Mountains

I've always loved the mountains. There just seems to be something spiritual, mystical and powerful about them. It's as if they want to take you into their arms and love you. Like parents that take a small child into arms of strength and security. I suppose some people feel that way about the ocean. It has power and purpose also. I spent a good deal of my adult life on the ocean though and can tell you from first hand experience that the sea can be and is benevolent at times but can more often be that harsh mistress you hear of than lofty peaks are. Mountainous areas can have their treacherous faces as well but somehow, I always felt better prepared for the surprises they offered.

I've been to lots of places on this earth. I've seen and traveled in mountains of such diverse character that you wonder why a generic term like "mountains" covers such a wide variety of geologic formations. Some are barren for the most part and it is amazing to me how life thrives in what appears to be an area akin to a moonscape. The magnificence of the Rockies with their transitions from one life zone to the next. Lush valleys, verdant forests, above treeline. They are almost overwhelming in their presence. Volcanic ranges with peaks that continually send up smoke signals, telling the world that they are awake and very much alive. I've seen Vesuvius, Etna (which was actually having a very minor eruption while I was there), St. Helen's, Baker, Redoubt. Beautiful and awesome in the physical power they present. For all of our technology and early warning capabilities, there is really nothing we can do with a volcanic eruption but live through it. Volcanoes are exempt from man's dominion. As much as I do love all of the mountain regions I've visited, my favorites are the Appalachians. I'm from the Southeast and though I never lived in the Great Smoky Mountains, my family visited there often when I was growing up. Maybe that's why I have such an affinity for them.

Our trips were mostly for a couple of weeks at a time but to me, it seemed like I was coming home when we got there. The air was cool and fresh. The people always so friendly and open. Things seemed slower there. Food tasted better there. Certainly, we did tourist things on these trips. What boy child wouldn't enjoy Ghost Town in the Sky. Everyone in period cowboy clothing, gunfights in the street, saloons and Can-Can girls. Gift shops with all manner of trinkets designed to remind you of your trip. Live and wooden Indians (Native Americans) dressed in traditional clothing. Traditional native dances and stories. These things were all great but the best part, for me, was the mountains themselves. We would take long hikes through the forest, ever climbing upward, to be rewarded with views that were just magnificent. Sometimes the tree leaves were green below, sometimes a tapestry of color. The waterfalls, some large and some not so large seemed to invite you into the coolness of their bounty. Looking back, I see it now as if they were saying "I bring you water and life". There were times when we would stop by the side of the road and fill mason jars with spring water that flowed down from the rocks. It was cold and good and we had no fear of bacteria. Never seemed to have any effect on us other than refreshment. I used to love taking my shoes and socks off and walking in the rocky streams, fishing or looking for fish. I don't think I ever caught any but that wasn't really the point. Some days, we just drove in and around the area we were visiting. Old log cabins that appeared to have been standing for a hundred years. Roadside stands that sold fruit, vegetables and honey. Local people wearing overalls and old gingham dresses. Men sitting on the porches of old stores playing bluegrass. My dad often liked to stop and talk with the men and I'd get to sit and listen. They just seemed like nice folks to me. Now, as an adult, I wish that I could talk with those people who had so much knowledge of how things were there, both then and in their past. I realize now how hard life might have been for some of those mountain folk. Struggling to get by. Doing the best they could with what they had. I suppose they are all gone now.

Though most of the time we stayed in motels while visiting, sometimes we camped out. When we did camp, it was mostly in the national park camp grounds. That was okay with me. We had the smell of wood smoke and food cooked over the fire. The bath houses (when we had them) were convenient and there were other campers to talk with. It was always fun to swap stories of things we had seen and done during our visit. I always wanted to stay near the stream so I could hear the babbling and burbling of the water. The sound reminding me of quiet chatter and laughter. The stream passing by, aware of the people in the campground but not concerned with them. Absorbed in it's own existence.

Much has changed there over the years. Air pollution has become worse. I don't believe that I would drink water straight from the rocks anymore. All manner of people have moved there from all over the world. It's a lot more crowded now. I don't suppose you can blame anyone for wanting to live there though. The mountains there are still beautiful. Still peaceful. There is still the sense that the mountains want to embrace you. In this fast paced world we live in, I think most people want to find a location to settle that offers comfort and peace. Out of the rat race.

Usually, when we look back at things in life, we see with much more clarity than we do in the present. Foresight can be a wonderful thing when you have it. Today, I'm wishing that I'd had enough foresight to buy land there so many years ago. Not for any kind of financial gain but to have that quiet cove to rest in until my time comes. Who knows. It could still happen. If so, maybe I could live long enough and gather enough lore about life in the mountains to pass on to someone that would be interested. Keeping truth and legends alive for another generation or two.