Why Fir Mountain?

Once upon a time long long ago or exactly twenty years ago today in a land far far away known to many as the Hood River Valley there lived a man I would come to call Bear.

He was the brother of a friend, sweet, smart and handsome.

I was the reluctant heroine.

I had failed at love and marriage wasn’t ready to try again. I had a young son of whom I was very protective. AND he was younger, darn it.

But I couldn’t stop wanting to talk to him, be near him.

I tease him now that he was like Pepé Le Pew pursuing Penelope Pussycat in a cute, non stalker way. None of the roadblocks I threw up dissuaded the man.

He persisted until we dated. 

He became my best friend, my love, my husband.

Although Connelly is Irish, he had a fondness for Scottish kilts and wanted them worn at our wedding. My sister in law swore she’d read somewhere that at some point in history the Irish wore them as well but after relatives questioned that, she couldn't name her source. Why it bothered some that an American of Irish descent wanted kilts I will never know, for me all that mattered was he wanted kilts worn and so the men in our wedding party did.

A very romantic moment, our son was unimpressed.

Today is our twentieth anniversary.

    Our journey together is one filled with joy, family, laughter, hard times, good times, anger, fun, happiness, stress, silliness, frustration, wounds that aren't visible and scars that are and love – most of all love. 

And that meadow where we were married on a hot summer day, where we had camped while he was still trying to get my attention and later when we were officially dating,

is on Fir Mountain,

a very real and special place near Hood River Oregon.