First Eyes

Me on Top of Sphinx Mountain

When I was 27 years old I quit my waitressing job to spend the summer hiking every mountain peak in Montana with my friend Betty. We packed our gear and headed out for ten days at a time, coming home grimy and glad. Then we showered, washed our clothes, repacked our bags, and did it again. It was the best summer of my life.

We climbed Sphinx Mountain, an 11,000 foot peak in the Madison Range. It was difficult, the last mile and a half a strenuous scramble through scree. When we summited, we gaped at a 360-degree view of mountain ranges in every direction and for hundreds of miles. I looked east to the Bridger Mountains, north to the Gallatin Range, west into the Tobacco Roots, and in the crystal clear distance, the Absarokas. Peering into the wide Madison Valley I saw the tiny dot of a town called Ennis and I said out loud, “I’m going to live there some day.”

View from Sphinx Mountain

Twenty years later I did. Heading toward my new home, I held my breath. I wanted to see this valley with what I called “First Eyes,” the way things shimmer, magnificent, the first time you see them. Then there it was. The wide Madison Valley spread out before me, its river running north, Sphinx Mountain standing sentry. I live here, I whispered, and a near-miss shiver scuttled through my chest, tears pricking my eyes.

I decided then that I would never lose my First Eyes for that glorious valley, that whenever I crested Norris Hill I would see that landscape with the veneration of First Eyes. And I did. Every time I approached Norris Hill, I turned off the radio, stopped whatever was whirring in my head, and instructed anyone who was riding with me that they were about to lay their eyes on God. Up, up, and then over the top before plunging into the breathtaking valley with the same delight and fear as when your chair falls forward at the top of the Ferris wheel, your stomach tumbling, your breath catching in your throat before the exuberant laugh at such improbable joy. I never saw that valley without my eyes welling with tears, my heart deeply grateful.

First Eyes Over the Norris Hill to the Sphinx Peak to the Far Right

Then I began to ask myself, can I cultivate First Eyes for other marvels in my life? Can I see the lilacs budding to flower as if for the first time? Can I smell them and swoon, take time to cut a bouquet and set it in a vase? Can I be newly amazed as the sunset lavishes pink and orange and purple streaks over the Bitterroot Mountains and utter a reverent, “Holy cow!”? Can I be delighted to see my partner ride his bike up the hill toward home, set down my work and spring toward him in greeting? Can I bring back the wonder of seeing the new in what has become quotidian? Can I let myself be awed again? And then again? Can I tune into the improbable beauty of it all, my luck at being here, on this planet, with this abundance?

Yes and yes and yes. When I cultivate First Eyes the world stays breathtaking. And I stay surprised and glad.

Madison Valley