Above is a picture of my Dad in front of Ben Lomond. He loves this mountain. So do I. I was raised at it's foot and always felt that it was my benevolent protector. In Los Angeles I didn't have a mountain to root myself to.
Sunday, after putting up some new walls on the addition we went for a picnic with Tom and Kathy at the foot of my new mountain, Mt. St. Helens. I view this new mountain of mine as kind of malevolent in contrast to Ben Lomond's benevolence. Perhaps that is fitting. Ben Lomond was perfect for my youth; a grand, unmarred tor sitting like a king. Mt. St. Helens is majorly flawed, obviously, but she is recuperating nicely. The explosions of her past and the contiuning grumbles of her present mean she will never be the same. She is, however, turning into something new and equally striking. Perhaps because if their names, I always think of Ben Lomond as masculine and Mt. St. Helens as feminine.I have a mountain waiting for me in Scotland if ever we do retire there as is the plan. I want to be near Schiehallion. So beautiful. I envision having my ashes released at the peak so they blow across the Highlands. Perhaps I will settle for having my ashes set free at the rim of Mt. St. Helens. There is some poetry to in that: ashes to ashes and whatnot. No point to this other than I am happy to have a mountain again.