A silent sentinel stands over the land, majestic, serene and beautiful. But deep within hides the heart of a lion. It rests right now with only the gentle rumblings of a sleeping beast, rumblings so subtle that at times the only ear that hears is a sophisticated instrument tracing the pulse of the land. In the distant past the mountain awoke. Fire and smoke shot skyward. Hot gases and ash mixed with mud flowed down its flanks. The land was changed. But after it all came richness; a soil so lush and fertile that thousands of years later fruit trees grow. Pear and apple, cherry and peach are all enriched by the "blood" of the lion.
No matter where we were all morning, Mount Hood stood sharply against the gray sky. Its northern companion, Mount Adams, too graced the clouds. Whether hiking in wildflowers, exploring a museum or riding a train they were our constant companions. Even later when we were within the gorge and their visual presence was hidden, we knew they were there. The plants reflected their impact: verdant and moist to the west; golden and dry to the east.
