Part II was curious about Heart Mountain. My uncle had mentioned it a few times when I visited him in the late 80's. He, his wife and daughter were interned there during WWII. Internment is a polite word to describe the imprisonment of 110,000 people of Japanese ancestry in 10 concentration camps during the war. 62% were American citizens. My uncle and 19 other relatives were part of the 10,000 people "relocated" at Heart Mountain - people uprooted from their daily lives in Los Angeles because of racial prejudice.
The internment camps were not as bad as the Nazi death camps in Europe, but as Dr. James Hirabayashi, Professor Emeritus and former Dean of Ethnic Studies at San Francisco State University, wrote in 1994, "...[this fact] does not negate the reality of the unconstitutional incarceration of Japanese American citizens."
My uncle was very angry and not just about the loss of material things. I inferred what he was most bitter about was that he, an innocent man, was not respected as an American citizen. He spent three years of his life in this forced relocation. When I asked what he did at Heart Mountain - in his calmer moments - he said he farmed potatoes. And that's about all he shared. No one else in my family brought it up or talked about it. It seemed like Heart Mountain had never happened.
My father was a medic in the Army and requested a furlough four times to go and visit them. He was denied every time. The fifth time he just went to visit them without permission. He told me that he couldn't believe what he saw - the barbed wire and guard towers. And when he asked the guard, "How come I'm fighting for our country and my family is here behind barbed wire?" The guard just turned red and couldn't say anything.
Those were the only stories I ever heard about Heart Mountain. When I thought about Heart Mountain, tears streamed from my eyes. Why? I wasn't sure. But it was a sign that my heart was speaking, and I had to listen.
Thanks to the generosity of many contributors, I went on the Heart Mountain Pilgrimage, flying into Cody, Wyoming in mid-July. I had never heard of this town - founded by the famous Buffalo Bill Cody in 1895. The first thing I did after the airplane landed was stand on the runway to look for Heart Mountain. I saw it in the distance. It's hard to describe what i felt.
At 8,123 feet high, Heart Mountain is just north of Cody. The Native Americans thought the mountain looked like a buffalo heart, and so one story says that's how it got it's name.
350 million year old limestone covers the 50 million year old rock that is the bedrock of Heart Mountain. We saw that aged limestone on the summit. The stone was light tan with small patches of orange lichens growing on it. That image brought to mind how our ancestors surround and embrace us.
Cody is high desert country, drier even than Tucson, AZ. There had been a nice rain during my first night there. A true blessing. The rain caused an uncommon humidity the next day when we hiked to the top of Heart Mountain. I love humidity - it reminds me of Hawaii.
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| Standing on the side of the Heart Mountain Interpretive Center with the Mountain in the background. June Tanoue, Betsy Brown, Wendy Egyoku Nakao, Deborah Thoreson. |
My roommate on this trip was Wendy Egyoku Nakao, another Big Island girl, who is also the abbot of the Zen Center of Los Angeles. Her Facebook post alerted me to the pilgrimage and sharing a room lessened the cost of the pilgrimage for both of us. I appreciated Egyoku's calm, grounded presence. We sat meditation together each morning. She embodied clarity and fearlessness - a support for me.
Our first challenge was climbing to the summit of Heart Mountain. We saw a golden eagle soaring in the distance as our 4-wheel drive jeep moved slowly on a one lane dirt road to the base of the mountain. Miles and miles of fragrant sage brush dotted the landscape. We drove carefully since the road climbed over small ridges with sharp drops on either side.
We arrived at the mountain's base after about an hour. It was green and quite lush. A light breeze gently shook the leaves of the quaking aspens which reminded me of the Hawaiian '
olapa trees in the forest above Waimea. We walked through a riot of wildflowers in bloom: red Indian paintbrush, yellow coneflowers, and bushy tall goldenrods. There were many trees with wonderfully shaped pine cones. It was a challenge climbing the mountain at that altitude. I thought there were parts of the trail that even a sure footed donkey might have some trouble climbing.
But slowly and steadily we climbed to the top. It was both exhilarating and frightening to be so high on the peak. Exhilarating because of the vastness of space - scary because there were no ropes or railings. I noticed many times I imagined tripping and falling down the mountain or the wind coming up suddenly and blowing me off the peak.
Part II coming in September.
