A Mountain or a Mole Hill?

Maybe if I'd taken off my glasses, I could have pretended I was still in the mountains.

After all there was a mountain - of sorts - at the corner south of our house and matching "foothills" catty-cornered across the section.

There were a few obstacles to this fantasy:

• I certainly didn't need a long-sleeved shirt on my morning trek.
• The "mountain" was surrounded by wheat stubble and not green valleys.
• The mountains mysteriously disappeared in a single afternoon.

It wasn't so mysterious. My short-lived fantasy was crushed as finely as the limestone the co-op spread on our farm fields. My homespun mountains were there only until the co-op had time to apply agricultural lime to the last field that needed it.

Much as I miss the cool of the mountains - both literally and figuratively - I am never sorry to come back home.

We may not have the mountains, but you can't beat the sunrise on the County Line.

Home sweet home!