Lessons

If clambering up a mountain tests one's stamina and fortitude, coming down is an exercise in canniness. Balance is the key; putting one's weight firmly down on the right rock or ledge is the challenge.

As I stood on the slope of Sandwich Mountain in the morning sun, I calculated at each new turn how to negotiate the pattern of stacked boulders, or to navigate the huge chunks of toppled granite toppled hurly burly from the top, or just how much to slither down over bulging stone brows to find footing.

 Stretching one's legs, dropping one's center of mass a little down but also propelling it a little forward, trusting friction and momentum enough but not too much, it's easy to slip or overbalance. The rock may teeter; I may totter. When it does bad things can happen. And I was alone.



How beautiful it was on the Black Pond Trail as I came down through the gnarled spruce and fir that clung like wool to the slope. The wind blew ceaselessly over the summit above me. The patterns of light and shadows were exquisite. The massive rocks had a presence which made me aware of mine.

As I finally stood and looked around after lowering myself carefully, sometimes backwards face to the rock or sliding on my butt, I'd find myself with another problem to solve, a whole new aspect of the mountain to engage with. I wasn't shy to hold on for balance to the stiff but pliable tree boughs that protruded into the space of my passage. In fact, often I hung on hard.

First there was the zone of crags, dry and rough, then the zone of water heard trickling deep in the ground and issuing in slippery, mossy runnels, and after that the zig-zag jump and stride down to the pond.

Lessons? Ah, yes. Well, it occurred to me as I picked my way that life's journey also presents us with these special problems of progress: should I go there to the left? is maybe the best course beside me on the right? should I hang on and swing around this way? what's the next step after that? how should I launch?

And sometimes, in the midst of these calculations, to lift the eyes and see how beautiful the shapes and shadows, wonder about the depths of the crevasses, admire the light on the water on the moss tucked into the crack in the rock, feast on the vision laid out below and away of forest and hills, more forest, more hills.

When I got back home and stopped by the Memorial Day garden party, I didn't say any of these things to you, name-brother, when you asked about the scratches on my legs and head. You called me fortunate for being able to walk in, spend the night on top (in a moose yard) and walk out--at my, our, age.

'You're in good shape,' he said. 'I know it. I can't take credit,' I said, 'but I can take advantage, and I will.' I answered as I showed him pictures of views from the top, and movies of rustling leaves and falling water.  It's beautiful, I told him. Every little while, it's as if you're in a new place; one journey, but a succession of scenes. In each, the world and I have a new relationship.

The conversation veered to the subject of religion, triggered by the word 'Obey' on my wife's hat. Obey whom and regarding what, you asked. God?

I thought back to the mountain of the morning. There's no choice about coming down (I'm not a hermit) but doing it is thoroughly engrossing. Perhaps it's also a bit like getting older: many little adventures in coming down. Uh-oh, too glib a moral that.

What I didn't tell you either, Peter, was about how I fell into a foul mood as I walked out to the road. I'd left Beebe river which had been companioning me with its pleasant purling conversation, and started down an old logging railroad right of way.

Somehow I got diverted onto a power line right of way thick with scratchy bushes, muddy morasses, and hot, to boot. Somehow I'd lost my tent poles (snagged out by some bush I suspect). Somehow the people I'd seen lounging at the pond were there ahead of me when I got back to the right path (which would have been obvious if I hadn't been overthinking.)

What an impression I must have left as I pushed by, angry faced, shoelaces untied, straps dangling, sleeve of my fleece tucked behind me hanging down one side. I was thirsty, but punished myself by not stopping to drink until I got to my car two miles down the road. You would have laughed at me, and yes, I was ridiculous.

I guess, and you could have told me, that lessons come in every flavor, sweet and sour.