“I climbed
across the mountain tops
Swam all
across the ocean blue…”
As we set
out for the mountain top that I wanted to stand on, on this Saturday morning, I
had already begun to reflect on the why’s, where’s and who’s that have dotted
my life. Great guy and I would also be marking three years together on this day,
and thinking about then and now had made me both melancholy and excited. Is
that possible? Life. What an adventure; just realizing that you have no idea
what or who lies around the next corner, but around that corner you should go.
And, now I had the boots.
My feet
were nestled in the finest Swiss hiking boots, and I had just met their maker.
I was standing in his small hiking boot and shoe repair shop, having just
decided to purchase the wildly reduced pair on my feet. While I was waiting for
great guy, this white-haired, white-moustached Grindelwälder told me stories
about his time working in Banff as a mountain and ski guide. Home! I was
interested.
In reply to
my question, “When were you there,” he answered, “Oh, it was a long time ago,
back in 1973. Gee, let’s see, how many years ago was that…” And as he paused to
calculate, I said, “Well, actually that was exactly 40 years ago. Today is my
birthday.” What a lovely reaction, as his wrinkled, bright, face lit up and he
offered me his strong hand and his warmest congratulations.
Boistered
by this sweet encounter, we arrived at First Alm, our starting point (no pun
intended). The sun hung sadly in the sky, worried about the impending clouds
moving in, but the fresh air was warm and breezy. The sound of the heavy cow
bells bonging from the necks of the alpi cows surrounding us in each direction,
was a steady concert. Like an entire chorus of bell players, whose soprano
section got lost along the way. I thought it was the loveliest sound. Music,
mountains, tiny purple berg tulips, a great guy and some alpi cows.
Perfect.
What
followed were ascents up 1000 metres, then steep, shale-covered paths down,
over rocky plateaus, and through green, misty valleys. The sound of cow bells
was our constant companion. About half way through our planned 6 hour hike, the
rain came. We had prepared for it, but after 2 hours of cats and dogs we were
soaked through. We took a bratwurst and apfelschorle break in a rugged, lonely
mountain hut, along with other wet hikers. Then we set out again into the rain
and wind.
Needless to
say, we were chilled to the bone by the time we got onto even the same mountain
as my cow. The cow. Lotti. And the alpi cheese. We still hadn’t found her or
her farmer yet and great guy was not eager (to put it mildly) to continue our
journey. I told him that there is no way that I have come so far and am so
close, not to go keep going and find her. I said he could turn around if he
wanted to, but I’m going to find my cow and get my cheese. It was my birthday
present.
“You see
the smile that’s on my mouth
It’s hiding
the words that don’t come out”
So, half an
hour later we finally came upon a very simple, bauernhof (farm) with a pen of
healthy hogs, two German shepherds, a dirty child and two stalls full of cows
in the process of being milked. It was 5pm. The milking hour.
We
definitely didn’t want to disturb…and I have to admit I felt quite stupid
showing up at this busy place where hard work is the constant norm, asking to
see a cow named Lotti. But, the young farmer, who this cow-renting program
supports, was gracious and kind and gave us a quick tour auf Schweizer Deutsch
(no idea what he said). He led us up the four, narrow, rickety steps, of a separate
wooden hut standing a few metres away from the big barn. The door opened into a
dark room with floor-to-ceiling shelves on all sides and a wide, circular scale
hanging from a hook in the centre. The smell was shocking, a bit offensive,
until I realized….cheese. On every surface was cheese. Huge wheels of cheese. Yummy.
The
reception from the five-year-old, milk-chocolate brown Lotti wasn’t quite as
friendly as her owner’s. She was busy. She very clearly didn’t care that I had
rented her, which she proved by standing with her face against the wooden
inside wall of the stall, backside out. Granted the milking hoses were attached
to her, churning out milk, and as my only frame of reference for such an
activity (breast-feeding moms) I decided to a) not take her photo and b) leave
her in peace. So I whispered hello; so that no actual Swiss person would hear
me, and then we headed back down the row of similar, rent-able milk producers.
As we hiked down the steep mountain path, wet and cranky, my 4 kg wheel of
cheese bounced along in great guy’s bag; it’s mild stench mixing quite nicely (at
least I thought so) with the damp, forest air. Can you be wet, cranky and
happy?
Back in our
little hotel room, with great guy already snoring softly beside me, I try to
reflect on the years behind me and think about how I should direct my future
(if I can). My body is still chilled and sore from the day’s activity and I can’t
seem to concentrate. I pick up a Grindelwald magazine lying on the bedside
table beside me and lazily flip through it.
“And all of
my friends who think that I’m blessed
They don’t
know my head is a mess.”
A photo of
the Eiger north face makes me stop page-turning. As I read the article about
the 75th anniversary of the first successful ascent of the north
face, I am inspired by the courage and perseverance of the teams who had tried
(and often failed) in attempting this feat. I keep reading; names like Harrer,
one of my favourite writers, or Kurz and Hinterstoisser, two Germans from the
town where my dad was born and whose tragic story was immortalized on film.
Then, the story turns local. To the first Grindelwald resident who in 1978
secretly; not wanting to worry his fellow mountain folks who had rescued and
recovered so many others in their attempt to conquer this mountain, scaled the
north face. Even weeks afterwards, nobody knew of his accomplishment, until
eventually the news trickled out through his family. He became a soft-spoken
hero and an exceptional mountain guide. The name rang a bell. Bohren. The photo
looked familiar. It was my shoemaker.
‘Story’
"Today may there be peace
within. May you trust that you are exactly where you are meant to be. May you
not forget the infinite possibilities that are born of faith in yourself and
others. May you use the gifts that you have received and pass on the love that
has been given to you. May you be content with yourself just the way you are.
Let this knowledge settle into your bones, and allow your soul the freedom to
sing, dance, praise and love. It is there for each and every one of us.”
