I’m a West Coast girl. I grew up with the Sierras and Rockies, Redwoods and Sequoias.
My husband is an East Coast boy. He had the Appalachians and the Pines.
We met in Texas where there are few trees and fewer mountains. (As in zero.) So it has taken some traveling for us to realize that our ideas of big trees and mountains were miles apart.
Our trip to the Poconos in Pennsylvania was one such experience that shed light on the relativity of size.
We made plans to stay in an RV smack-dab in the middle of the Pocono Mountains. Driving there, I kept asking, where are the mountains? My husband, who grew up on the East coast pointed to some hills and said, “those are the mountains!”
When we were a half mile away, I thought wow, this must be wrong. This can’t be the Poconos. I mean, people ski here. There’s gotta be a mountain peak around here.
Really, I just saw hills. But they were lovely hills.
It turns out the highest peak is under 3,000 feet. That’s almost a valley where I come from.
(Just for reference, we drove almost 15,000 feet in elevation when we passed the Rockies in Colorado.)
When we reached the quaint little town of Stroudsburg, I really wanted to see a welcome sign that read, “The Poconos: Where making mountains out of molehills is a good thing!”
Have you skied the Poconos and the Rockies or Sierra Nevada? I’m curious to know how the two experiences compared.