I am sure that as I sat in the back seat of the family car, on the family vacation, through the Blue Ridge, there was a moment when I looked out the rolled down window, cool high elevation air blowing in on my face as the car turned to the left and then to the right and then to the left again along the creek side road, I am sure there was a moment when I looked up at the farthest hilltop and wondered what the view would be like from there, and what would the journey from here to there encompass.
There must have been a moment when I first wondered about the farthest point I could see, for I have wondered it again every time I see a distant point.
On Anastasia Island the horizon lies just beyond reach. It’s not far and easily walked, except at the sea. At the sea’s side the horizon lies like the space just beyond the stars. Its end point is an infinity away. But on land, it is the tree line on the far side of the field and the field is small.
When I visit a ridge peak, I always scan the valley floor to see if there is a town or a farm or a creek wide enough to be seen from the heights. But most of the time I look out and beyond each ridgeline, each layer’s height, to the one nearly invisible. I wonder how far away that is. How long would that trip take? When I got there would I be able to see where I stand now?
I imagined the walk up through steep forests layered with generations of fallen trees mixed with the stubborn young saplings pushing their way up. There would be rocks, exposed partially from under the ages of leaves and lichens. There would be laurel thickets so thick they would disrupt the climb, so extensive as to force route changes.
Then there would be the summit. There would be a leveling off at the top and the earth would then fall away in every direction. I would not be able to go any higher. If there was a clearing, a natural pasture of low brush and no trees, I could survey my progress. I would have reached the top, the farthest point.
Still, after all these years, whenever I over look a valley from a hilltop, whenever I see a distant point from alto a ridge, I wonder, if only for a fleeting moment.
I wonder about the farthest point.
