Edit Desk: Rediscovering mountains and the power of place

As a San Francisco local, I used to think it was ridiculous for people to drive up the mountain.

It felt unnecessary and ordinary to watch the sunset or the fog roll in the late afternoon. 

However, I forgot to consider the connection people have to a place, and how, when you stand on top of a mountain, you feel more powerful than ever. You feel grounded as you watch what’s happening beneath you.

I came home in June from being at school in Vermont. I was educated with the Green Mountains in the background. I learned to appreciate the importance of nature and the significance of the places we inhabit. 

Most of these things I didn’t learn in the classroom, and I was taught by the people and the culture of the state. I admired how people in Vermont cared about their mountains, such as Camel’s Hump, Mt. Abe and Mansfield. Each mountain had its own unique story.

I’ve always appreciated mountains, but Vermont emphasized my heed. Something about how still they are from far away, but they’re alive and breathing up close. 

Something about mountains feels so human — the names we attach to them, the stories we tell about them, mountains are omnipresent in humanity.

I was missing the stories I would hear about hikes and animals that people saw in the mountains. The stories of the natural world I would hear at home were bland and usually about spotting a deer.

I wanted to find a mountain that could tell a story. I realized all I had to do was look out my window in San Francisco to see a familiar sight.

It was hard to find beauty in the dusty brown and dark gray mountains in the middle of the city. Littered with cans and tagged with graffiti, the summit was a skater’s haven.

I was eager, however, for that feeling of connection to a mountain that I felt in Vermont, and for some reason, that place I was so pessimistic about was beckoning for me to explore. 

This past summer, I decided to start going to Twin Peaks just to experience it. I would sometimes go alone, where I could listen to my own music and have uninterrupted time to think. I would go with my sister, or pick her up after she ran to the top. I would never say no to when a friend asked to go, even if it was late at night and the fog shrouded the view.

As I pointed out each landmark in the city from the university to Market Street, I thought of how connected I was to this city. I knew it all, I could recognize each neighborhood and light trail.

Each time I went, the only thing on my mind was where I’d spent my last four years.

The steep windy grade up the hill reminded me of East-West Road in Dummerston, Vermont, a road that traverses a massive mountain with sharp turns and uneven pavement. Drivers are reckless on East-West Road, as they exceed the speed limit and loudly rev their engines.

With each turn that I lightly tapped the brake, a new memory of Vermont came into my head.

Thoughts of driving my friend’s family Volkswagens and Hondas through the dirt roads during mud season, my friends pumping gas and leaving the door open letting frigid air into the car, reminded me of how cold it is in Vermont.

And because I’ve experienced the Vermont winter, when we would get out of the car on the top of Twin Peaks and the wind whipped around the mountain, I was numbed to that feeling of discomfort, and I felt one with the wind. It reminded me that the mountain is alive up close, and that feeling is something special.

That feeling of standing on top of a mountain or just being connected to nature is unique, but somehow I had accessed it in an urban setting.

I stopped to think about what’s coming next.

I’ve lived away from home for years, but moving to a new place never gets easier. I like to think of my mountains, or places that have significant meaning to me.

Bethlehem, Pennsylvania, is different from anywhere else I’ve lived, but I’ve been able to find things here that make it feel special.

Just a few weeks into my first year here, I’ve already heard, overheard and told stories about the mountains. Something special about a mountain is that it’s not easy to get to the top of.

It requires dedication and care — a motive too. I’m looking forward to experiencing that struggle when it gets icy and watching as the leaves come back in the spring. I am excited to explore more of what the mountain has to offer, standing on top of South Mountain and feeling that connection.