Upward Over the Mountain

A Story by maladroitmacey

I drew inspiration for this odd tale from the Iron and Wine song of the same name. I strongly urge you to give it a listen.

Upward Over the Mountain

There once stood a mountain both beautiful and majestic; she was born from Mother Earth herself, and served as both host and revered matriarch to a bountiful presence of wildlife. She cared for her inhabitants day after day and year after year, as sure as the sands of time, loving each one as much as the next. Yes, she undeniably loved all of her children, but one she loved in particular. Mother Mountain loved her son most of all. Never would she do so much as even dare to breathe those words aloud to a single soul, her son the bird included. But this was how she felt. These were the facts.

Mother Mountain had reared her son the bird since he was no more than a weak hatchling basking in the sun that shone brightly through her thick branches. She provided shelter, food, warmth, and most of all a loving home for her beloved son. As he grew into a young adolescent, Mother Mountain taught him to fly by providing him with her vast cliffs, roving hills, and jagged peaks. She watched him with admiration, astonishment, and bated breath as he leaped down into the deepest canyons of her heart only to reappear shortly thereafter, soaring higher and mightier than any of her other children could hope or dream to. Mother Mountain rumbled with joy and swelled with pride at the sight of her most beloved child succeeding beyond even her mind’s wildest imaginations of what his purposeful life might yield. She loved her son the bird most of all and as a result, imagined the many feats of success he would undoubtedly rack up before he even developed into a full-fledged adult.

A great many moons after her son the bird learned to fly and left her nest, Mother Mountain was approached by daughter doe.

“Mother Mountain?” daughter doe inquired quizzically.

“Yes my child, what is it?” replied her mother.

“Why do you love brother bird most of all?” she continued, tears of jealousy beginning to form in her large dark eyes.

“What are you talking about? That is an absolutely absurd notion!” Mother Mountain retorted, “Now quiet your sobs! Your brother should be returning from his winter migration any moment now, and I will not have your tears be the first thing to greet him.”

“Yes, Mother. I do apologize for my outburst,” daughter doe replied, walking away with her head hung low in sorrow; for unbeknownst to her, Mother Mountain had just confirmed all of her children’s sneaking suspicions with her overly defensive response.

Just then Mother Mountain heard music floating on the breeze over her tallest trees, she closed her eyes and strained harder to listen to the sad tune. The voice she listened to was sweeter than the bee’s honey, and every bit as hollow as a barrel. She began to weep great big tears of joy as she recognized the approaching voice. Her warm tears sent the waterfalls cascading gloriously, flooding the brooks and creeks. As she eagerly awaited the appearance of her beloved son the bird over her summit, her mind began to wander. She reminisced about their younger carefree days together, as he ate her berries and frolicked by her brook.

“One day Mama Mountain, I will be all grown up and on my own. I will have to find a new mountain to call my home. I will find a nice girl, settle down and raise hatchlings of my own you know! I will have to fly upward over your summits and make a new nest in someone else’s trees!” her son informed her, matter-of-factly.

“Yes my dear you will, for you are the most independent of my children. You are headed for greatness. Over my summits lies a great new world for you to conquer,” replied Mother Mountain, suppressing the thought, as well as her tears, deep into the back of her mind. “Don’t worry Mama Mountain, I will always fly upward over that new mountain to rejoin you in the spring months!” he reassured her.

But as days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, and months turned into years, her son the bird began to grow restless and weary of his mother’s embrace. The time came for him to voyage out on his own in search of a love that would be all his own, as even a love as devoted and pure as his mother’s needed to be divided amongst all her children. So with tearful goodbyes and a promise to return when the days were warm and the nights cool, her son the bird set out upward over Mother Mountain’s tallest peaks in search of a life all his own.

As you the reader may very well know, promises are akin to light in the sense that they too are fleeting. A promise, like light, becomes difficult to hold on to as time passes us by. This too was the case with Mother Mountain and her son the bird. However as you the reader may not know, mountains are notorious gossips! Especially mountains of the mothering nature, so naturally, the news traveled quickly to Mother Mountain’s ears. She had it on good authority that the mountain her beloved son settled down on had suffered a large brushfire, destroying over half of it’s vast surface as well as the souls that inhabited it. Rumor had it that among the casualties was a female bird of legendary beauty, the wife of a young male bird destined for greatness since birth: a young male bird that our Mother Mountain just so happened to be very familiar with.

Snapping back to reality, Mother Mountain heard the sweetly somber song fast approaching. Her son the bird appeared before her very eyes for the first time in longer than she cared to calculate. She hungrily drank in the sight of her beloved son flying majestically into her warm embrace. He appeared frail and downtrodden, a broken shell of the young man she knew so long ago; a mere ghost of what/who had left her behind. Mother Mountain resolved to fix his shattered spirit then and there; it was her duty as a devoted mother after all.

Over the following days, Mother Mountain did all that she could to restore her broken son to the original glorious state he left her in. She lovingly nursed him with bushels of his favorite berries, nectar from her sweetest flowers, and water cool and crisp from the babbling brook he loved as a child. Her kind words and consoling mended his spirit little by little, day after day. Once again, the days turned into weeks and weeks to months and her son the bird was looking and feeling better than ever.

Upon the sixth month of his first visit home since he left, her son the bird felt the familiar itch of winter approaching and once again grew restless in his mother’s company. “Mother Mountain,” he explained one autumn morning, “I have once again grown weary of my life here with you. While I am eternally grateful for your work in nursing me back to my former self, following the untimely death of my wife and destruction of my home, it is time for me to set out on my own again. I have indeed suffered great tragedy, but now I will find a new wife on a new mountain and make a new home for myself!” her son proclaimed boisterously. “Yes of course you will my son. For you are the most independent of all my children. You are headed for greatness. Upward over this old mountain lays a great new world for you to conquer” Mother Mountain reassured her beloved son. “I knew you would understand,” the bird paused for a moment, taking stock of the events of his life over the past six months. “But don’t fret dear mother. I will always fly upward over my new mountain, away from my new life to rejoin you in the spring months” he promised. “Yes my beloved son,” she chuckled. “When the days are warm and the nights are cool,” they continued in unison.

Mother Mountain and her son the bird parted ways once again. He disappeared upward over the old mountain to the great new world that waited beyond her summits for the last time. What her son the bird (and you as well, my dear reader) did not know, was that at the very moment he was promising his return, men were lining the deep recesses of Mother Mountain’s heart with hundreds of pounds of explosives. They slowly bore their way through her old weathered body in her final months, as she nursed her son back to a stable frame of mind. The men began their final countdown just as her beloved son the bird flew beyond her sights.

Then, from just beyond her summits came a sound so missed by her it brought tears to her eyes. A song from a voice that was sweeter than the bee’s honey swept over her. Mother Mountain basked in her beloved son’s tune that rang out without even the faintest hint of sorrow. Her son the bird sang beautifully and boldly filling the vast air that surrounded them both. She knew at that moment that he would be okay, that she had done right by him. With her newfound inner peace, Mother Mountain closed her eyes and waited for the men to reach one, ready now for her heart to be obliterated. Only this time, it would be in the name of industrialization by men; this time… it would be by pound after pound of dynamite rather than an empty promise.