“The mountains are calling” is more than a cliché.  For me, it’s a reality.  

In the warm summer breeze across the lake, the wind atop a mountain, or the crunch of pines below my feet, I hear a voice say, “Isn’t this beautiful?  We are so lucky!” It is the voice of my mother.

Since 1941, my mother’s family has spent every summer camping in the Adirondack Mountains. I was nine months old when my mother first took me, along with her four other children, camping.  We stayed in a big, green army tent, down the way from our grandparents, aunts, uncles and cousins. For weeks, we would share in the simple pleasures of the wilderness: climbing mountains, hiking trails, sliding down waterfalls, and swimming in clear, cool lakes. We played Scrabble on the beach (Grandma always won), built sand castles, picked blueberries and (begrudgingly) did chores.  At night, we sat around campfires, singing tunes from the 1920s. Four generations of my family marveled at the beauty of every setting sun, every shooting star, and every glorious moonrise. Before her early death at the age of 53, my ever grateful mother would say, “Isn’t this beautiful? We are so lucky!” And lucky we are!  

Today, my cousins, siblings and I still bring our children to the mountains, where we share the joys of a simple life, under a thousand slumbering pines. There is a profound sense of peace that flows along a babbling brook as the words of my mother reverberate through mountain cols. At the summit of every mountain, the wind gently kisses my face as it whispers to me.  My mother’s words prevail. And the mountains are calling.

Patty Cooke

Guidance Counselor

Webster Schroeder High School

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