I remember the mixed feelings I had about moving away from Montana. I love the state of my birth. I saw myself as a person of the mountains. I thought that I would always live there. I wrote stories and poetry about the places I loved: little-visited waterfalls and remote lakes that could be reached only by backpacking. I delighted in natural wonders: hot springs, glaciers, snowfall and spring flowers. I found joy in the high country and nothing soothes me to sleep like the sound of a rushing mountain stream.

However, the education we wanted to pursue was simply not available in Montana. There are no theological seminaries credited by the Association of Theological Schools in that state. Our college grades were good enough to earn us a place in a good graduate school, so we limited our search to the three places in the United States with clusters of graduate theological schools that allowed cross registration: Boston, Chicago, and Berkeley. When we were accepted to Chicago Theological Seminary and offered fellowships our search ended. We had several mentors who had graduated from that school. We left for Chicago with the promise to ourselves that we would work summer jobs in Montana. Nine months in the city and three months in the mountains. Although the pay was not as much as we would have earned in other jobs, we became managers and cooks at the church camp in the mountains where we met and where I had gone every summer of my life.

There was genuine disappointment when upon graduation there were no congregations in Montana searching for recent seminary graduated. Accepting the call to two congregations in southwestern North Dakota. Our new home was 75 miles from the Montana border and definitely not in the Mountains.

The surprise to me is that I not only fell in love with the people, I was stunned with the beauty of the place. Where we lived we could see the weather coming hours before it arrived. The drama of summer thunderstorms was awe inspiring. I quickly found places where I could stand on a hill and look around seeing no human-erected structures other than a fence line. The wind in my face was invigorating. Fields of sunflowers, each blossom facing the same direction were magical. I quickly felt at home amidst the prairies and cattle ranches. The area where we lived was the place where the last truly large herds of buffalo roamed and it was the land where the last tribes to be forced onto reservations lived before the final waves of homesteading. The community where we lived was young - only 75 years old. We moved into the face of the looming farm crisis that brought hard economic times to the region and forced people to seek community that they could build themselves. It was a good time to be a pastor on the prairies.

We almost got our chance to move to the mountains with our next call. After our North Dakota Years, we received a call to minister to a congregation in Boise, Idaho. Boise was a city and I have never been much of a city person, but Idaho has dramatic mountain scenery. Boise sits at the very northern end of a great desert basin. The annual rainfall is very slight, but 25 miles from town you are up in truly dramatic mountains covered with lush forests. In Idaho I was able to return to my mountain roots, but I also became familiar with the beauty and natural diversity of the high desert.

And then we moved to South Dakota, our home for 25 years. As a Montana native, I couldn’t let myself fall into the local way of calling the Black Hills mountains. I persisted in calling them hills. What I couldn’t deny is their amazing natural beauty. Our home was near a pine forest half way between the church and a reservoir where I loved to paddle. The sunrises in the hills are amazing beyond description and there are all kinds of places where one can be alone with a short walk or paddle. I hiked, rode my bike, and paddled to places of great natural splendor. Standing at the top of Black Elk (formerly called Harney) peak and looking to the east, there is no natural feature of any kind anywhere east of that point in the United States that is as high. I used to tell my friends that “it is all downhill from here.” Of course that refers only to the view to the east as the Rocky Mountains to the west rise thousands of feet higher.

And now, following the lead of our son and his family, we have arrived to a home in the corner of the United States. We live where Washington meets Canada and the Pacific Ocean. And there is no doubt that we are surrounded by natural beauty. From our bedroom window we an see snow-capped peaks. A short drive up a steep road brings us to high country where the snow never melts. A 15-minute walk takes us to the beach of a lovely calm bay of the Salish sea. I’ve taken to ending our daily walks by saying to Susan, “Thank you for taking me to such a beautiful place.” It isn’t just a line. I really do feel deep gratitude for being able to live in this place.

I know that last night’s dramatic sunset over the bay was the product of wildfire smoke in the air. The offshore winds have stopped as high pressure moves into our area and the smoke in the air is from fires in our state. There are active fires on the east slopes of the Cascades north and east of where we live and a couple of fires right on the border with British Columbia. Yesterday’s weather allowed the smoke to drift our direction, making me sneeze more than usual and creating a dramatic sunset.

Regardless of the reasons, the sun setting over the bay was breathtaking. We sat on a log in silence and simply took in the beauty. 50 years after moving from Montana, it is finally beginning to sink in that there are many beautiful places in this world. I am incredibly fortunate to have lived in several of them. Natural beauty restores my spirit in ways for which I wall always be grateful.