The Mysterious Mountain

It's impossible to call anything in our modestly hilled corner of the world a mountain, but the families who used to live in the valley we hiked in yesterday had big imaginations. This corner of the state is wild and thinly settled, thanks to a huge reservoir project that destroyed several local villages back in the 1960s and cut the area off from most main roads. And the hillsides are strikingly steep. So mountain it is, and there's a mystery attached to it.

At the top is a strange circle of large limestone blocks. Some claim that this particular type of limestone hails from a county dozens of miles to the south. They also believe that you can see beveled edges and the marks of primitive tools, and that the stones are all that remain of some Stonehenge-like sacred complex. I don't know about that, but the stones do stick out, even in the snow. They appear out of nowhere and are unlike anything that occurs naturally around them. They seem to attract our charming local elf-worshiping, mushroom-ingesting hippies: There was a varnished piece of cedar leaning against a tree with the inscription: "Here lies Artemis, killed by tree-dwelling land squids." (This appears to be a reference to the Earth's projected future masters, the squibbons.) To top it all off, there's talk that the mountain is haunted.

That wasn't my impression when we were up there. Sure, it was very, very quiet. Snow fell and barely a breeze stirred. But to me, it seemed like one of the most peaceful, nurturing places I've been to in a long time. If it had been sacred to people many, many centuries ago, I understood exactly why. Even in the winter, the place felt filled with life.

So it was good that we went there, because I noticed some significant spotting that afternoon when we got back home. I wasn't too surprised, but naturally (as I know you all can understand perfectly) disappointed. Suddenly, I wanted to drink. I wanted to pour myself a glass of wine. But instead I made lemon curd, one of my guy's favorite sweet spreads, to put on the bread he was baking. I had some good dark chocolate. I didn't fall too far.

Today, the Red Army is marching, but I'm hanging in there. I'm scheduling my hysteroscopy and lap with a surprising feeling of confidence. That mysterious mountain, I keep thinking, is still out there, right now. The snow that covered its flanks so beautifully yesterday is melting. But we'll return there. And something, someday, will change.