For love of nature
(published 11-03-10, Manila Standard Today)
'Incredible,' murmured one of my hiking buddies as we stood gazing at the beauty around us. The place where we stood was called Paradise, located at Mt. Rainier National Park. Paradise is known for its spectacular mountain views, old-growth forests, subalpine flower meadows, and deep gorges and lakes.
To our left was a meadow of wildflowers: pink heather, white lilies, asters, magenta Indian paintbrush, shooting stars, and marsh marigolds. Towering all around us were mountains and rugged glaciers: Mount Rainier, the Emmons Glacier, Mount Adams, Mount Baker, Mount Saint Helens, and Mount Hood, all nestled up to the bluest of blue skies.
Mount Rainier is the centerpiece of the park and the highest mountain in Washington State. At just over a million years old, it is a relatively young volcano and only one of many in a complex of mountains called the Cascade Range, stretching all the way from California to British Columbia.
Mount Rainier is easily one of the most famous tourist attractions in the Pacific Northwest, with over two million people coming to visit each year. But although I’d called this area home for 20 years and lived only two hours away, this was the very first time I’d ever been to Mt. Rainier National Park. Here in the US, that’s tantamount to a mortal sin.
I never visited Mayon Volcano in Albay either, not once in all the years I lived in the Philippines. In fact, other than going up to Baguio on my honeymoon, I don’t recall going anywhere in the Philippines for pleasure.
Touring the country was not something my family did when I was young and perhaps because of that, it wasn’t something I did with my children either. I took them to Sidney and Seoul and Narita, to Honolulu and Chicago, but not once to Bohol or Palawan or Albay.
In the United States, most families plan their recreational time around camping and touring and visiting in-country. Parents load their children and pets in their SUVs and vans; retirees take their campers and they drive across the country, stopping at campsites and parks and natural habitats. This land is rich with natural beauty and Americans just can’t seem to get enough of it.
They rhapsodize over flowers and meadows and rivers and streams, clear blue skies, mountains and valleys and hills. I would listen to their stories, unimpressed; thinking I had all that and more while I was growing up in the Philippines.
When the sun beats down on you every day from the time you are old enough to remember and brilliant colored-flowers bloom in your garden all year round, I submit it’s understandable if you don’t get as overly excited as your American friends when the temperature hits 90 degrees and the sun is finally out.
Over here, they say it’s easy to pick out Filipinos among the crowd during hot summer days. We’re the ones sheltering under the shade of trees (or heaven forbid —carrying umbrellas) while our white friends are trying to soak up as much sun as possible to get a nice tan. I tell them we are born with this beautiful skin color so why mess with perfection?
Along with their love of nature, Americans indulge in all kinds of outdoor activities. They go biking, mountain climbing, para-sailing or kayaking in the summer. They backpack though mountain trails, jetski and swim in the lake, paddle through rapids and go whitewater rafting.
In the winter, I can hardly wait to burrow under layers of blankets and comforters while my friends are up in Whistler or Crystal Mountain skiing and snowboarding to their hearts’ content. Children in my neighborhood are out in the snow throwing snow balls and sliding down icy slopes on makeshift sleds. I’m in my fleece robe and fuzzy slippers in the comfort of my home scowling at their antics, muttering to myself, “What’s the matter with these people?”
Then came my epiphany that day in Paradise. All I could think of was the waste—all those years gone when I could have been enjoyed the beauty around me.
So nowadays I walk along the waterfront on Ruston Way to watch the sailboats on Commencement Bay. It’s also a good place to gaze at the panoramic views of the Olympic Mountains, Vashon Island, and Brown’s Point, and in the distance, the grandeur of Mt. Rainier and Mt. St. Helens.
Next year I’ll visit the Philippines. Mayon Volcano may be half the size of Mt. Rainier, but viewing up close its perfectly symmetrical cone shape will be well worth the trip.
The great American naturalist John Muir said it best: “Doubly happy is the (wo)man to whom lofty mountain tops are within reach, for the lights that shine there illuminate all that lies below.”
