VersusPosted: July 18, 2010
Well, friends, I’ve found it: the answer to life’s eternal question. It’s a query that has haunted humanity for ages, one that determines philosophies, priorities, and, yes, vacations.
You know the question I’m talking about: “If you had to choose, which would you pick—beaches or mountains?”
After a lifetime of searching I am now sure: I am a mountain person.
Sandy shores and ocean vistas are well and good—I’m from Alabama, home of the here-to-fore lovely white beaches of the Gulf Coast (Dear BP, thanks for the memories)—but after a summer in Colorado, I’ve moved on to bigger and better things.
I will always have a deep appreciation for leisure that involves book time stretched out on a towel. But one look at me will make it clear: this pasty white/freckled skin was NOT made for long exposure to direct sunlight. And spending an afternoon watching little kids build sandcastles leaves me more drained, bored, and hungry than anything. (And no, my 10-minute stroll down the beach was really not enough to work up the kind of appetite I prefer to indulge on vacation.)
But mountains…oh, glory. This summer we’ve lived a mere hour and a half (or two, depending) from the Rockies and I. have. loved. it. Most Friday afternoons have found us driving westward. Whether camping or staying with friends, the mountains are rest enough for my soul—even when the daytime hours are filled with exertion, hiking and walking and climbing and panting and, yes, stopping for rests and snacks and water and deep breathes and general awe. These harsh peaks are demanding of those who would reach the top (or somewhere close), but they richly reward each step. It’s the glory of the mountains that stills us and awes us, that makes me feel small and reminds me of One so much bigger.
But don’t take all this to mean I’m turning my nose up at any future invites (cough cough, parents) for beach trips. I may have declared a favorite, but I’m still up for exploration.