Now
see, Ed, I couldn’t have climbed those mountains, not on testosterone alone,
anyway.
I did
climb Mt Fuji when I was young, a last family trip before I left home for
college. It was beautiful and
inspiring on the way up but disappointing at the summit, to discover a small
temple and half a dozen noodle shops.
I think the god they prayed to was called Commerce. You don’t see it climbing up, but
there is an unpaved truck route for vendors. A couple of young men going up at the
same time were carrying their 10 speeds so that they could ride the other side
down.
Mt
Fuji is supposed to be a spiritual experience, of course, so travelers are
accommodated. There are rest
houses every 1000 meters for hikers, and we spent the night in one of them,
sharing tatami space with about 20 people, eating a very simple peasant rice
bowl. The last 100 m was small
loose lava rock, difficult to keep your footing, but since it was August it
was mostly a physical education event than a death-defying experience. Still, it was the only time I have
ever stood on earth and looked at a large airplane flying below me, putting
mankind in a different perspective.
Nowadays,
hormones in check, I am content to live at 785 feet and an hour’s drive from
Timberline Lodge at Mt. Hood, who looks like a close relative of Mt. Fuji, and
see her profile when the clouds give way, or as the locals say, “the mountain
is out today”, or when it is especially crisp, “It’s a three mountain day”
when Mt. St. Helens, Mt. Hood and Mt. Bachelor can all be seen at once.
As
Brad acknowledged, in my childhood I was taught to look up for inspiration,
even if the discovery is not always what I anticipated. Now in middle age I can still look up
for inspiration here in the Pacific Northwest. I miss the wide enduring sunsets of
the Oklahoma plains, I miss the warm Gulf waters off Galveston Island, I miss
the gentle foothills of the Great Smokies, and the crisp ocean breezes and S.
California sun, but here with mountain peaks in my daily horizon, it helps me
to see Mt. Hood perched elegantly as a focal point, so that I know which way
she is no matter where I am.
Regards,
Karen
