From the summit of Mt. Ida our little town lies below us like
a child’s play village. Main and Court streets intersect at the bank and
courthouse. Clay points out the ball field behind our Junior High School. I see
myself among a gaggle of friends walking down the steep, concrete steps of the
old school, then parading toward Main where we turn right at the bank and
invade Roses Five and Dime. It is a coke float afternoon.
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| Main Street of Marion and Mt. Ida |
The soda fountain is a civilized place of clean
counters and bright lights. Clay and I have abandoned civilization and summited
the wilderness at the south end of Main.
We look down on what we left behind. Across the low hills, the steeples and
smokestacks of our town, Hawksbill, Table Rock and Short-off Mountain form the
eastern escarpment the wild Blue Ridge. To the northwest loom the deep purple peaks
of the Black Mountains. As twelve-year-old
boys of five-foot stature, we stand on high ground and survey the wilderness of
our imagination. We are pioneers born two centuries too late.
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| Black Mountains |
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| Hawksbill |
In the dwindling light Clay and I leave the summit and turn
down the southwest slope away from town. We come to an opening in the forest
with a view of the landscape on the backside of the mountain – no play village,
more forest and a few open fields. “Hey, this is like the frontier,” I say.
“I’ll bet no one has been here before.”
“Huh?” Clay looks puzzled.
“We’re the first to walk on this side of the mountain.”
Clay points off to our right. “I think I see a house down there, and a
road.”
My eyes cannot avoid the rooftop and a ribbon of asphalt
curving over a hill. Disappointment. “Well, that’s way over there. We’re probably the first to walk this side of
the mountain.”
We walk a few minutes further and come to a large mound of
sawdust and a pile of scrap timber – the remnants of a sawmill. Clay looks at
me and grins.
“Well, WE’ve never been HERE before,” I say. This is our
personal frontier.
We walk back toward the top of Mt. Ida and find a level
piece of ground, pitch our pup tent and rake a fire circle. Before darkness
settles over the mountain we build a campfire. We unfold the tinfoil our Mom’s
had wrapped around frozen patties of ground beef. We slice potatoes, carrots
and onion and lay them on the ground beef, refold the foil and place them in
the embers at the edge of the fire. The foil packages sizzle in the fire until
we guess the meat and veggies are ready to eat. It is an imperfect process, but
adequate for 12-year-old pioneers who like their food greasy and accept its
burnt and raw variations. We are adventurers capable of cooking our own food on
our own fire. We were unafraid of the darkness, until the firewood is gone.
It is a mostly sleepless night. Trees creak and moan in a
moonless breeze. Critters scurry through
the dark leaves. We whisper about foxes, bears and snakes. Periodically, we
search the forest with our flashlights, but shadows hide the sounds. Late in
the night the moon rises. Leaves rustle again only a few feet from my ears. A
breeze, or something, moves through the tops of the pines. Then stillness and silence . . . and then,
from the tree canopy above our tent: “Whoo-whoo-a-whooooo”. Nothing moves, not
the wind, not the trees, not the shadows or the leaves. Clay and I lie quietly
on the hard ground and finally . . . sleep.
The next afternoon we return to our little town, weary and
hungry and full of tales to tell of our expedition into the wilderness.
I remember this as if it were yesterday: two boys pushing
out the boundaries of the known.
Even in Meriwether Lewis’ time the continent was only
unknown to some. The history that children read tells a portion of the continental
story. In this case, our history acknowledges the help of Sacagawea but we miss
the irony of a young woman carrying her infant and guiding the frontiersmen
through the supposed unknown – she so young and tender, they so strong and
durable. Trailblazers are born of partial knowledge and help from those who
know. Trailblazers fill the informational gap in what the ignorant do not know. Their courage ushers in new knowledge.
Within each mind there is a frontier. Curiosity, skepticism
and courage precede learning.
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