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Human Landmarks on Mount Everest

I get too easily lost. When going from one place to another that requires turns, I will more than often take note of landmarks along the way — notable stores, odd looking lamp posts, even the occasional fire hydrant that has interesting graffiti on it.

I know when I pass a particular store, I am going in the right direction. I have often wondered how people do this kind of thing when climbing mountains. I figured that perhaps they use flags that have been planted by successful climbers in the past. It turns out that I was somewhat right, except about the part of the climbers being successful.

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Seven Inches of Awesome

The mail woman opened the door to the office and dropped off the large square envelope. Everyone in the office thanked her, as was the custom. My supervisor brought the envelope over to me and let me know that it was for me. I gleefully opened the stiff folds and slowly pulled out the treasure held within as technology bends backwards into history to create a new aesthetic for today.

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Cathedrals of Chalk: Return to Happy Jack Mountain

There is a special place from my childhood called Happy Jack Mountain that I visit daily from New York City even though that Mountain resides more than 1,500 miles away near Scotia, Nebraska.

Afloat in the Flatlands
I travel to Happy Jack Mountain by closing my eyes and walking the winding trail of 234 railroad tie steps up to the 483 foot Peak that pinnacles 2,000 feet above sea-level.

This is the story of a time and place that will never change for me, for every time I visit Happy Jack Mountain, it is the Fall of 1969 when life was glittering and full of innocence and promise.

My existence was purely good and clean and I was four years old.

Nebraska is notorious for being flat.

In fact, “Nebraska” is the Oglala Plains Indian phrase for “Flatwater.”

The running joke is that Nebraska is 98% sky, 1% land and 1% manure.

Wind, Rain and Sunshine are the Holy Trinity that rule life upon Nebraska’s plains.

Nebraskans are known by some as “fly over folks” where people on either end of the nation only get to know us, our customs, and our dreams en passant as they arc over us in airplanes on their way to someplace bigger.

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