In Flanders Fields

In the Spring of 1915, John McCrae was stationed as a medical officer at the Second Battle of Ypres. Amidst enemy fire, he and his staff cared for hundreds of wounded soldiers each day for seventeen straight days. The day after his closest bud was killed by an exploding shell, McCrae sat on the back of an ambulance, within sight of the new grave, and wrote In Flanders Field.

In Flanders fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses row on row,

That mark our place; and in the sky

The larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

Loved and were loved, and now we lie

In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:

To you from failing hands we throw

The torch; be yours to hold it high.

If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

In Flanders fields.

As you probably know, trench warfare was the most common way of fighting during World War I. There were times when armies would fight eight and nine month long battles and lose hundreds of thousands of men and women just to have the fronts move merely a couple of miles. Soldiers would be ordered to suicidally climb over the top of the trench just to get mowed down by the enemy's machine guns. The area between the opposing trenches was called no man's land, and was often filled with the dead and decaying.

It was in this place where the beautiful poppies would bloom, and paint the battlefields beautiful shades of red-orange. It would be these poppies, protruding from the same ground that contained so many of their fellow soldiers, that would serve as the only glimmer of beauty and life to those still left to fight. I like to think about how trying and dark fighting in this war must have been, and what a contrast those poppies must have seemed, knowing that there was at least some bit of beauty stemming from and existing amongst the chaos.

Mt. Baldy

So my cousin Dusty and I decided to climb Mt. Baldy on Tuesday.

The sun finally came up after we had been on the trail for a couple of hours. We pretty much had the mountain to ourselves the entire day.

What a stud. We got distracted and climbed a pile of rocks on the way up.

The view from the top. 10,064 ft. The highest point in L.A.

Do you want to see where my house is?

The Far Side of the Mountain

You see. I'm standing at the bottom of this mountain. I have to climb it. There's no summit though, not from what I can see. It's endless. The clouds are thick up there, and I don't know how far up it goes, and what it looks like towards the top. I don't even see a trail, where to put my first steps. I've tried walking in a couple of different directions, and always end up right back at the bottom of the mountain. Some days it'll feel like I'm making progress, but soon I find myself going in circles, or hitting a big massive slap-in-the-face kind of dead end, and once again am returned to the bottom of the mountain. What I would really like to do is stay here. Find myself an open meadow with a fresh creek running through and build myself a nice little cabin, where I can hold on to familiarity and the comfort of what I already know. Of what I can see in front of me, of a sure thing, even if it means missing out on the views and experiences and triumphs that come with making it to the top and on to the other side. I know I can't linger though. The option isn't even there. I've climbed similar mountains before, though none this big, none this treacherous or demanding of will, none with the promise of such a different landscape on the other side, more beautiful and free than anything I've ever experienced. At least that's what I believe, and I have to, because it's that belief and that hope that keeps me searching, that doesn't allow me to sit and be stagnant on this side. I'll make it to the top, first because of that promise for the future, but also because I have to, no matter how much I'd like to believe otherwise, there's nothing left for me here on this side. Nothing. If I could only fully believe that, I'd be on my way so much quicker.

Mt. Aspiring, my favorite mountain in New Zealand