We’re in the middle of Nevada. Well, not the middle middle. We’re in the middle of nowhere in Nevada. Specifically, though, we’re at Great Basin National Park. Neither K nor I have ever been here. It’s actually really pretty spectacular. Like those two adverbs in a row? I may be getting sloppy with my writing. Or it was intentional. I’m rambling. I should get to the point. These are supposed to be short.
What’s my point?
Oh right, for fun today since we’re here we hauled Sefton up to the tallest point in Nevada, Wheeler Peak. After a little scrounging, K found the summit register. In actuality, she found the mailbox where the register is kept. In it, there were a few water bottles, some pens, a sign that said, ‘Wheeler Peak, 13,063 ft.’ And the register, of course. After signing our names, we scrolled through the last few pages of entries.
While doing so, a thought occurred to me: No one is ever mean when they write in a summit register. There’s never anything hostile, or condescending, or racist. Never any gatekeeping. In contrast, there’s always words of gratitude, thoughts of joy, expressions of hope. And well wishes, like what Nancy wrote the day before we found her entry:
just shy of 70 years old
Peace be to all
Kindness & compassion
Right on, Nancy.