Mountain Memories

I have loved the mountains since I was small. My father worked for a big corporation, but one of those guys that got transferred a lot. The thing is I think he took jobs that no one else would take so it would allow him to rise up the corporate chain more quickly.
The thing is it allowed me to spend my informative years in the west. I know from photo albums that I went through the Dakotas. I think I remember seeing Mount Rushmore. I know I saw mountains. Some in the distance, some up close. Sometimes even standing upon them.
I remember going to Little Big Horn and all I saw was rolling hills. I barely recollect the river at Great Falls, but I do remember the home we lived in. It was in a new suburb then. I also recall the winter and opening the front door and seeing snow all the way to the top of it due to being blown against the house. It was still very deep, my head scarcely allowed me to see over it has my older brother pushed his way out ahead of me as I followed him.
The house in Billings was older. There I got stunk by bees a lot. One thing I did enjoy was watching the planes take off from the airport which was atop a plateau next to the city. I have never truly been able to return to the west for a long period of time since I grew up. It is one of those things I truly regret.
The last time was in the west I was on I-40. It was summer and it was hot. One thing that amazed me though was where sections of the interstate either in Arizona or New Mexico that were actually build upon lava flows. It is something that people never even think twice about, but it was totally fascinating to me.
But back to the mountains. My best memories of mountains were in Salt Lake. Once again my father purchased a home in a new subdivision. The mountains were right there. Every day they were there. I loved those mountains. I would walk to school and church looking at them. They were beautiful. I would play in the field behind that house. It even had a sand dune in part of it. I learned to understand why they said Indians would bury people in ant hills. A few yard from my backyard I came upon a huge colony. It had to be a good yard in diameter. It was a fascinating and exciting time. I can honestly say I was happy. The happiest I have ever been.
I know I can never recapture those days ever again. I do wish to at the very least try to revisit some of those memories as I make new memories. Memories I know I will carry with me throughout all my live as I have carried those memories of my childhood.

Trip to Grandma’s

There are things that just stick with you throughout a life. You can forget friends you once cherished. You can forget some places you have been. There are times though when something just glues itself to your memories. Something that is minor to other that are with you, but to you it becomes a building block on your personality.

One of these blocks for me was on a trip to grandma’s. Many of us had trips to a grand parent or parents. Then many of us have not had that opportunity, or their grandparents live close enough that within a few minutes your are there.

That was not how it was for me. Mine meant traveling for a couple of days. Traveling form the high plains of Montana to the lowlands of the Missouri River. Traveling through Montana, Wyoming, Nebraska and Kansas.

On one of these trips is when my memory was set, and the building block was formed. It is funny I do not remember how old I was exactly, but I must have been about six. It was a cloudy grey day that I am certain. The grasses of the prairie were yellow upon the rolling hills that surround the interstate we were traveling on. Back then seventy-five was the speed limit. For all I know it may have returned to the limit, since several states have ended the need to go fifty-five.

I was looking out the window setting behind my father who was driving, and as I did, I saw them. A herd of Pronghorn Antelope, they crested a hill and curved in over it and then started to run parallel with the highway. I do not know how long they did, but it felt like forever that they did this. To be honest it was most likely nearly two minutes. To watch these animals running has fast as our car and at the same time running up and then down the hills mesmerized me. Then they arced away from the road cresting one more hill and they were gone. I remember looking back trying to still see them, but they were gone.

Yet here I am writing this, and sharing it. They are here, and yet it has been a life time since they were here. It had made it where I love to travel upon the road. A goal I plan to pursue once I retire. A clock I am watching nearly weekly. In time, it will be daily that I watch this clock. Then I will be free to wonder the highways once again and look upon the beauties this nation has to offer. It is something I cannot wait to share.