There has been less reading this summer than other years. When our children were young, the stacks of picture books crowded us on the couch. Since bedtime routines were lax, I sometimes read until I was slurring words and the kids poked me to wake up. As a grown up it was my good fortune to bring a novel to the beach, or on a long car ride. 

But this July I only opened one. 

Three Cups of Tea tells the story of a man who built schools in Pakistan. His determination to accomplish this sprouted from when he failed to climb one of the more brutal mountains this planet plunked in the landscape to taunt us. I say "us", but such a dare has no purchase with me. The genre of humans who risk their lives on the snowy slopes of Everest and K2 come from a different energy source. 

Greg Mortenson made it close enough to the top to toss a snowball, though such a playful gesture was not on his mind when he decided to turn around. Villagers coaxed his half frozen body back to life, and their kindness opened his vision to a different summit to climb. He saw the cycle of poverty mired with ignorance, and vowed to anyone who would listen, and a bunch who didn't want to, that he would build a school. Such a promise is pristine enough, but the logistics of carrying timber and cement up dirt roads in thin air adds intrigue.  

The arduous process of raising money entailed conversations with Sir Edmund Hillary, the man who did reach the top. That icon spoke at a fundraiser, proclaiming that this endeavor would bring more joy than a footprint on an isolated peak. 

In his naïveté, Greg expected the project to be accomplished in a few months, though the reality stretched it out over years. But in that protracted struggle, Greg's dream avalanched to include fifty-five schools. Somewhere along that circuitous road, he sat on the roof of a sweltering hut with a friend sipping tea. At that moment, he understood how his measure of joy rivaled that of a Parisian dining on coffee and croissants under an umbrella. Having recently eaten such delicacies in France, I know what he meant. 

My own town is currently constructing a new school. The forces of nature are milder here in Pennsylvania, and no one will die of frostbite. The motivations are less about abject poverty, and more about having a building that does not leak. Kindness is a driving force, along with generosity, and by the time the current first graders are old enough to do division, it will be complete. 

I can picture myself visiting the new library, when my granddaughter comes to visit. If it happens that my eyes flutter shut I hope that she will poke me.