There is a saying, “You can take the boy out of the mountains, but you can’t take the mountains out of the boy.” OK, that isn’t the real saying, which is “country” instead of “mountains.” Furthermore, it probably isn’t really true. In my case, there aren’t many mountains left int he boy. Four years in Chicago, seven in North Dakota, ten in Idaho, twenty-five in South Dakota and now four in northwestern Washington have pretty much erased my mountain nature as far as I know. Never mind that where I grew up in Montana isn’t exactly in the mountains. You can see the mountains from there, but I grew up pretty much in the valley. And you have to be careful about the use of the word, “mountains” as well. Although I maintained my Montana high country bias in my definition of mountains and never adopted the local vernacular, the folks who are native to the Black Hills of South Dakota refer to the highest of the hills as mountains, and technically I have to admit that they are accurate. Black Elk Mountain, for example, is higher than any point on the North American continent east of it and there are plenty of places called mountains out there: Appalachian Mountains, Blue Ridge Mountains, and White Mountains. Folks in New England brag of having 50 mountains taller than 4,000 feet as if that was something. We have plenty of mountain passes over 4,000 feet here in Washington.Black Elk Peak in South Dakota is 7,244 feet - more than 3,000 feet higher than those New England “mountains.” Folks in Colorado, which has more than 50 peaks over 14,000 feet must laugh when they hear about New England Mountains. Then again, Colorado shares a border with Kansas. Did you ever hear of the Wichita Mountains? Probably not, because unlike the city with the same name, they aren’t in Kansas. They are in Oklahoma. Mount Pinchot, the highest point in the Wichitas is 2,746 feet above sea level. Heck the airport in my home town is 4,500 feet above sea level. (OK 4496 if you are setting a digital altimeter.) Take that New England mountains.

Anyway, I’m not really a person of the mountains any more. Our house is at 72 feet above sea level and we walk most days down to the beach which is at sea level. Still, I love the mountains. And, from time to time I need to take a trip to get up into the mountains, breathe the fresh air, smell the trees, and be reminded of my roots.

I might say we have a tradition of an annual fall trip up and over the Cascades to the fruit country on the other side, but that wouldn’t be accurate. Before we moved out here, we tried to get to the fruit stands in the summer or fall as we were traveling home from our regular visits to our son and his family out here. Since we have moved, we’ve made at least one trip over the mountains every year and sometimes we’ve arrived in the fruit growing area around Wenatchee. This year we are making the trip right at the beginning of October when, according to our favorite fruit stand, they still have fall peaches, plenty of apples, and other fruit. Our intention is to purchase several cases today and take them home to eat, freeze, dry and use in other ways.

We’re driving what is known as the Cascade loop. Yesterday we came over Stevens Pass (4062 ft) on US 2 between Everett and Leavenworth. Today our plan is to go back over Washington Pass (5477 ft) on Washington 20.

On our way we’re staying in Leavenworth, a small town that has made itself over from a logging town to a Bavarian themed village. It is pretty much a tourist town, but we enjoy being tourists from time to time. I might say I’m returning to my German roots. After all I had Weisswurst with sauerkraut and pickle relish for dinner. The place where we ate had 16 types of mustard, so I put horseradish mustard on one half and garlic mustard on the other half. I also had real German potato salad and a local non-alcoholic IPA to wash it all down. The problem with that and my German roots is that although my last name is German, we’re at least 4 or 5 generations removed from the old country and about the only thing German about us is our last name, which has had its spelling modified from the original German.

Still, it is fun to be on the east slope of the cascades. The mountains were are similar what is familiar to me about my Montana home and our years int he Black Hills. Note I said “similar,” and not “the same as.” Yes there are more pine trees on this side of the pass, and there are a lot more cottonwood trees. But there are also quite a few plants that are unique to the Cascades such as elderberry and blackberries. So I sort of feel a bit at home here. I like the mountain vistas and the winding roads. But with all of the tourist hype of Leavenworth and the particular fauna of the Cascades, it doesn’t really feel like home to me. The deer around here are black tailed and different from the white tails of the Black Hills. And they are really used to tourists around here. They don’t mind if you walk up to them to take a picture.

I’m really looking forward to stocking up on fresh fruit today and I know the drive home will be spectacular. Even though it is not yet an annual tradition for us, perhaps driving the North Cascade loop sometime in the fall is a tradition worth forming. And I could make a habit of eating German sausages and potato salad once or twice a year without any problem.

You can take the boy out of the mountains, but he’ll probably come back from time to time.