There is a mountain near my home. It is long and lovely, majestic and mysterious. I've known it since childhood even though I grew up in the flatlands surrounding Philadelphia. The name brings to mind the colorful language of the Native Americans who once hunted it before me. It is the Tuscarora Mountain.
When I was a girl, we used to visit my dad's family near Pittsburgh, and we would often take the turnpike and pass through the Tuscarora tunnel. My parents would call me to attention, the intriguing name rolling off their tongues, and I would watch wide-eyed as the dark, looming structure swallowed us up. I remember hearing the sounds of the family car echo off the tunnel walls. It was as musical as a train whistle, and the memory of it takes me back to simpler days when I had no worries and enjoyed the warmth and security of parents who loved me.
I saw my mountain again from a different perspective eight years ago. My own little family and I had been driving throughout the area, looking at some real estate listings. My husband's job was relocating him to the Harrisburg area, and we wanted to find a nice piece of land from which he could commute. Everything we saw that day was unsatisfactory, and we were beginning to lose heart. Finally, we crossed the river just outside a small town and took a state road that paralleled a mountain, which stretched as far as the eye could see. The sun was setting, and lovely pink and purple clouds were passing over the mountain. Something inside of me felt at home, and although we did not know it, a place was just about to go up for sale in that very same valley. It was just meant to be.
Once we moved into our lovely little house on 37 acres, I made it a goal in life to climb my favorite mountain and get to know its secret places. Other than a couple of trips during squirrel and then buck season that year, I did not get up. There was too much to do at home getting our farm animals established, building a bedroom in the basement for my son (The house had only two bedrooms, but we HAD to have that land!!), and helping my husband adjust to his new position at work.
The next fall, I had to be content again to view my childhood friend from afar. My second son was on the way, and although I had carefully planned to conceive in the summer so as not to be sick during deer season, my severe nausea and vomiting lasted well into autumn. I was fortunate enough to get out in the woods near the farm in time for deer season and took a nice three point on opening day after Thanksgiving. But I had no strength for the mountain. Nursing kept me limited to hunting our ridge the following year, and the year after that, my youngest child made her surprise appearance, bringing more illness. Oh, well. I told myself that when she was weaned, I would take up where I left off.
It was not to be, for severe allergies made my recovery impossible, and I would look at my mountain with deep sadness, for I had not the strength for normal life, let alone strenuous pursuits such as hunting and climbing. I had a different mountain to climb, and it was steep and unforgiving terrain. Would I ever be well again? Was I going to be a prisoner in my house forever?
My husband had his own mountain to climb during this time as well. The company for which he had worked for seventeen years was in the process of "downsizing," and an unscrupulous boss tried to set him up to dismiss him without severance. With my health so precarious, and medical bills mounting, I feared we would lose everything. My personal mountain was about to swallow me up.
The most frightening time came when I had series of ischemic attacks (numbness in my left arm and the left side of my face) from a decongestant I was taking for sinus pain. That drug, PPA, was pulled from the market a week later for causing strokes. It was almost a week too late for me, and the ischemic attacks left me with post traumatic stress syndrome and frequent panic attacks. Forget mountain climbing! I just wanted to survive until the next day! Looking at the mighty Tuscarora now made me cry for the life that I had once lived. Would I ever be able to even hunt again?
During the hard times in life, we must somehow draw strength from within. Fortunately, I have a strong faith in God, although it has been sorely tested, which brought my family and me through the tough times. My husband fought for and won his severance, and now has his own successful business. I have a good allergist (also a praying man, and a hunter!) who is working hard to get my life back to normal. I no longer have the panic attacks. I have learned to take each day at a time, for each day is a blessed gift (That is why it is called "The Present!").
I did manage to get to my mountain this year although it made me ill to hike up there. In time, the Lord willing, I will get stronger, and get to know the hollows and benches, all the deer paths and deer beds, all the escape routes. It is a beautiful place, so wild and rugged. It seems indomitable, but if you look closely, you can take a lesson from the wild creatures that call it home. The deer do not charge up steep, rocky sections but pick their way through the path of least resistance, up through the comparatively gentle slopes of the hollows, and criss-crossing along the benches. I think that's how I should tackle my mountain.
As I hunted the ridge behind my house this year, I took pleasure in the small accomplishments of hiking without losing my breath, of breathing without sinus pain, and of having the strength to accomplish the hunt. As I climbed to the top, one of my favorite Old Testament verses came to mind: "God, the Lord, is my strength; he makes my feet like hinds' feet, he makes me tread upon my high places." The words came to life as I followed the deer trails onward and upward.
I hope that next fall finds me hiking the Tuscarora again, but in the meantime, I will learn to live life to the fullest every day, despite my limitations. I have come to love my mountain and am grateful for the lessons it has helped teach me about life. May you have the grace to climb your mountains, and may God give you hinds' feet in high places!
