Mountain Day

Older traditions are odd blips in a life of constant re-creation.

I woke up at 6:30 and banged pots in my house to officially announce Mountain Day to my housemates, then went off to ring the bells (for 15 minutes, sorry, sleepers) and to sit at tunnel city for a while.

The day was GORGEOUS. And by that I mean perfect in wind, weather, and temperature.

After Facebook chats with a few alums, I traveled to Chapin Steps and collected some 50+ people to hike up Mt. Greylock and then over to Stony Ledge. The hike was great, if occasionally taxing to my cardio-vascular system and/or my calves.

Then we hit the ledge, and I saw people I know and like for a while (spilling apple juice on myself), listened to songs, sang songs, and then sent hike leaders down the trail until heading down myself, helping others with difficult sections of trail (unless guys were in all-male groups that shunned help)

I got down, yelled a little bit to get people on buses, had a great dinner cooked by a friend, visited more friends in Woodbridge and the CTD, and am now home.

Good day. But what was the role of tradition?