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Description: A Collage of Inconsequential Observations is a collection of essays written by Margaret Pate and published in 1993. This 68-page book includes humorous and insightful observations about life in Homer, our small Alaskan town. |
Excerpt: In Defense of my Mountains Some time ago we had visitors from the middle west -- Indiana -- and I was really excited to introduce them to our spectacular scenery. Having visited Indiana previously with my husband, I knew they would be overwhelmed by the beauty of our landscape in comparison with their flat rolling vista. You can imagine my surprise and chagrin when, after a few days, one of the ladies exclaims, " I don't see how you can bear these mountains! They are so forbidding. They make me feel really depressed." Now I have an ongoing relationship with these mountains since we first came here 37 years ago. They are the first thing I see in the morning and the last thing I see at night when I close the blinds. Plus they are there whenever I look up during the day. Since I had never felt the least bit overwhelmed, threatened or depressed, I thought I should reassess this relationship. On giving the matter some deep thought I had to admit that they were prone to playing tricks. Sometimes the first range of mountains is clear and well defined, with the ranges in the back just dim shadows. The next day (or even sooner) their positions could be reversed. They also shifted around sidewise somewhat. Looking at them every day, all day, I sometimes find there is a new, clearly defined peak in a spot where there previously was none -- obviously a joke to see if I am paying attention. My daughter's brother-in-law-to-be who had never been in Alaska was enticed up here with a glowing description of the mountains he would see from our south window. The day Tom came there wasn't a sign of a mountain, and they remained hidden in clouds until the day he left for California. It seemed like an obvious display of temper on the part of the mountains as Tom had been so reluctant to come and so unimpressed at the prospect of viewing our unique scenery. Sometimes the entire scene appears to have been cut out of cardboard, and to be ready to serve as a backdrop for some yet to be divulged stage play of cosmic proportions. In the spring and summer, the whole array of mountains combines to lure a person over there to play -- to climb up a ways, camp out, picnic, do a little fishing and beachcombing. Then there is the matter of the colors. I recently wanted to purchase a poster of the Spit with the mountains in the background. There were two being offered by two well-known artists, and I selected one because the other one used some shades of purple, and I commented from the depth of my knowledge that the shades of color should be blue, blue-green, a blush of pink, but never purple. To keep me humble, the next trip I made to the Spit, those mountains, and into the valleys and along the shore, were the exact shades used in the poster that I had rejected. At any rate, the bottom line is that come winter, the mountains do close in, but I feel protected. They close me and the world out, and that is to me a cozy feeling, and not threatening, depressing or overwhelming. So much for the opinion of the flatlanders. |
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