Echo Mountain

The things we need to learn to do, we learn to do by doing.

that life is a matter of moments, strung together like rain. To try to touch just one drop at a time, to try to count them or order them or reckon their worth—each by each—was impossible. To stand in the rain was the thing. To be in it.

It’s terrible to feel useless.

Blame comes from the Greek for “curse”. That’s the root of it. A curse against the sacred, which is what sisters are or should be to each other.

There aren’t many hurts that a sky meadow full of clean white blossoms can’t make at least a little better.

Good manners and honesty. I liked those qualities in a person.

My father set a fresh log on the stump and hefted his ax. “Nothing to say. And no sense pointing you children toward something better left alone. Which is what you’ll do, Ellie. Leave her alone.” And there was something so hard in his voice that I’d obeyed him.

What's wrong between you two?' she said. 'You used to be like peas in a pod.' I thought about everything I might say, then chose the simplest. 'We're different.' Cate scoffed at that. 'So are ink and paper, but they get along very well indeed.' 'She's mad at me,' I said. 'Not mad,' Esther said. 'She thinks I'm the reason our daddy got hurt.' Cate scoffed again. 'You're a girl. You're not a tree.' 'She was in the way,' Esther said. Cate shook her head. 'Blame comes from the Greek for 'curse.' That's the root of it. A curse. Against the sacred. Which is what sisters are. Or should be. To each other.' She glared at us both. 'Sacred.

What am I supposed to do?” I said aloud, though I was alone. But the sky was busy being the sky. And the trees were busy being trees. And the birds, likewise, were busy being exactly who they were. Which was, in itself, an answer. So I made up my mind to listen to the flame in my chest, which sighed and roared and sighed again like a long piece of music I knew by heart but still seemed to be hearing fresh.

If I’d learned anything from the mountain—and from my father—it was that I felt stronger and happier if I was able to do a hard thing and do it well.

I would do what I could. And then I would do what I thought I couldn’t do,

The brain’s like the world. Every part of it has a way of doing things. But you won’t know what you know until you know it.

You want to know?” Kate nodded again at the books on her desk, “Find out.

But what about the things I didn't know? What about the possibility that all we had to do to make him well was try harder? Try anything. Try everything. And admit that there were things we didn't understand. (p. 58 hardcover)

Maybe she’ll wake up soon and come back to what she used to be...or what she’ll be next