Perspective

 

Another failed attempt at a camping trip to Joshua Tree. I thought to beat the oppressive heat with an early April run, but I thought wrong, and that’s all right. For the three days I was in Southern California, daytime temperatures nudged 100º, once even topping it. So, I shared the wifi and air conditioning with Colin and Leigha (both of whom are working from home) during the day, and we ventured out when it cooled down in the evening (into the 80s) for good LA food and one great night of music at the Largo. It was awesome.

After the amazing time I had getting to Los Angeles, I would have called the trip a success if I’d only seen the Los Feliz Blvd. trash can fire that prompted Leigha’s first ever 911 call. Driving to our campgrounds outside of Crescent City, CA, on the first day was mostly familiar, a pretty, easy drive I made so many times to see my parents in Medford. My heart ached a little as I passed landmarks that reminded me of those distant days. But as I cut away from the Medford route, toward Grants Pass and Cave Junction, the closer I got to the coast the more lush and lovely the vegetation became. Then, suddenly, I was enveloped in redwoods. I think I actually gasped at their magnificence. After setting up our campsite–a postcard pretty spot amid the green giants–the dogs and I took off for a long hike.

Deep in the forest, the silence broken only by the occasional piercing call of the marbled murrelet, I felt my perspective shift. In this primeval paradise the late afternoon sun filtered through the dense canopy in spots where vine maples twined up massive redwood trunks, reaching gracefully toward patches of blue; a riot of green, ferns and hostas, clover and huckleberry, lapped over fallen branches and onto the trail, its cushiony duff muffling our steps. The fresh redwood smell in the cool air was like the perfect incense for such a sacred space. Of course, it made me think of Emily Dickinson:

Some keep the Sabbath going to Church –
I keep it, staying at Home –
With a Bobolink for a Chorister –
And an Orchard, for a Dome –

Some keep the Sabbath in Surplice –
I just wear my Wings –
And instead of tolling the Bell, for Church,
Our little Sexton – sings.

God preaches, a noted Clergyman –
And the sermon is never long,
So instead of getting to Heaven, at last –
I’m going, all along.

Redwoods are the tallest trees on earth, growing to 300 ft or more, as tall as a 31-story building. Some currently living redwoods are over 2,000 years old, and redwood trees have been around for 240 million years, waaaaay longer than humans (or spiders or flowers or birds). They exist now only along the Northern California and Southern Oregon coast, nowhere else in the universe. Walking among the redwoods made me feel small and peaceful and happy and connected to the earth, the past, and the present. They give me hope for the future. These trees are remarkable. They have survived so much in their time on this planet–natural disasters, wars, Donald Trump. In spite of their surprisingly shallow roots, they can withstand strong winds and storms because they support each other, intertwining their roots to increase stability. And they are even helping us–beyond providing beauty and hope and a place for escape; coast redwoods capture more carbon dioxide from our cars, trucks, and power plants than any other tree, cleaning the air and helping to reduce escalating global temperatures, which is why they are called climate change heroes. For me, they are also perspective change heroes. I am grateful to them for the breath of fresh air.