My Side of the Mountain

I don’t know where (or when) you might be reading this, but today is a blustery Michigan day smack in the middle of fall. Truth be told, I saw the first tiny snow flakes drifting through the frigid air this morning. This kind of weather makes me want to batten down the hatches of my cozy home, make some hot soup, and wait for spring to do its thing. 

But that’s just the comfort-loving, lazy side of me. (All right, it’s the majority of me.) But I still have a spark of adventure that wants to face nature head-on, even if it shivers me timbers. This is the same kind of independent spirit that sent twelve-year-old Sam Gribley out of his comfortable New York City home and into the heart of the Catskill mountains. 

Realistic

This week I read My Side of the Mountain by Jean Craighead George. I’d never read it before but did so at the suggestion of my 11-year-old niece. She was spot on. It’s just the kind of book I would have loved at her age and still do love today. It’s the tale of a boy who decides to leave civilization behind and forge a life for himself in the wilderness. But rather than being fanciful and Snow White-esque, the story is actually quite realistic. 

It is fiction, but it’s so informative that you almost forget it’s not a journal or field guide. The author’s father was a scientist and naturalist who taught him all kinds of survival skills, so the pages are chock-full of what to eat, what to avoid, and how to survive. The author also had experience with falconry, which makes Sam Gribley’s capture and training of a peregrine falcon a little more believable. In fact, the only thing that pushes this book beyond credulity is the fact that Sam is only twelve. Call me skeptical, but I doubt a modern pre-teen could live the way Sam does for very long. Regardless, the story is still great.

Relatable

The author knows that it’s every kid’s dream to run away from home and rough it for a while. He tried it as a boy, his daughter tried it when she was small, and I’d guess that you tried it at some point too. This universal appeal is part of what makes the book wonderful. In fact, if I’d read this book as a kid, I may have lasted a little longer when my sister and I ran away to the back yard. 

We’d packed our handkerchiefs, tied them around sticks in true hobo fashion, and set off for the wilderness. We settled on a nice, weedy spot just behind our garden, but as we put the finishing touches on our new floor (a gasoline-stained sheet we found in the garage), we saw my mother coming toward us. Apparently she wanted to do a bit of gardening. 

Our cover was blown. We ran for it, but our adventure came to a screeching halt when my barefoot sister ran across a jagged piece of metal fence post. Sadly, our biggest adventure that day was to the walk-in clinic. 

Surviving

The reality of my running away may have died there in the back yard, but the dream still remains. The story of Sam’s year-long adventure stirs up the old longings again. I know I wouldn’t have made it three days without starving, but Sam manages to find roots, nuts, berries, and other edibles in the forest. He fishes the streams and trains a falcon to catch wild game. He even traps a few deer for food and clothing. The lad is quite resourceful. 

He also makes a home inside the trunk of an old tree—apparently the only free-range sequoia in New York, since Sam and two full-grown men are able to sleep in there at the same time. He passes the long months by gathering and preparing food, exploring, and making journal entries and drawings on birch bark. He spends much of the winter in his cozy tree house, snug by his mud fireplace. Personally, I’d have gone mad without some books, but Sam was just fine with the company of his falcon and the few visitors who discovered him. 

Carpe Diem 

My Side of the Mountain won several prestigious awards for children’s literature, but I think the book is well worth the read for humans of any age. For that matter, it may be an enjoyable read for falcons, too. Although the ending feels a bit anticlimactic, it’s still fun to picture Sam Gribley living off the land and to imagine myself doing the same. 

This is why we camp. This is why we explore. This is why we go backpacking through beautiful, desolate wilderness. The dream of outsmarting the elements and surviving by our own wits is alive in all of us, whether we choose to live in a condo or a tree. And even though I won’t be running away to the weeds any time soon, I’ll still go adventuring as often as the opportunity presents itself. But I’ll probably pack more food and books than dear old Sam.