Category Archives: mountains

Moon Over Mountain Pass

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MOON OVER MOUNTAIN PASS

The birds have vanished into the sky.
Now the last cloud drains away.
We sit together, the mountain and me,
until only the mountain remains.

-Li Po (701 – 762) China

High Mountains Clear Autumn 1, by Terasaki Kogyo

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The poem as translated above I found in Czeslaw Milosz’s collection, Luminous Things, but there is at least one more translation, which goes like this:

MOON OVER MOUNTAIN PASS

All the birds have flown up and gone;
A lonely cloud floats leisurely by.
We never tire of looking at each other –
Only the mountain and I.

-Li Po

Which do you like better?

High Mountains Clear Autumn 2, by Terasaki Kogyo

 

Bitter Cherry

mountains, nature, ,

I told myself that I did not need to stop for wildflowers on my drive home from the cabin. I have seen plenty of them already to satisfy, on this trip and throughout my life — and I needed to make up for lost time. It always takes longer than I anticipate, to turn off the water, to turn the water heater to pilot, to leave the cabin clean for the next family members who will come. It was midmorning before I locked the door and headed out.

But my self did not listen. Only a few minutes down the hill and she insisted on stopping to notice exactly how tall the Ranger’s Buttons are this year. And then to get close up to the  most brilliant goldenrod ever. And so it went. She wanted to stop by a particular intersection where sneezeweed have been seen before, and they were there again. So she (that is, I) said hello, and remarked on how well they were looking, and blessed them. The gooseberries were so thick and red I could see them without even slowing down, and I wished that I had time, and a big bucket in which to carry some home.

The only plant I stopped for that I think was new to me was this tall shrub in the Rose family called Bitter Cherry or Prunus emarginata. I did stop to admire it and let Seek identify it. When I got home I read more about it. Some people say it is so bitter it is inedible, but others say it is usable for jam, if you add enough sugar. One person was trying to pick branches to decorate a lodge, but the bears had evidently arrived beforehand, and I guess they don’t mind the bitterness. The ones I saw were in their prime; after meeting them, I was content to leave further plant research for another time, but not without taking one post to share their beauty.

Gumdrop cannot be denied.

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The granite dome behind our cabin, which we  fondly call “Gumdrop” — Mrs. Bread coined its name — was calling me to make a visit this morning, and I wanted to set out early and eat my break-fast on its slopes overlooking the lake. But because it was such a chilly morning (I know it got down to at least 27 in the night), I waited to venture forth until the sun rose well above the trees.

I’ve written about my dome excursions more than once here, and I debated whether even to mention today’s outing, but I’m doing it for my own memory’s sake. And maybe a few other people also enjoy multiple pictures of boulders and scree and rock in the shape of a river. Visits to Gumdrop always feature treats other than the granitic type: sublime views that make you feel you are on the top of the world.

This time I reversed the direction of my loop around the base and shoulders of this exfoliating hunk of rock, and headed east when I got near, then south, counterclockwise. Every few steps I took, the view changed, and the pointy domes across the lake would be hidden behind trees, and then come back into sight.

I would never try climbing to the top of Gumdrop by myself; once my late husband did that, and he fell coming down and got a big gash on his arm. When you fall on a dome, you fall on rock — that’s all there is, and you could easily be knocked unconscious, or worse. But when I walk around the sides of it, I can’t help climbing upward, because it doesn’t have a flat bottom like a gumdrop candy, and around Gumdrop Dome some of its rocky slopes are covered with soil and trees. Today on the side where I first approached, I reached the limit of what felt safe. This next picture I took from that spot.

Majesty is the word that came to mind as I was thrilling over the grand scenes before me, whichever way I looked. As I braced myself on the slant, and looked out across the still lake, I could not even hear rustling of trees, or any hammering from cabins down below. For two seconds, a fly buzzed, and was silent.

Many features of the landscape are physically large, and majestic that way. But the smallest succulent or infant pine tree is huge in its brave clinging to life, on a rock.

I sat with my back against one slab, and ate a protein bar, drank a little water. I was the only human on Gumdrop; a few ants passed by near my boots. The lake glittered down below. All was quiet.

When I got back to the cabin after a couple of hours, I was looking for that Annie Dillard quote about why she likes mountains better than creeks. But I found this one first, which is particularly about the kind of mountain I like:

No matter how sophisticated you may be,
a large granite mountain cannot be denied —
it speaks in silence to the very core of your being.

-Ansel Adams

 

Mountain Sourdough

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When I was getting ready to come up here to my high mountain cabin for several days, I didn’t like the idea of leaving my sourdough starter at home with no one to feed it for most of a week. Then I realized, I could bring it with me. That is what is great about road trips — you have lots of flexibility and options. Every experience of air travel makes me love road-tripping more.

So I did bring my jar of starter, and along with it the likelihood that I would cook something with it, too. Because even if I only fed it every other day, it might outgrow the half-gallon jar I use. I didn’t want to have to throw out, or actually discard, the discard.

I really dislike the thought of throwing away good food such as sourdough starter, which is one reason I keep mine in a big jar, and why I have developed my current bread recipe so that it uses 1 1/2 cups of starter for one loaf. Many people use their discard to make pancakes or biscuits in between bread-bakings, but that is not convenient for me.

I didn’t have a plan for what I would cook, but I knew I could accomplish something like pancakes or even a loaf of bread without reference to a recipe, because I’ve had lots of experience adapting or creating recipes, and nearly all the results were at least edible and nutritious. Last night when I was browsing ideas for sourdough biscuits (which I made a lot of for a big family, but long ago), I ran across a recipe for flatbread, and as I’ve been wanting for a long time to experiment with flatbreads, I went with that.

Last night before bed I mixed the simple dough, of 1 cup starter, 2 cups flour, 1 teaspoon salt and 1/2 cup of milk. I covered it to further ferment overnight, and this afternoon made eight flatbreads with it, in a cast iron skillet. There was frost on the deck this morning, and it was 32 degrees when I checked at 7:00, so it was a good day for baking, whether in the stove or on top. And the first day of autumn. ❤

First I cooked them with a little olive oil in the pan. Then I tried each one in half a pat of butter, and the last few lumps dough I sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar as I folded and rolled them out, so that I ended up with a cinnamon sourdough flatbread. If I were to try this again, I might use water instead of milk, and hope to get a chewier bread; the cinnamon-sugar version wasn’t worth repeating. I’m already half-planning, though, that next summer I will bake a simple loaf of sourdough bread in the Dutch oven I saw in the cupboard.

Other than one pie I baked at the cabin, I have little experience baking at high altitudes; my son-in-law made a great pizza here at 8200 feet. Is it mostly cakes that are tricky, up where water turns to steam at 195 degrees? If any of you has personal  experience you’d like to share, I’d be interested.