Mt. Lemmon

Two weeks ago we headed up the mountain to camp. This is a mountain I’ve been to countless times in my childhood. Growing up in Arizona, this was the place to go for nearby snow during winter and for cooler temps in the summer. This trip was different, I think maybe because I am different. I didn’t sleep well the entire trip, not because of camping, but because the dreams I had were intense and vivid. I knew I wanted to write about it, not just because it was so crazy, but to honor the mountain and the memories that live there.
Heading up for picnics and a stop in the little town at the top was something we did often. My mother loved doing that and as an adult I’ve continued the tradition with my kids. You can’t go there without stopping for a giant cookie and a look around the Living Rainbow Gift Shop. More about this amazing place later! We camped for three days, three days of uninterrupted silence, peace, and relaxation. Just the four of us. The tents were up, the hammock was up, and the books were waiting to be read. No sign of a signal anywhere. It was amazing! Until night, the deep energy came through at night. It’s almost as if the mountain waits until the moon to grieve.
The first night I woke up a million times, I kept having those dreams, the ones where you wake up but still can’t seem to move. Instantly I’d be asleep again, the mountain was talking to me and they weren’t letting me go until they finished. I kept hearing men talking, very distinctly, but I can’t tell you the words. It sounded angry, rushed, planned. I swore a million times someone was in our campsite. I heard gunshots yet wasn’t afraid, it was as if my subconscious knew this was just a memory. An energy pocket you could say. The next morning when we got up the first thing my husband said was there was a fight and gunshots last night. Ok, what? I told him I heard something similar but thought I was dreaming. When he told me his story I was surprised it didn’t quite match mine. The camp hosts never came by to warn of an animal attack and there was no sign of trauma as far as we could see. That afternoon we took a drive up to the town. Had our giant cookie and headed into the gift shop. Now I’ve been here a million times but this time again, different. The shop owner drew us in like moths to a flame. Her energy was strong, undeniable, and peaceful. I was drawn to the story held in the wood, my husband to the story the owner could share. If you live near Mt. Lemmon please take time to stop in and speak with her, you won’t regret it. Also buy something, you also won’t regret it. Before we knew it over an hour had passed and I was reading the energy of all these objects in her shop. 18 years ago a massive wild fire took down that whole town. The shop that stands now is not the shop of my childhood. The building is new, but like everything else, the mountain hasn’t forgotten. There is a display of all these little trinkets that survived somehow. Battered, burned, and mostly unrecognizable, these little items carry a story. And hope. Lots and lots of hope. I left with a strong feeling. Happy and content but somehow sad and a little heavy. There is so much more to this mountain than I knew.
That night we headed off to bed right as a mild monsoon rolled in. The wind was the best part, that wind you here coming long before it reaches you. As if it travels through the trees singing a haunting melody. That night the kids ended up in our tent. It was unsettling, not because of rain, the mountain was awake and everyone felt it. That night the dreams were even more intense. I dreamt of an Indian chief, his headdress was beautiful and intricate. He owned this mountain and wore the tragedy it’s seen on his face. Now I must mention that his face was bones, and somehow it showed strong emotion. I knew that he was the guardian of this mountain. He protected the memories here and asked for and expected respect for her and all she has been through. A story old as time, the first inhabitants of this mountain were forced off, and fought for her diligently. The tragedy of that has left its mark and their love and loss are entwined in the mountains history to this day.
When we woke up I knew that I would never look at the mountain the same again. The day before we had spent quite some time looking for rocks to bring home. You can find beautiful crystals and tons of Micah on the mountain. I put them all back and apologized for disturbing them. Those rocks are in their home and I was not about to change that. I am already planning to go back, now that I understand her story I’m sure she will welcome me back graciously. As for the first night and the scene we both heard, we never found anyone that heard the same. No news of gunshots had made it to the shops in the town and no messages from the camp hosts. We still don’t know if we heard something in real time or both just had a giant tour of her history. Either way, what an experience. To all those that live there now and all those that lived there then, I see you. I feel you. I honor you and the stories you hold.