Westering
The last thing my mother told me before I left home with no particular object in mind but to see the Sawtooths and the Tetons and perhaps the great-granddaughters of corset-clad Gold Rush “Cyprians” was, “Don’t take risks.” As an explorer’s commission this fell far short of “Extend the external commerce of the United States,” or “Locate a waterway to the Pacific,” or even just, “Have fun.” As an effort at self-caricature it was a great success. As an indirect reminder of why I was going at all, the deeper reason, the subconscious goad, it was right on the money.
