Each day when I go out to a park with TFOE I see a snow capped mountain standing alone, towering in the distance. At one park it is the famous Mt. St. Helens, which was so impressed with my tenth birthday that it exploded, showering debris on Portland about 75 miles away. The very concept of being able to see a geological feature from 75 miles away is a magical thing for me. In Butterfurlong Farmhouse in England, where I spent my teenage years, you could look out on the biggest geological feature for miles, the chalk downs of Dean Hill and Pepperbox Hill, which I could walk up in twenty minutes. The shear size of things in the Pacific Northwest still astonishes me. I live in a place with mountains!
But the real wonder in this land of wonders is Mt. Hood. My fondest memory of my early childhood is of my father tucking me into bed at night and reading Tolkien's The Hobbit to me before I fell asleep (complete with voices). The quest of The Hobbit is to reach The Lonely Mountain and steal the dragon's hoard from under his nose. This story has bewitched me for my entire life, and I live in a place from which I can see the real Lonely Mountain. I've lived here for eleven years, and still regularly stop in awe to see a fantasy story from my childhood in undeniable, real existence. Something I will never cease to treasure.
1 comment:
Ah, yes. Mount Hood. Inspirer of many strange conversations about the nature of time. Jangler of nerves for perception-impaired hikers. Forger of friendships.
Nice post, my friend.
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