Mt. Monadnock.

I don't know what Aimee thought about it.  I do have hints from one of her sisters that after she climbed it twice every summer for a number of years, she would collapse, privately, in her room from exhaustion.  But I do know what she enjoyed the most about the trek.

If you've ever done the climb, you know that about half way up, you are rewarded.  The trees, which have been surrounding and protecting you, part, and the ground rises, and the whole world seems to be revealed to you.  You sit there -- you can't stand -- like you are on a mini-mountain top.  You know it's only going to get more beautiful when you reach the summit.  But Aimee knew something more important about this particular spot.  There were wild blueberries.

This was her summit.  This was where she wanted to be.  We spent most of our time culling the bushes and brambles around that almost sacred spot for whatever tiny blue fruits we could find.  For her, this alone made it completely worth it.  And she was always surprised that it seemed to be such a secret.  We never had a problem finding berries even just a couple feet away.  Monadnock is supposed to be the most-climbed mountain in the whole world.  "How can they miss the blueberries?" Aimee always wondered. I know I responded at least once, "Well, because no one scales a mountain for a couple handful of berries." But she did.