Dad and I were working on the 2019 calender, and seeing the pictures of past trips out west caused the wanderlust bug to bite, and bite hard.
Whether the Ozarks of Arkansas or the Rockies of Colorado, neither are immediately accessible from the Casa, their prescence is still consoling despite the fact that they are many miles of flat, grinding interstate to reach their refreshing slopes. They comfort us with the knowledge, that should the heat or ennui down here become unbearable, we can escape and within two days be in the refuge of the mountains, those islands in the sky protected by the sea of the deserts surrounding them. Just the knowledge that refuge is available, when and if it’s needed, makes the roaring inferno of city life a bit more bearable.
A person can be a lover and protector of wildness without ever leaving the confines of the asphalt; we need a refuge and a dream even though we may never need to go there, or ever have the opportunity to set foot there. I may never in my life get to Mongolia, but I’m grateful that it’s there, as stories of others exploring her desolate places both provokes and drives me. We need the possibility of escape as surely as we need hope, as it was hope of such escape that sustained me during my time in the crate.
And it can be the same as some of you face your own grinding miles during the coming week.
But mountains take many forms, and for us, you, the followers of this page, are mountains in your own right; we may never actually meet in this lifetime, but the world is a better place just knowing that some people are in it, and you are those people. As dad saved me and I in turn saved him, you saved us by responding to the message and giving us a purpose. The mountains complement the desert as the desert complements the city, and my wildness is complemented by the necessity of civilization.
We all have a purpose and a calling; don’t let the desert of coming week roast yours from you, for there is beauty even in the most arid landscape; the thorniest cacti sometimes protect the most beautiful of flowers.
And there’s always the hope of the mountains…