Yesterday was finally the day I got to linger and enjoy looking far into the distance from the top of Mt. Moosilauke. The summit is broad and open, and sitting to the west of most of the White Mountains, has spectacular views of the Franconia Ridge and all the mountains beyond. Every other time I’ve hiked to the top of Mt. Moosilauke there has been some sort of unfavorable weather to deal with — mist or scattered rain or snow, and most often hard wind that makes it too cold to stay at the top for long.
Yesterday was warm, sunny and bright, with little wind and no bugs. This was the Moosilauke hike I’ve been waiting for. I hiked with a group of friends and we spent a long time at the summit, enjoying the view, the fair weather and the satisfying stretch of our muscles after our first serious hike of the season.
But even when the views were near rather than far yesterday it was beautiful. The rivers and brooks we crossed and hiked along were running clear over speckled rocks, glinting in the sun, and there were beautiful flowers along the trail — trout lily, tiny white violets and trillium. There was also a broad bush with lacy white blossoms we couldn’t identify. When I look at the ridges of the White Mountains from any summit I can name the peaks. When I look at flowers in the woods I want to be able to name them too, so I looked up the flowering bush — hobblebush viburnum.
I’ve been thinking about view and perspective a good bit the last week, because I’m taking a break from working on the memoir. Having spent three months working through several drafts, I can’t see it as a whole piece right now. I can edit individual sections and see where a word or phrase or sentence needs to change. But I’ve gotten too close to be able to see how the pieces work together and whether those pieces make sense as a book. Time to step away for a bit and see if I can come back to it with a wider view.
Getting to the top of Mt. Moosilauke on a sunny day, enjoying the trailside flowers and tumbling water along the way, was a good lesson in perspective.
Grace Mattern 