John Boy Walton once said, “The mountains don’t need us, but we need them.” John Boy was a smart lad, a bit serious and prone to being overcome with emotion, but there’s worse ways to be. He was curious about the people and the world near and far to him, cared deeply for his family, and possessed a moral compass for truth and justice that was steadfast and unwavering.

“Passionate” would be a good word to describe John Boy, if one were looking for a word. Perhaps you are fortunate enough to have a John Boy, or two, in your life? Perhaps you are a John Boy? Maybe not in full, but in part. Bibs and bare feet are not for everyone. Apparently, Ike Godsey was not a stickler for the “No Shoes, No Service” policy in his store.

It so happens that I am fortunate enough, as my wife and my daughter are passionate people in possession of strong moral compasses. That is not to say that my son and I are immoral dastardly gangsters, rather that our compasses possess a few air bubbles that perpetually bump the needle about in a laissez-faire manner.

These differences in temperament are not chosen like a hairdo from a magazine (I’ll never make that mistake again), rather they are largely just the hand we are genetically dealt. A double scoop of nature with a sprinkle of nurture that can sometimes give those closest to us intermittent bouts of brain freeze.

Brain freeze, though painful, passes relatively quickly, and we always dig back in for more. Not because we love the brain freeze, but because we love the double scoop with sprinkles. So it goes.

Being around people that are passionate about things can sometimes nudge us to ponder that perhaps we should be a bit more passionate about things, that maybe we should care a little more about things. What things? Things that matter to those that matter to us seems like a good place to start. Beyond that? I guess one must just dabble a bit in life and see what raises their passion flag above the walls of their inner citadel.

Viktor Frankl once said, “Self-transcendence is the essence of existence.” Self-transcendence…moving above and beyond ourselves…the acquisition of more sprinkles for our double scoop.

John Boy Walton and Viktor Frankl…strange bedfellows, but their words were on my mind while I rambled about the Black Hills this past week, hoofing it up snow covered hills to see what I could see. Mostly what I saw was more snow-covered hills, but somehow coffee and jerky always taste better while sitting on a stump on top of hill. Half the jerky anyway, our dog talked me out of the other half.

The Black Hills don’t need me, but I need them. We all need something, or someone, to challenge us now and then. We need someone to point out that some of those sprinkles on our double scoop aren’t actually sprinkles (it’s amazing the places mice can get into).

Goodnight John Boy.