Today I returned to Iron Mountain. If there is a sacred place for the Scott Family, Iron Mountain would be it. We have all climbed the steep trail numerous times and the ashes of my dad and a sister-in-law are scattered there. My mom climbed it well into her 80's and we coaxed our kids to the top when they were small. Rare was the annual trip to Clear Lake that didn't include a trip to Iron Mountain. I have not been back for several years but today was the day to return. Our friends and next-door neighbors had never been there so I went along to provide the expertise. The trail was alive with wildflowers. I had forgotten how beautiful they are. I love the flowers and their names. After awhile, they all seem to have personalities to me. The shy wild ginger, with its shiny leaves hiding the odd looking flowers underneath, the brash indian
paintbrush, the ubiquitous lupine, the cheery wooly sunflower, the delicate bluefield gilia, and it's outrageous cousin, the scarlet or skyrocket gilia. I love the deep indigo larkspur and
the paler blue flax, the bright columbine, the aptly-named cat's ear, and the varied penstemons. Their names came back to me from the past, some more difficult to remember. One name escaped me completely until we returned home. I could only remember how I loved the name and the flower. It was the delicate white sitka valerian. We climbed up and up, gratefully stopping to admire the flowers when our pulse pounded. The top had changed; no more lookout station, only a platform and fully occupied when we arrived by a large group of giggling teenage girls. The peak was surrounded by clouds today, no view to be seen, but the rapidly
swirling clouds were entertainment enough. After lunch we headed down and then around the cone peak trail, enjoying more flowers along the way. The day was cool and perfect for hiking. I was grateful to get the chance to return to a well-loved spot and share it with others. And I was reminded once again of my parents and their legacy of love of this area, love for all of God's creation, and most importantly, love for their family.
Today I returned to Iron Mountain. If there is a sacred place for the Scott Family, Iron Mountain would be it. We have all climbed the steep trail numerous times and the ashes of my dad and a sister-in-law are scattered there. My mom climbed it well into her 80's and we coaxed our kids to the top when they were small. Rare was the annual trip to Clear Lake that didn't include a trip to Iron Mountain. I have not been back for several years but today was the day to return. Our friends and next-door neighbors had never been there so I went along to provide the expertise. The trail was alive with wildflowers. I had forgotten how beautiful they are. I love the flowers and their names. After awhile, they all seem to have personalities to me. The shy wild ginger, with its shiny leaves hiding the odd looking flowers underneath, the brash indian 
paintbrush, the ubiquitous lupine, the cheery wooly sunflower, the delicate bluefield gilia, and it's outrageous cousin, the scarlet or skyrocket gilia. I love the deep indigo larkspur and the paler blue flax, the bright columbine, the aptly-named cat's ear, and the varied penstemons. Their names came back to me from the past, some more difficult to remember. One name escaped me completely until we returned home. I could only remember how I loved the name and the flower. It was the delicate white sitka valerian. We climbed up and up, gratefully stopping to admire the flowers when our pulse pounded. The top had changed; no more lookout station, only a platform and fully occupied when we arrived by a large group of giggling teenage girls. The peak was surrounded by clouds today, no view to be seen, but the rapidly 
swirling clouds were entertainment enough. After lunch we headed down and then around the cone peak trail, enjoying more flowers along the way. The day was cool and perfect for hiking. I was grateful to get the chance to return to a well-loved spot and share it with others. And I was reminded once again of my parents and their legacy of love of this area, love for all of God's creation, and most importantly, love for their family.
