“By the early afternoon, Bentari crested the lava peaks along the rim of the small escarpment at Wulumbo Falls. He had followed the Kwa knowing that it sprang from the valley. He was unprepared, however, for the sight that met his eyes upon his first view when he reached the summit. His climb up the cliffs was short work for the agile climber, but his chest still heaved from the effort and the excitement of finally seeing the place that he had heard about all his life. He stood so still in awe of the scene that his deep, excited breaths stopped short, and he had to force himself to take air into his lungs. Stretching tall, he stood atop the lava outcrop staring and absorbing the wondrous beauty that the valley offered to his smiling eyes. The cloudy, grey ceiling of the sky hung low overhead and cast a bluish, purple pall across the verdant valley rolling out before him. The valley stretched far to the south gradually becoming swales and then distant hills on the horizon. Part of the valley’s floor was forested with the tallest giants that Bentari had ever seen. Some emergent trees stood like enormous stalks of broccoli that towered to nearly three-hundred feet. Between the majestic woods, occasional silk trees and acacias dotted the rolling leas of star grass.” (From Bentari chapter 19 “How It Goes”)

I grew up in Portland, Oregon, where we are surrounded by plenty of natural wonders. Forest Park is an enormous expanse of hilly, wooded trails and glens that stretch for 13 miles along the city’s western horizon. The sun sets behind its towering firs. Two mighty rivers converge here—the Willamette that meanders peacefully for 200-miles through its fertile valley; and the mighty Columbia that scoured out its glorious gorge at the end of an Ice Age. Volcanic peaks, now giant snow-covered jewels, adorn the Cascade Range. Mt. Hood to the East is silhouetted by the sunrise here. Hood blew like all the Pacific Rim volcanoes, and when she did, she gave birth to cinder cones for miles in all directions. Our fair city was built right around one of Hood’s vents, and we call it Mt. Tabor Park now days. It once spewed lava and brimstone. Now her caldera holds an amphitheater and a basketball court. Tennis courts grace two sides of the park, and three reservoirs of the city’s drinking water lie within the park’s 100 acres. And I never tire of this magnificence; never take any of these wonders for granted. To this day, I am awe-struck and bewildered by the beauty that surrounds us here.

As I wrote Bentari and described the African settings, the headwaters of the Kwa and the lava formations of the caldera in the Valley of Shadows were not far-off lands to me. They were right up the hill from home. They were magical haunts of my childhood and the still awe-inspiring surroundings where I play tennis. The photo seen here is the igneous wall beside Mt. Tabor’s basketball court. Could it be the outcrop that Bentari scaled to first behold the Valley of Shadows—and the slope where everything came down?

Photo: In the caldera at Mt. Tabor Park—Portland, Oregon