The First Mountain

LAS CRUCES, N.M. -- If the West has never been important to you, you won't understand this post. If it is dear to your heart, then it should.

Ever since I was a little kid, we have vacationed in the American West. We took trips to New Mexico, and beginning when I was 5, we made ski trips across I-70 to Summit County Colorado.

When you're heading east to west, it is flat. Forever. Flat. More flat. Flat again.

Then there is a magical moment when you see that first mountain in the distance. It is just a shadow, really. Sometimes you are wrong. It's just a cloud. But when you see that first mountain, it is impossible to be unhappy.

It was that way as a boy, and it is that way today. Driving out of Roswell, N.M., this afternoon, I looked up and saw the Rockies in my sights. I've been smiling ever since.

We moved to the mountains in 1992. I left the mountains in 1999, but they have never left me. I hope they never do.