The Far Side

Just the mention of Gary Larson’s popular single-panel comic entitled “The Far Side” makes me smile.  Two quickly come to mind – the two spiders that have weaved a giant web at the base of the slide down which an unsuspecting fat little kid wearing glasses (did you know most of Larson’s human subjects were fat and wearing glasses?) is about to descend.  One of the spiders says to the other “If we pull this off we’ll eat like kings!” 

Another depicts two deer in the forest with one commenting “Hell of a birthmark Hal” referring to the exact replica of a red-and-white target on the otherwise brown hide of his new-found (although not long to be had) antlered friend.

Larson, according to local Lakewood resident John Haddick, attended Curtis High School where he took biology from a Mr. Webb.  This local claim-to-fame explains then this statement from Wikipedia: “Larson's frequent use of animals and nature in the comic is popularly attributed to his background in biology.” 

But this is not about Larson’s comical renditions of “impending bizarre disasters” but rather about one of his other frequent themes – his quirky search for meaning in life.

My father and I once embarked in search of the far side.  Only we weren’t in a hurry to get there.  We fished our way along the Quinalt River from near the mouth to the headwaters in the Olympic National Forest.  It’s been many, many years now but as I recall the trail is totally flat, and except for the wonderful pools below every bend of the rapids where lurked trout - “Surely in this one dad!” – it’s long and uneventful, the forest canopy ever blocking the sun.

Until you come to the far side.

At eleven-miles the forest ends abruptly and you find yourself standing awestruck at the grand entrance to Enchanted Valley, also appropriately named “The Valley of a Thousand Waterfalls.”  Cascading down nearly everywhere you look are these showers-of-blessing to the hot and tired hiker.  Dad and I climbed up to one and stood in the pool – stark naked and dripping wet – a shower with a view.

Above Enchanted Valley the trail switch-backs laboriously to a place where we pitched our tent and after hot Jell-O (our favorite in the backwoods) I slept most soundly.  The next morning I awoke to the sound and smell of frying bacon.  Dad was already up, having built a fire and breakfast was near ready.  Poking my head out from beneath the tent flap I watched as a creek bubbled nearby.  The long-bladed grass bent beneath the weight of the morning dew and the sun peeking from behind the snow-capped peak above made the dew-drops sparkle like diamonds. 

A most beautiful spot in all the world was this place my dad and I had discovered.  Of course we were not the first adventurers to stake their claim as someone preceding us had placed a sign there along the well-worn trail to connote their impression of what they’d felt upon arrival – and how hard it was to leave.

It read, “Home Sweet Home.”

My father and mother are gone now – along with both their birthdays we used to celebrate this month - but I’m still surrounded by multiplied memories of their love for me and our family and for beauty and for the joy of discovery.  The far side of American Lake this morning is as that sunrise at Home Sweet Home – crystal clear.  Not a breath of air.  No ripple on the water.  An absolutely beautiful day to be alive.

And heading for the far side.