"TO THOSE of us who live on the hillside which looks northward across the Basin of Minas, Blomidon is a never-ending delight. It is the first thing we look for when we are returning home. If we are coming up the Valley in the train, we stand in the vestibule, ready for getting off, but craning our necks for that first glimpse of Blomidon. If we are coming over the hills from Halifax, "There's Blomidon!" we shout triumphantly, as soon as we catch sight of it, and we berate the roadmakers who chose a route that dips so soon behind hills and deprives us of a longer look at the beloved landmark.

Outsiders are puzzled, and a little exasperated, by our enthusiasm for Blomidon. They have seen higher mountains. They know of soaring peaks which pierce the sky in jagged and varied outline...

We know that it is not for its height nor its grandeur that we love Blomidon. We love it in somewhat the way we love a grandparent, because it has had a part in making us what we are."

- from Blomidon Rose, by Esther Clark Wright (1957).