On The Way, Home
We startle each other. Rounding a trail bend just after dawn, the bighorn is surprised to see me. And I him. Aptly named, ovis canadensis is. Those are BIG horns. The goal was to hike to the top of Sunset Peak by sunrise. Sunset, at sunrise. I thought that would be a productive and humorous solution to being awake at this hour.
Nature doesn’t get the joke. Irony is a human fabrication, and Mr. Bighorn doesn’t really care the doofus he is about to headbutt into an ill-fitting hospital gown is a kindred spirit. But we are. Grayslake High School Rams! Class of 1980. Ok, 1980 and an extra quarter of summer school English, but still a Ram.
Us ram friends both take a step back, so now about fifteen feet separates us. He lowers his head and I prepare for impact. The trick – learned through countless motocross crashes, kick returns that never worked on the field like they were drawn on the blackboard and the profession of my choosing – is to remain loose and let the energy flow through you. If you tense up, something breaks. Just as I’m reaching for my wallet so the insurance card is in my hand as I lay unconscious next to that boulder down there, he of formidable forehead looks to the right and walks off.
That’s the second bullet I’ve dodged in these eighteen hours of Mountain Daylight Time. The first was a pleasant no thank you to an interview invitation when the electeds offering the invitation started headbutting each other. Full-on, with lawyers and a judge. You can be a high-performing organization or a high-drama organization, but it’s near impossible to be both. I wish them well in their choice, but even with my at times outsized optimism, there are some things I recognize I can’t fix.
So it is back on the metaphorical and literal trail. The literal trail heads upward into clouds, so the planned Sunset Peak sunrise vista is more theory than reality. The interesting part – at least to me – is how sandy the top is. Flatlander that I am, I don’t understand small rocks on mountain tops. How do they get to the top? We never covered this in geology class, but I’m pretty sure the physics textbook did not describe gravity as optional. The top of Sunset Peak has this mystifying phenomenon, with sand - everywhere - that somehow has not been washed downhill. It might as well be a beach. A few marmots poke their heads out of holes to welcome me to their 10,648 foot high home. Nice piece of real estate, they have.
The metaphorical trail has its share of clouds, rams and marmots. The view isn’t always clear and there are surprises. But there is also no shortage of friendly folks along the way. You climb up, or amble over, or meander down somewhere, to somewhere some folks call home. Some places are instantly familiar. Green fields filled with corn. Red brick buildings. Perhaps, a Portillo’s. Other places have seashores, or mountainscapes, or vittles you haven’t tried yet. So you try them. And they try you, at least for a chat.
Home. It comes in many shapes, sizes, smells and elevations. Irony is a human fabrication, and one of those fabrications are city managers. Our job at its core is to make the community you call home better and, in doing so, sometimes we find ourselves on the trail of a new home. Where the trail ends, you can’t exactly know. So it’s important to test them out, and be sure to wipe your feet on the welcome mats you come across, lest you drag anything inside.
It is even more important to find home within your values, friends and family. In the end - whatever you do or wherever you may reside - home is the memories and love you carry with you on your trail.
