It's called the swing at the top of the world, and indeed it feels so. For just $1.00 per person, we climb a steep trail, land on a mountaintop with a flat space, where we find a simple zip line, a tree house, and four giant swings that swing out over the mountain in what becomes a calm, beautiful return to a childhood staple. The scene changes by the minute, even seconds. Misty clouds curtain the view; seconds later they begin to part and like a voyeur into the street or the courtyard, we get a glimpse of the incredible surroundings: jutting mountains, farms, cows, forests.
I am struck by its beauty. It reminds me of the Swiss Alps and am reminded of my father's love for yet another beautiful spot on this earth. Why is it that one mountain reminds us of another? Why does a boy named Josh on my school trip remind me of my son-in-law Tanner? Why do we try to familiarize the new, gather previous memories like a hen gathers her chicks, bringing them into one grand experience?
We are always in search of the familiar. People we are comfortable with, places that bring calm, voices that soothe. Grounding ourselves to this strange place, a short sojourn away from home.