I was 14 years old when I saw my first mountain, and it was instant love.
I was born in Dallas, Texas, where the tallest thing for miles around was the flying red horse atop the 29-story Magnolia Petroleum Building, which at the time was the tallest building west of the Mississippi. I was probably never more than 35 miles from that horse until I was invited to take a vacation to California with my aunt and uncle, who wanted me along to babysit their 2-year-old daughter.
I still remember the exciting, albeit hot, August ride across the desert on Highway 66 in a brand new red and white Oldsmobile – with my uncle’s heavy foot on the accelerator pushing it to go 100. But it was the mountain views in Sequoia National Park that stole my heart away. I think I knew then that someday I would live in the mountains.
And I did.
For over 25 years I lived in the shadow of Northern Utah’s Wasatch Mountains, most of that time spent at the base of 9,570-foot Mount Ogden. Now I live in the shadow of the Catalina Mountains, more specifically at the base of Tucson’s 9,171-foot Mount Lemmon.
I thought about this as I looked at the mountain from my new home this morning. In the crosshairs was a landmark known as Finger Rock. If I were younger, I know I would have already hiked the trail up to it. I heave a sigh thinking this, but life moves on and so am I.
Meanwhile, although I loved the views of Mount Lemmon from my nearby third-floor walk-up apartment that I had to abandon for something a bit more accessible for an old broad, I seem to have gained as much as I lost – and I am blessed.
Pat Bean is a retired award-winning journalist who lives in Tucson with her canine companion, Scamp. She is an avid reader, the author of Travels with Maggie available on Amazon (Free on Kindle Unlimited), is always searching for life’s silver lining, and these days learning to age gracefully.
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