We managed to get away to the mountains for the weekend. We actually made it up every weekend in August, which is surprising because with the move to OC and the added distance I was afraid we'd visit infrequently.
If we were prudent we should've just given up our little cabin. We can barely afford one household, let alone two. And at the depth of the recession we came close to pulling the trigger. But at the end of the day, we simply couldn't do it and the reason we couldn't do it is simple: It's become our sanctuary. It's amazing what a brief escape to the mountains can do for the soul.
There are the obvious benefits, the seclusion, the peace and quiet, the fresh air and the scent of pine, the wildlife, the deer and the squirrels and the bears and the raccoons and the streaker...
Yes... streaker.
Most summers the worst we have to contend with is the occasional marauding bear, but this summer has been different. This summer there's been a middle aged man stalking unsuspecting villagers in the nude and "waggling his wienie", to borrow a phrase. It's been amusing more than anything else, although you'd hear talk in the store of the possibility of it escalating, maybe even getting violent.
Violent?
With what?
Not many places to conceal a weapon and from eyewitness accounts he wasn't packing much of anything anywhere else. The whole thing would've petered out (pardon the pun) soon enough with the coming change in the weather, but it appears the perpetrator may have inadvertently outted himself. The sordid details are pretty hysterical, and I would guess pretty libelous were I to spill them, so I'll say no more. Suffice it to say that if there's a lesson to be learned it's that you shouldn't hit "send" when you're three sheets to the wind. But I digress.
In addition to the obvious delights of living in the mountains, there are the completely unexpected joys. Chief among them are our friends. When we bought the cabin we never expected to meet many people since so many of the population are also weekenders. But I think it's safe to say we have more friends on the mountain than we do in town.
And then there are the simply magical qualities, at least for someone raised in the suburbs of LA.
First would be summer thunder storms. Growing up in OC and living in LA, it is rare to get any weather that you cold refer to as "dramatic". But watching a storm form from nothing in the early afternoon and darken the skies until it suddenly just bursts is something that still mesmerizes me. We had a couple of storms two weeks ago that just erupted in a downpour. The temperature dropped 25 degrees in 20 minutes and we got nearly an inch of rain in less than an hour. Thunder that shook the house and blinding lightning... I love it. Although, the lightning did touch off three small fires, which is no small deal in the middle of a forest. Luckily, the next day's storm snuffed them out.
But by far, for me, the most magical thing about being in the mountains is... night.
Real night.
Total darkness.
You think you've seen total darkness, but you probably haven't. Light pollution from even a medium sized city will throw enough of a glow up to obscure the night sky.
But in the mountains... pitch black.
Which can be completely unnerving at first. But once your eyes adjust, the heavens open up above your head. I've never seen so many stars in my life. You can actually see the Milky Way, a river of stars. Two weeks ago, we had the Perseid meteor shower which was just stunning. This weekend, as I gazed up from the deck I saw a satellite go by. And when the moon comes up, it turns everything into another world. Staring out on the universe gives you such a peaceful, serene feeling. It makes it seem like everything is going to be OK.
