Allgau
Time filters memory.
So much that we experience nestles quietly into our subconscious, out of reach of our restless, present-bound minds.
Of course moments of drama, or trauma, or excitement, or deep emotion will lodge themselves in our consciousness,
So that we may hold them close, later, in times of anxiety, regret, joy or loss.
But I am interested in those ancient moments, from long ago, that remain caught on some snag of consciousness. So that I can’t forget them, for no reason I can ascertain.
They may not seem exceptional at the time.
They are marked by no great realization, no vivid emotion, no sudden shift.
They are not momentous.
Yet they linger in memory.
They are marked by no great realization, no vivid emotion, no sudden shift.
They are not momentous.
Yet they linger in memory.
Some years ago my family and I spent a few weeks in Germany. We saw and did some wonderful things – climbed peaks, were awed by architectural magnificences, ate wonderful meals.
But for some reason one particular day has fixed itself in my memory. We took a day trip from Fussen, with its many memorable sites -- its Hohenschwangau, its Wiesekirche, its Neuschwanstein. On a stretch of the road between Immenstadt and Oberstaufen, we got out to ride a rodelbahn and walk around: The Allgau.
We got out of the car at a place called the Allgauer Bergbauermuseum, a working mountainside farm that had been, in part, converted to a living museum. (an amazing 360 degree view from the place can occasionally be found on google maps here)
I keep seeing one landscape: looking out across long, green valley, a shocking ridge of alps on the other side, stretching out into the blue haze of horizon.
It was beautiful, indeed, and striking. But no more so than other sights we saw during that trip, and on others, that are now in the process of being forgotten. Nothing of note happened on that day trip.
And yet this moment and its landscape has blazoned itself in my conscious memory, and I can’t forget it. And I don’t know why.
But I’m grateful.