Happy Century

It's been a century, one hundred years today, on August 21 of 1913, since Jozsa Irén was born in the small Hungarian town with a long name, Kiskunfélegyháza.

A year later, the First World War broke out and an uncle Stephen was among the first to fall in action near Belgrade.

She left her home in Szentes to attend university in Szeged, taught school, married, and became a high school principal. She survived the Soviet siege of Budapest in the Second World War, then with three children she fled Hungary to join her husband, then emigrated to Australia where she raised five children.

At age 53, she moved to the United States, to Seattle, where she was prepared to send her son Géza to Canada to avoid having him drafted for Vietnam. She had seen enough war. She had sacrificed much for her five children, and when they became adults, she had left little for herself.

August 21 is a busy day. Irén's 28th birthday was also her wedding day. Born and wed on the same day of the year.

Irén's granddaughter, Emese, was also born on August 21. I think both Irén and young Emese were a little jealous of that birthday date.

[Oddly enough, August 21 is also the birthday of a mother-in-law and her wedding day, and it's also the birthday of a dear guru-brother.]

My mother was 93 when she passed away in 2007. She had a long life full of accomplishments, hard work, simple pleasures, hardships, and more than her share of disappointments. There are many who owe her a great deal, the kind of debt that can only be repaid with gratitude, love and kindness.

Happy birthday, Anyu.

Evergreen Forest, Sky Islands

The Sonoran Desert has lots of sky islands; about forty of them. They are isolated mountain ranges that protrude from the desert floor at one or two thousand feet to heights of over five or even nine thousand feet.

Tucson itself is nestled next to several. We live in the foothills of a large one, the Santa Catalina Mountains. The Tohono O'Odham called them Babad Do'ag, Frog Mountain. Father Kino christened them after St. Catherine.

There's a road that goes to the top, Mount Lemmon, which is over nine thousand feet elevation. As you ascend, the road passes through saguaro forest dotted with agaves and ocotillo, then open areas with grass and oak trees, then spectacular granite rock with hoodoo formations and ponderosa pines, until the highest elevations where there are flowing creeks and slopes with ferns and fungus, and dense stands of pine, aspen, and douglas fir.

Doug fir? Yep. And all the sights, smells and chills of an evergreen forest by the Salish Sea -- except hemlocks and cedars.

The sky islands are part of the diversity of the Sonoran Desert. Where in Seattle can you drive an hour and see giant cactus forests? Yet we can drive an hour and see large stands of Douglas fir. Granted, there are no glaciers here, and snow fields last only part of the year.

Hiking on the top of Mt. Lemmon, about an hour drive from home, is being in a different world. Deer graze in the meadows, and warning signs suggest the presence of bears. It's a soothing respite from the humid heat of the Sonoran monsoon season.

No wonder people think of mountains as the home of the gods. They are.

The sacred heights of the Santa Catalinas are blessed with about three telephone or some other communications towers and auxiliary buildings, each compound surrounded by barbed wire fencing that forces hikers to the rocky edges of precipitous slopes.

There's a university telescope observatory with bunk buildings, also protected by barbed wire.

We also have a chairlift that serves the ski area, little ski and tourist shops, and a restaurant across the parking lot.

Then there is the small community of Summerhaven on top of the mountains, regular population of about forty.

Not an altar in sight.

It would be a place to express some silent gratitude and awe before such beautiful, unexpected creation.

Sometimes fire is a medium of offering thanks.

The Aspen Fire burned for a month in summer of 2003 and scorched about 134 square miles. It destroyed 340 homes and business. The evidence is still there in the meadows, but Summerhaven is rebuilt.

I suppose the mountains are their own altars. The effect they have on people can be that profound. You see it as you exchange "Good morning" with fellow hikers, and perhaps engage in light conversation about the invigorating mountain air.

After a few morning hours in the forest, the return to the Tucson basin is a bit shocking. But the soul has been inspired.

From our backyard, we can see the Santa Catalinas, this time of year usually decorated with stunning displays of dark and fluffy white clouds, all framed in an enormously huge sky. Nice.