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Mountain peaks, especially, are often shrouded in a mantle of cloud; their sides shrouded in a mantle of snow. But to the observant, listening heart, they are also shrouded in a mantle of mystery, a mantle of Spirit. And that Spirit speaks, and flows, and calls. Thirty miles north of our home, in White Salmon, Washington, Our Mountain, 12,307 foot, Mt. Adams, waits, and calls, and sends out her silent, inviting song. Summer, 1955: It has been written, Without dreams, even unfulfilled dreams, we should die.Our family was very much alive. And so it was really not unexpected that the dream of walking the nearly sixty mile, Round the mountain trail, should begin taking the form of a vision. According to U.S. Forest Service maps; there was an Around the mountain trail. And, the Forest Service people assumed us, dangerously, what we were to find, Oh yes, there is a good trail, all the way around the mountain. Ah, but the irrepressible optimism of the human spirit. This story chronicles the results of that optimism, optimism held by two pairs of very ordinary parents, and by seven, very ordinary, but vibrantly alive, young children. It wasn’t until we were well out on the trail, that that Spirit of the Mountain began to really stir the soul of this young, unpolished author, that here, indeed, was a dramatic, family adventure unfolding. So stay with this simple story, and travel the Highline Trail with us.
