Montclair did not understand these basic principles of success in the human world, and he may have wrestled with chess moves and all the other problems of the day, late into the night.  By the time Montclair was in his twenties, he would stay awake late into the night each night, distracted by racing thoughts.

One night, he let his racing thoughts of chess transform into something new.  In his head, he turned four pawns into soldiers walking across a field.  He gave them a challenge that might have been simple for his mind to grasp – maybe they were defending a fort on a cliff.  And for the first time in his life, he fell asleep.

As he grew older and fell into the world of cheese, his nighttime imaginations evolved.  The pawns became nations, and each night he would reconstruct new nations, entirely imaginary nations from the fantastical older Europe of chessboard artwork.  Each nation would have a certain type of economy, a certain amount of soldiers, a certain kind of cheese.  And he proposed a conflict into each imagination, and this slowpaced mindgame, leading him away from the worries of the day, would set him into deep sleep.

Montclair worked hard, and he enjoyed the challenge and the social environment of the fromagerie.  But it would be a long time before he realized that he was far from content or satisfied.  As a self-learner whose mind kept leading him in new directions, Montclair would come to learn that it was that field between four nations where he belonged.  Because the world he had been constructing in his mind at night was his subconscious easing him into the focus that suited him best.  He was a ruff, and not a kingfisher.  He a was a foot soldier, not a merchant.  And he was, more than anything a product of the age of reason and enlightenment.  And when he finally stepped off the cobblestone footstep of the fromagerie for the last time, giving up his financial security and the warmth of his network ,  he at last found peace and contentment as a simple galavanteer, out there riding the trains between nations.
We pass through St. Gallen, the stunning urban center of Eastern Switzerland, flanked by the Appenzell alps, and we continue into the foothills of the alps.

We drive up small, winding roads into the Appenzell region.  Up here there are several farms, whose grassy meadows are draped in the shadows of steep mountains covered in snow.  Pale yellow Simmantaler cows chew at the grass in the fields.  This is the breed that produces the milk for Appenzeller cheese, the type of cheese which has led us here.

These are a handful of the seventy-five producers of Appenzeller.  One such farm would have been Montclair’s destination, because he would have known the families that produced the best, and he would have enjoyed a cheese right here with one of his former suppliers. 

But for us, these hills are just a chance to see the cows that produce the cheese.  We make our way to the town of Appenzell by nightfall.  This lovely town is packed with old swiss buildings, flags and decorative flowers hanging from windows.  At the heart of the city, we find the local cheese shop.  The fromager explains the three categories of the cheese – classic, aged about three months.  Surchoix, aged about six months, and extra, aged over six months.

Each of the three varieties comes in a small, yellow wheel.  The semi-hard mountain cow cheese is the color of wheat, and just inside the rind, its color is darker, with a hint of blue or green.  This darker color is part of the magic of appenzeller.  For 1300 years, this cheese has been made by washing the rinds with secret blends of herbs, spices, wines and herbal brandy.  Each producer has his own particular rind wash.  But the effect of these herbal brines is the specialty of appenzeller – an explosion of rich, spicy flavor.  We test each of the three varieties, and agree that the Surchoix is richest in flavor – tangy, salty, but almost with a flower delicate quality. 

It is good to have come this far to taste a cheese we have imagined for a very long time. At home, we prefer eating cheese from our own backyard.  To first taste something right where it is made makes it unforgettable. 

Montclair, of course, does not exist.  He is a figment of our imagination, and this is why, perhaps, we have created him as a man troubled by imagination.  Some people believe that the consistent factor of unhappiness around the world in this modern age is the pull of information, the noise of a connected society and the weight of every direction all at once, by the simple fact that we cannot ignore every temptation and distraction.  Montclair is a man who learned to step away from that noise and to follow his focus. 

In the morning, Jane and I share a simple breakfast of eggs, toast, and cheese. On this bright sunny morning, we are here in Switzerland because we are following in the footsteps of St. Deuberex Montclair. But we are not following him, we are constructing him out of our own imagination, to give us the focus we need to search for cheese.