100 Days of Gratitude: Day 5

I grew up here in the Valley, but we moved around a lot. I went to 5 different elementary schools, in Mesa, Peoria, and Phoenix. My mom finally settled down so I could (thankfully!) go to the same junior high and high school here in Mesa. My dad also moved a lot (my parents divorced when I was 6) but he pretty much stayed in the East Valley (far East Mesa or Apache Junction).

As a result of all this moving around, I never really had that sense of "home" some people talk about. My husband grew up in the same house, and I've often wondered what that must be like. What's it like going back to a house you spent your childhood in? I have no idea.

However, something in my heart has attached that sense of "home" to a place anyway. That place is the Superstition Mountains.

Growing up, as I was learning directions (north, south, east, west) I didn't start at north and work my way around, I started east. Because that's where the Superstitions always were. East. And I always knew which way was east, no matter where I was and regardless of whether or not I could see the mountains. I always knew where they were in relation to myself.

I've periodically thought to myself that I'd like to climb to the top of those mountains. Except that then I'd have to actually climb to the top. I'm thinking that's pretty hard. I don't exactly want to climb them, I just want to be at the top. You know?

My favorite part of these mountains is the ridge at the top and in the middle:





Yes, this is an old picture from when it snowed a few months ago, and it's kinda dark, but it's the best I have of the whole mountain. Anyway, my favorite part is the top, just left of center. The ridges going around it look like a trail, but I have no idea if you can really get up there. Then down from there is that great big hump in the front. I always thought that whole area was connected, but no.

The other day I drove closer to this mountain than I've ever been, and I was amazed to discover I didn't know it as well as I thought I did:







Look at that great big gap between the hump and the ridges! I had no idea, and I felt like I was seeing this mountain for the first time. That it wasn't what I thought it was. But it was a good discovery. A sweet discovery. This is where I go when life is too much to handle and I just want to feel safe and comforted, and this day was no exception. This mountain eased my hurt the way it always does, but this time that was all mixed up with the wonder of seeing what I'd never seen before.

Then I noticed the gentle slope of earth leading up to that great, big hump. It felt close. Do-able. I wanted to get closer. So I followed all these little residential streets around until I got where I wanted to go, right smack dab in front of it:






As I got closer, I couldn't even see the ridges anymore! They'd completely disappeared behind the hump. (I'm sure these sections of the mountain have real names, but I don't know what they are. Someday I'll find out.)

I drove all the way to the end of the road, which pretty much ends in some person's driveway. I really wish I'd taken a picture of the house too. It was pink adobe (yes, pink, and boy did that throw me back to my childhood, because my best friend Tammy grew up in a pink house in Apache Junction, close to where my dad lived) and in front of the house was the grandest palo verde I'd ever seen. It had to be 100 years old, and had several thick branches swooping down to the ground in all directions, just inviting someone to climb on them.

Fortunately, no one was home so I was able to sit right in front of their house and enjoy this view:





Look how close I was! Look how gently the ground slopes right up to that mountain. Don't you think I could've walked up there? I really, really wanted to. In fact, I still want to. Here's what stopped me from doing it that day:

1. No where to park the car. I mean, this was in front of someone's house.
2. A barbed wire fence I'm pretty sure I couldn't climb without hurting myself. (You can see it in the picture.)
3. Being out in the middle of nowhere with snakes, scorpions and coyotes when no one in the world had any idea where I was.


So I didn't go. Later, I realized it was probably a good thing. I had sandals on, no water, and a dead cell phone.


But I may go back prepared.


Anyway, I sat there for a long time, admiring the view and wanting to get closer still. This is the view looking a bit to my left:







And a bit to my right:

Oh my gosh, gimmie!

So have I failed to come right out and say it today? I'm grateful for these mountains. I'm grateful for the way they pin me to a place and make me feel like I belong somewhere. In my heart, they're home.