when she agreed to it.

Getting to the starting point required a treacherous eight-hour drive at night, in an open Jeep, cutting tight corners around steep ledges. There was no rescue or phone service along that route, where just days earlier, a bus had fallen over an edge. The group started out with 18 hikers, 40 sherpas and several horses, mules and goats. The day they arrived, an avalanche fell, bringing down camping gear and sleeping bags -- likely from unlucky visitors who had been buried under the snow.

They faced unpredictable weather and difficult, rocky terrain with the Indus River raging through the area surrounding the mountain. One night, a horse lost its footing and plunged to its death. One of the experienced trekkers didn’t use a hiking pole, and he slid and fell. He had to be carried away on a stretcher. Rangwala hiked eight to 12 hours a day and slept in a tent in below-freezing temperatures. The other women held a shawl around her for privacy when she had to use the restroom. They did not bathe for 14 days.

Every day, Rangwala said she faced numerous challenges that could have easily resulted in her death.

“After a while, you leave it up to God,” she said. “If you’re not supposed to make it, you’re not going to make it.”

“What am I leaving behind in this world?” she asked herself. Beyond her successful adult children and business, she wondered what her legacy would be.

As they got closer to the base camp, the weather worsened. A blizzard created whiteout conditions. Rangwala was nearly ready to give up when the skies cleared. On the last morning of their ascent, they could not get out of their tents because the zippers had frozen overnight. When they finally got to Concordia, she saw the entirety of the spectacular and savage mountain in front of her.

“You suddenly see it,” she said. “It was really stunning.”

The adventure pushed her beyond what she believed she was capable of doing.

Sometimes, we deliberately choose the path we want to travel. Other times, we go with the flow, and the path chooses us.

Rangwala made a poster about her trip for her Kumon students. She couldn’t resist sharing a lesson with them: No matter how daunting a task is at first, if taken one step at a time, it will surely lead to success, she wrote. More importantly, she told them, achieving one goal makes the next one easier to attain.

Three years later, Rangwala decided she wanted to trek to Everest's base camp. Her friends had no desire to repeat such an arduous experience.

So, at 57, she joined another expedition.

I met my 6-week-old nephew for the first time inside a silver Honda SUV parked in front of a weed shop.

I had been yearning to hold my newest nephew. I asked my sister-in-law, the lovely woman married to my youngest brother, to bring their baby to an airport in Houston where I had planned a two-hour layover. I knew she was on maternity leave and that they lived nearby.

I’ve thought a lot about the relationships between uncles and aunts with their nieces and nephews, probably because I’ve lucked out on both sides of that equation. This feels like the most uncomplicated family relationship. It’s so easy to love the children of our siblings: There’s a shared emotional bond without any of the baggage from having grown up competing for parental attention or household resources.

My brother is the youngest of six siblings, and I am the eldest -- we are separated by 16 years. When he was born, my parents had just opened a small business about 60 miles away from our home. During the summers, I was in charge of my five younger siblings, including the baby, from the early morning hours until my parents returned late at night.

My brother was born with complicated medical issues, and I understood the gravity of taking care of his needs. He became my primary responsibility when many of my peers were interested in partying and scoring joints. I didn’t resent it for a minute, though. Some people are baby people, and I knew from a young age that I was one of them.

He was a sweet and captivating baby. I have no memories of him crying or whining. Once, I carefully placed him on my bookshelf next to the stuffed animals and dolls and took a picture. He was indistinguishable from the toys surrounding him.

My own children are now young adults in college. Their babyhood seems like a magical blur. Given their generation's tendency to delay getting married and having children, becoming a grandparent seems like a far-off, hazy dream, still out of focus.

But one of the benefits of having so many younger siblings is a boatload of nieces and nephews.

It may seem silly that I inconvenienced my sister-in-law with my airport request since I would have met the baby a few weeks later, anyway, when we descended on my hometown for the holidays. But I think she knew how deeply I missed being there when he was born. I had met several of my other nieces and nephews very soon after their births, but this time, prior commitments prevented me from visiting sooner.

So when an opportunity arose in mid-November, I switched a direct, two-hour flight from another city to a six-hour connecting flight so I could stop in Houston and meet him. (I asked my sister-in-law before changing the flight.)

My baby cravings were that strong.

My sister-in-law happily obliged and picked me up from the airport. We drove to the nearest strip mall, since we didn’t have time to go anywhere else before I had to board my next plane. I put on a mask and doused my hands with Purell. She lifted the baby out of his car seat and placed him in my outstretched arms.

When I held him, I became a teenager again, holding my infant brother.

My brother was born with an immature epiglottis, which prevented him from breathing or swallowing on his own. He stayed in the hospital for a month. He had a tracheostomy, which allowed him to breathe, and came home with a g-tube that delivered formula directly to his stomach. Doctors predicted he would never breathe, eat or live on his own.

He grew up to become a doctor. He married another doctor. And now, the fragile baby of my childhood has his own robust child. One day, I will tell this child about his dad’s miraculous recovery.

When I cradled my nephew in my arms, I saw my youngest brother’s big brown eyes and "wizened old man" expressions. I held him in the backseat, feeding him a bottle of pumped breast milk, while patrons of the pot shop staggered in and out.

I took a deep inhale of his sweet baby smell.

All too soon, it was time to buckle him back into the car seat. The next time I see him, he will be 3 months old.

I caught a fleeting moment of his infancy in a surreal encounter.

It reminded me of the babies I have nurtured and loved, and of the immense beauty they bring into this broken world.

Kids ran across the dark field behind the mosque toward a pile of trash. They had to quickly decide if an egg carton belonged in the recycle, compost or trash bin. Then, each one ran back to the kids waiting to continue the relay race.

“We need to go one at a time,” Nawal Abuhamdeh called out over the noisy din of about 40 young children. “We cannot have chaos!”

It was a little chaotic. Then again, it was the first scouting event to combine several newly formed troops from the St. Louis area.

In January, the girls in Abuhamdeh’s Girl Scout troop were heartbroken over the killing and devastation in Gaza. They started a bracelet-making fundraiser to help with urgent humanitarian needs for children trapped in the relentless bombardment.

Abuhamdeh, a Palestinian American mother of four, had seen Girl Scout fundraisers for other war victims. But in this case, the regional council sent her emails saying that the activity violated their policies. The troop was ordered to remove all Girl Scout branding from their flyers or face legal action.

Abuhamdeh shared her experience with the Post-Dispatch, and it quickly attracted international media attention. The troop's bracelet campaign raised nearly $26,000 in donations for one of the worst humanitarian crises in the world. Within days, the national Girl Scouts organization apologized for the regional council’s legal threat. Still, the council's treatment led Abuhamdeh’s troop to disband from the Girl Scouts of Eastern Missouri.

But Abuhamdeh, who had led her daughter’s troop for five years, wasn’t ready to give up on scouting.

"I valued Girl Scouts so much because I saw the skill development scouting offers," she said. In a small WhatsApp group she shared with three other local moms, she wrote that she wanted to find a way to keep her daughter’s troop going.

“We are ready,” responded one of the moms, Melissa Saunders. “Just lead the way, and we are coming.”

Saunders’ oldest daughter became a fourth-generation Girl Scout when she joined Abuhamdeh’s troop in second grade. Saunders, her mom and grandmother were all part of military families, who moved frequently. The troops she belonged to growing up were all Christian and white. She wanted her children, who are also of Pakistani heritage, to have a sense of community.

She was upset by the “bracelet fiasco,” as she described it.

“As Muslims, it just felt like another hit,” Saunders said. But then, the support started pouring in from around the country and the world. More than 100 Girl Scout troop leaders signed a petition in support of their fundraising activity. Abuhamdeh, who had felt isolated and scared to speak out about her views growing up, did daily news interviews for two weeks straight. She received so many encouraging emails and letters, some of which included checks for the girls to keep up their activities even after disbanding.

“It restored my faith in humanity,” Abuhamdeh said.

She opened a bank account and reached out to an attorney about starting a nonprofit: Salam Scouts.

She figured she and the three other moms would each lead a troop. Then in July, she received a call from another mom, who had heard about the new Salam Scouts troops.

“I’m in California, and I have a group of moms who are not going back to Girl Scouts, and we need something to do,” she said.

Abuhamdeh decided to take her fledgling scouting group national. They had volunteers interested in starting troops in Texas, California and Michigan. A couple of educators in California offered to help write the curriculum. They would unveil one new badge a month.

They’ve already got 21 troops in four states with 176 children registered and many on waiting lists. They are actively recruiting more volunteers to lead troops.

Saunders, who transitioned from a Girl Scouts leader to Salam Scouts, said that the experience of leaving a large, established organization to start something new taught them all valuable lessons. Despite any difficulties, none of the moms say they regret the decision to leave the Girl Scouts.

“There really is good in everything, and you just have to find it,” she said.

Yumi Ota grew up in Japan and came to the United States as a graduate student. She knew Abuhamdeh before the bracelet controversy began. She saw trolls doxing her online, posting her and her kids' personal information and calling her a terrorist.

“Instead of running away, she decided to step forward,” Ota said. “She created something positive out of that hate and attention.”

Two of her children have now joined the Salam Scouts. Ota was inspired by Abuhamdeh’s resolve: “It shows the Palestinian spirit.”

Abuhamdeh’s dream is to see the organization continue to grow.

"I want to be in every mosque, every Islamic school, every Muslim community," she said, "so there is a nationwide network of troops, and we equip them with the skills they need to be leaders."