Break a Leg!

It has been an interesting couple of weeks for the world. Hillary won the Pennsylvania primary, Mikail Gorbachev publicly professed his faith in Jesus, and I fell down and broke my leg.

Our Friday hike started very well. David and I, our dear friend Mohammad and two of his family members started out near Mt. Damavand bright and early. Mt. Damavand itself is the highest peak in Iran and the highest volcano in the Middle East, over 18,000’ high—the Mt. Fuji of Persia. We were having a leisurely walk at 9000’. A Kurdish man had been high up on a ridge picking greens that he would sell in town. His two big canvas bags bulged as he greeted us and walked by. A young man was making himself tea over a fire near a flowing river. We stopped for breakfast ourselves and out came tea, home made bread, home churned “pumice butter”, freshly ground walnuts, feta cheese and jam. Nearby was the source of a mineral spring—a burbling from a small collection of rocks. The water was tangy, almost sour, and deeply refreshing

We crossed the stream and ascended higher. Tulips were blooming—vibrantly yellow and red. Tulips exist in Iran as wilflowers. (And of course it is from Central Asia that Dutch traders received their first tulip samples and the rest, as they say is history). The Persian poet, Ferdowsi (935-1020) wrote about Ferhad, suffering unrequited love for the beautiful Shirin. He fled to the desert and wept, each tear he cried turning into a vibrant tulip. I thought about tulips, Ferdowsi, Dutch bulbs and photographed many of these lovely, petite wildflowers.

Next came a series of little caves, set into a severe wall of rock. Those, said Mohammad,are probably where wild boars sleep. Boars are from three to six feet long, like greenery and running water and are not known for their pleasant temperament. There are also sheep and gazelle in the area, and shepherds' dogs wear large spikes on their collars and harnesses to ward off wolves.

We decided to go down hill--- down a steep little path strewn with loose rocks—so that we could ascend a better upward path offering panoramic views. I had not gone very far when I heard two distinct snaps—the first, my hiking stick as it broke neatly in two, and the second my leg. (ouch)

I provided quite a morning event. Helpful Iranians stabilized my leg, offered me candy and chai and kept me company. The Iran Red Crescent Society sent out six strong men and a litter. They bravely carried the substantial American lady down a steep hill, across a river, and up another hill to a waiting ambulance. Mohammad was bravely helping carry me. Huff puff puff. Into my ear he said, “Mother, how many kilos do you weigh?” “Probably best not to contemplate,” I answered breezily.

Now—nine days later, we are back in Qom. A surgeon has put in a “bio plate” and screws to help my bones knit and in a week I’ll be fitted for a traveling cast back to the States. The Tehran Hospital was everything one could have hoped for: professional, friendly, efficient and caring. I have received several bouquets of flowers from Qom, chocolate covered figs and many yummy meals from our Armenian friends in Tehran. David waits on me lovingly as we contemplate our flight home in ten days.

Life is good! And I am a fortunate woman.