Christmas Memories, part 2

The month of December always seemed the longest. We never could fill the advent calendar fast enough for me. But after so many long, slow, wintery days, Christmas Eve finally arrived. And with it, so many traditions. It began with dinner. Our time-honored fare was spaghetti. Yup, this German/Dutch/Irish family rang in the holidays with a good ol’ Italian meal. Though I have had many good meat sauces over the years, nothing tops Mom’s homemade ‘bahsgetti’ sauce. I can still taste it. There was probably salad and garlic bread as well, but it was that delicious tomato and beef topping that has imprinted upon my mind. Growing up, we didn’t have ‘pop’ every day. It was something saved for special occasions like sleepovers and Christmas Eve. The only soda we drank that night was 7-up, festively colored either red or green and imbibed from stemware. And to end this delicious feast, dessert! We had this plastic display that was shaped like a Christmas tree. It held paper cones that were to be filled with green and red Jell-O. We anxious awaited this course, not because it was particularly tasty, but because the gelatin NEVER set! I may be mistaken, but I don’t remember a single year where we could use an actual spoon to eat our dessert. Most years, we just drank it.

          After dinner, the evening slowed down. We would gather in the living room, turn off the lights, and light all the candles. This included the lighting of the angel chimes I mentioned in the last post. In the darkness, we would watch the spinning reflections on the ceiling and collect our thoughts. I’m sure, like me, my sisters pondered the big issues: can we feed the hungry, will the coming year be peaceful, did I get that game I’ve been begging for all season? You know, the important things. Actually, I think this was an excellent ploy to get three excited girls with full bellies to become tired and go to bed. Little did our parents know this was the year it would finally happen. We tried every Christmas and always failed, but this year we would finally succeed in staying up until midnight. Why was this so important? Because at midnight every Christmas Eve the animals were given the gift of speech. We always wanted to stay up to hear the wise words they were sure to impart to us. Alas, it never was meant to be.

          Though we struggled to stay up, like many other children, we never needed an alarm to wake us. We were up long before the sun, eager to rush downstairs to see what wonders awaited us. But there were rules. We weren’t allowed to go downstairs until 7am. We would sit at the top of the stairs, holding a clock, watching its hands slowly turn. When the approved time arrived, we rushed down the stairs. We could only look in our stockings and at the toys left out by Santa. We had to wait until 8am before we could wake our parents and open the rest of our gifts. The reason for this was revealed to me years later. My parents had friends over who didn’t have children yet. They would stay up late putting presents together and playing cards. Hence the requisite time constraint. Once the approved time was reached, we rushed in and jumped on their bed to wake them up. Then came the LONG process of ‘getting up’. There was coffee to be made and then they both had to go through their stockings. Of course, they took their time, gushing over this little thing and that precious item. Meanwhile, there were three girls going crazy with anticipation. Eventually, our patience paid off and we tore into our gifts. It seemed that a season of expectancy and excitement was over in mere moments. A carpet of torn paper littered the floor while we played with our new toys. Soon my mother was busy in the kitchen making breakfast, yet another sacred staple. There was scrambled eggs with chopped chipped beef, but the cherished item were Paris Puffins. They are a simple cake muffin that is dipped in drawn butter and rolled in cinnamon sugar, yet that description does not do them justice. My mouth waters just thinking about them. I understand that they are still made on Christmas morning, though I have lost the tradition. My sister has altered the recipe just a bit by making them into mini muffins, thus creating a mouthful of savory, buttery, cinnamon and sugary delight! Perhaps I should start the tradition again.

          After breakfast was finished, we had to get dressed and ready to leave. On Thanksgiving, we went over the river and through the woods to my father’s parent’s house. On Christmas day we went into town to my mother’s parent’s place. We were allowed to bring one toy or game; however, we always found many more presents when we arrived. The rest of the day seems a blur to me, perhaps because it was no longer solely my mother’s doing. Others came into the picture and brought their own influences. Perhaps we had the same thing for dinner, but I don’t recall. I have few memories after walking in my grandparent’s door. It’s not because I had less fun there. It just wasn’t engraved on my memory as all the things that made up my Christmas at home. Over the years, things changed. My parents divorced and my mom remarried. With this change came new people and different traditions. First one sister left, then the other moved away. Eventually, I left as well. But my mom tried to keep as many of the traditions she had started for as long as she could.

          Unfortunately, I haven’t spent Christmas at home with my family in a very long time. I regret all the holidays and fun times I’ve missed. And I haven’t formed many strong traditions for my celebrations. But I have no regrets. What I have are a lifetime of memories, of good food, and laughter, and lots and lots of love. If I ever do make it home for the holidays again, I know it will be joyous. But it will never be as magical as the years I carry in my mind. Those will always be precious to me. I have my family to thank for all of those wonderful times, but I especially have my mother to thank. She made Christmas the most wonderful time of the year.

Christmas Memories

I often find myself in somewhat of a funk this time of year. And I blame my mother. Not because of her demands or expectations or memories of horrible past holidays. No, I blame her because she did such a wonderful job of filling my memories of Christmas’ past with tradition, ritual, and fun. So to help purge me of my blues, I thought I’d share these fond recollections with you.

Let us start where all of Christmas begins, the decorations. As far as I can remember, we never went to a Christmas tree lot. Instead, it was off to the ‘forest’ to find the perfect tree. And there is where the debate began. My sisters and I would always look for that perfectly triangular tree with lots of branches spiraling upwards to a precipice where the angel tree topper would perch. Our mother, on the other hand, always felt sorry for all the trees whose trunks were crooked and were lacking branches in certain key places. “But no one will choose this one if we don’t,” she would plead. Yeah, because it’s ugly. Please, Mom, can we please NOT have a Charlie Brown Christmas tree this year!!! I remember that she usually won the debate, begging for empathy toward the pathetic pine. And it always worked out as we could place that one bare side toward the wall (the statement she often used as the coup de grace.)

Decorating was done together and rarely with an argument, quite a feat for three young girls. The only debate I can recall was in the proper method of placing tinsel on the tree. Should one hang one strand at a time on preselected boughs? Or was it better to take a small handful and toss them onto the tree in a devil-may-care manner, letting tinsel strands fall where they may? In the end, the point became moot when our golden retriever, Maggie, would walk by the tree and transfer large amounts of the sparkly strands (along with several ornaments) onto her tail.

There were many other decorations to be placed around the house. There was a bobble-head Santa and a rubber Rudolph. There was a Christmas tree my middle sister made at school from a large pinecone and a tomten who stood beside it. If you haven’t heard of a tomten, you should google it right now. One of our favorite books growing up was about said tiny creature and the night he befriended a fox. There were Santa candle holders and a homemade advent calendar. There were elves made of pipe cleaners, pieces of felt, and a Styrofoam ball for a head. Mom would put these out while we were at school one day and we had to find them. There might be one hiding in a potted plant and one perched on a bookshelf and yet another hanging from the chain of the overhead lamp. We each had a wooden shoe with our names burnt on them. As Dutch tradition dictated, we placed them under the tree and, on Christmas Eve, would place a carrot inside for the reindeer. The next morning, the root was replaced with yummy candies. And there were the angel chimes, whose role in the festivities I will explain in the next installment. Last and most important were the stockings, hung with care, on the chairs around our dining room table because we didn't have a chimney. They were handmade by our mother. I still have mine, a picture of which opens this blog; however, I don't use it anymore. Let's face it, it is really quite old and has held some magical gifts over the decades. I think it has served its purpose well and can take Christmas off from now on. I do bring it out though, and I still have my wooden shoe which also takes its celebratory place under the tree. Unfortunately, the reindeer no longer stop by anymore.

Once decorating was finished, the baking began. And oh was there a lot for Mom to bake. She always put together gift boxes filled with delicious presents. There were teacakes, peanut brittle, fudge, and of course, there were cookies. Lots and lots of cookies. She made chocolate snowballs. These were simple chocolate cookies drenched in white frosting that hardened to the exact consistency of the crust that forms on snow. There were wedding cookies, another simple almond flavored dough formed into crescent shapes and dusted with powdered sugar. But the big part of making the cookies came with the gingerbread men and the sugar cookies. It was a virtual assembly line with colored frostings and sugars, red cinnamon drops, silver and assorted colored nonpareils. We stacked the cookies by shape and there were quite a few shapes: Christmas trees, tear-drop shaped ornaments, stars, reindeer, and even candlesticks. My sisters and I took decorating very seriously. At the start, we would dress the gingerbread men in pants and shirts with ties. We would adorn the trees with ornaments. I even recall using a toothpick to create melted wax on the candles. Oh yes, these were works of art only a fool would dare to consume. Atleast, that’s how it started. After the fifth or sixth DOZEN, things began to digress until we were just slapping some frosting on them and sprinkling them with nonpareils.

One of my most favorite traditions was in making the gingerbread house. When we were little, the edible abodes were simple cabins adorned with various candies. The frosting we used worked just as good as super glue, succeeding in cementing the pieces together; however, it prevented us from being able to eat any of the candy. Inevitably, it would wind up being placed outside for the birds (and the aforementioned dog, Maggie) to devour. As the years progressed and I grew older, my mom and I enjoyed finding houses that were more and more challenging. The pinnacle of our pursuit was a three story mansion with fieldstone walls. Unfortunately, the years of Maggie eating the abandoned houses led her to believe that they were made especially for her. This error in judgement led to her eating one whole wall that was on the table with the other pieces, laid there to dry before assembly. Fortunately, we were able to remake the piece and put together what I humbly believe was a pure masterpiece.

In my next blog, I will share all the wonderful traditions we had on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.

Some days are harder than others

I've been a dog walker for just over 4 years now and though I love every part of my job, one thing never gets easier: the loss of a dog. Even when I know the end is near, I still reel at the finality of their passing. Just one more time, just one more walk, just one more doggie kiss. Sometimes it is not meant to be. Equally as difficult, though not nearly as heartbreaking, is when the loss occurs because a client moves. Both ends are inevitable, but I'm never ready for either. The one thing I truly believe is that I can keep them close by keeping their memory alive. So in honor of the sweetest Aussie smile there ever was, here are some of my favorite memories and pictures of pups I've had the privilege to know.

Sierra

I'll start with the latest loss. Sierra was a beautiful Australian Shepherd. I had the privilege of knowing her for nearly four years. I started walking her and her brother, Rocky, not long after I became a dog walker. Initially, we walked them for an hour. One of my most memorable walks is a one hour walk I did with them in a rainstorm. Since I was new to the job, I hadn't yet procured all the adequate gear and that was one of the rare days I wore jeans. Not long into the walk, it began to rain. And it didn't stop. By the time we made it back to their home, all three of us were drenched. But being hardy Aussies, they were troopers. Because Rocky had aggression issues with other dogs, we started walking them each 30 minutes. I usually walked Sierra first and always cherished how easy-going and friendly she was with dogs. We had lots of fun meeting all kinds of pooches. Sierra, I will miss you tons.

Aria

 

Meet Aria. I used to walk her and her two "brothers," Lucky and Amadeus. I wish I had a better picture of Lucky to share as well; unfortunately, I didn't get the chance. All three were sweet pups with very different personalities. Amadeus, also a shi tzu, didn't really like to walk and often would stop to check a smell and would sniff for the entire 30 minutes if he could. Aria was a very laid back. She loved the walks and enjoyed a good sniff every now and then. Lucky, a cocker spaniel, was deceptively strong for his advanced years. In fact, his pulling led to my first fall. He suddenly pulled me off the road, onto a steep shoulder. I twisted my ankle and went down, hard, on both knees. As I fell, I was worried I might land on one of the dogs. They quickly scattered, but rushed to my side to check on me. They were so obviously worried. It was adorable and I couldn't help but smile at their concern. Lucky and Aria have passed, but I will always remember that day and how much they cared.

Chyna

Chyna and Max lived on the same property, but had different homes. They lived on an orchard in the mountains. I loved walking them for several reasons. They were two great dogs. Max is an Australian shepherd and Chyna...I'm not sure what she is, but she was a sweetheart. I also enjoyed walking them because they lived next to a redwood forest and we enjoyed exploring the area. The Santa Cruz mountains have many stories of Sasquatch sightings; however, we were never fortunate enough to spot one. Despite not seeing one, there were several times the woods felt very "squatchy." I can't tell you what that means. It just felt different on certain days, like some(one) was watching us. It didn't happen every time, but when the feeling was in the air, it was next to impossible to shake it off. We did see many other critters, including deer, blue heron, and squirrels, of course. Chyna was a quiet soul who loved walking with Max or by herself. She was always serious about the walk, checking every smell she found

Max

thoroughly. I started walking Max when he was a puppy. It's always fun to watch puppies grow into the dogs they are destined to be. His unchecked energy became more focused as he grew, but he always maintained a bit of his lovable goofiness. His mom became pregnant and had her baby at home. Because everything was so frantic, she forgot to cancel the walk. I noticed another car in the driveway and that Max didn't greet me at the gate as usual. When I came into the house, I quickly realized that there was a birth going on and quietly turned around and left. That was truly a unique work day! They both have moved and I miss our adventures so much.

Otis

Otis was my first dog. He was a beautiful Irish wolfhound who also lived in the mountains. He was the largest dog I've walked and always turned heads. Everyone knew Otis and many stopped to say 'hi'. He loved meeting new people. We walked in every possible kind of weather. There were incredibly hot days and freezing cold ones. We walked in the rain and the snow. We saw all kinds of wildlife. In fact, Otis stepped on a snake on one walk. He had no idea what he'd done until I started taking pictures of it. He stooped to sniff it and when he realized what it was, he wanted no part of it. Good dog. We stopped walking him because of health reasons, but were told we could come visit. I only went once. When he saw me, he was so excited because he thought we were going on our walk. My heart broke, especially when it dawned on him that we weren't going. I decided it would be best if I didn't go back. I will always remember how he looked running up the hill to greet me. For such a tall, gangly build, he was absolutely beautiful when he ran. I miss you, my big Ba-Gotie.

Mia

This is Mia. And this is the moment before all Hell broke loose. Mia was a sweet boxer who was also deaf. This is common in dogs that are all white. At this point, I had walked her several times. Despite her inability to hear me, I talked to her like I do all my dogs. I also take pictures of all my dogs and this is the first picture I took of her. I was trying to switch the leash from one hand to the other and dropped it. And she was gone like a flash. I freaked out and started calling her name. I got treats out and threw some on the ground; unfortunately, she was not interested in them. As I chased after her, I called one of the other walkers and had her call Mia's dad. He had been at home when we left on the walk and I hoped he still was there. Luckily, Mia managed to run back to the park next to his apartment complex. She laid down in the field and I squatted down, knowing if I approached her, she'd take off again. After a few minutes, I noticed her dad walking up behind her. He just bent down and scooped up the leash. I hung my head in shame and embarrassment, but he was great. He said she had run from him on several occasions and the trick was not to chase her as that was the game. I am forever grateful of how understanding he was. From that day on, all the walkers knew to keep a death grip on the leash. She moved back home to Florida, but I will always feel fortunate to know her. She was a beautiful girl and I learned so much from my time with her.

What if?

Over the past year and a half, I have had several things happen that made me wonder, 'what if?' What if I had followed my childhood dream and become a marine biologist? In July of 2013 I took my first whale watching tour and saw something I never thought I would ever see in my entire life. When I was a child,  I always had a love for larger animals. Both elephants and whales fascinated me and at some point I decided that I wanted to be a marine biologist. I learned everything I could about whales and was disheartened to hear that there were many that were soon to become extinct if nations continued to hunt them in the numbers that they did. One of the species most at risk was the largest animal to ever live on the planet, the blue whale. The numbers had become so low, it was impossible even to count how many were left and I was worried that I would never get to see one. Not only did we see whales on that fateful day in July. The blue whale was the first whale I ever saw. 

Unfortunately, none of my pictures were very good. A blue whale blends well with it's environment and though their blows can be as tall as 40 feet, we never knew where they would surface. Often we heard the huge exhale before we saw where they were. Luckily, there were also humpbacks. One decided to show off and do some fin and tail slapping. No breaches, but that was okay. He still looked like he was having lots of fun.
I have to take a moment to recommend very highly the whale tour that we went on. Monterey Bay Whale Watch is owned and operated by a marine biologist and every tour is led by marine biologists. What makes that so special is the knowledge that they carry, not just about the whales, dolphins, and other mammals in the water, but about the birds as well. Many of them you'll never see unless you're out in the open ocean.

Last year, I saw one movie and read one book that both resonated strongly with me. Blackfish is a documentary that shows the darker side of SeaWorld. I want to discuss this topic in more depth in another blog, but it did remind me that I often wondered what it would be like to work as a trainer with dolphins and whales. In Listening to Whales, I had a glimpse of what my life could have been like, had I pursued my dream. In this memoir, Alexandra Morton tells of her life recording and learning the language of killer whales. I will talk in more detail about this in the same blog; however, it made me yearn for her life terribly.

So do I regret not continuing that path toward the sea? Not for a minute. If I hadn't followed the path I chose, I may have never moved to Northern California. Then I wouldn't have met Kevin and we wouldn't have known Albie. And we would never be able to take all our wonderful trips. Life is a journey, not a destination. Years ago, my mother gave me a shirt with a wonderful quote by E. M. Forster, "We must be willing to let go of the life we have planned, so as to have the life that is waiting for us."

Back to the Future, part 1

I have writer's block. Ugh! I have ideas, but putting them down some semblance of legible words is a struggle right now. So I thought that I would share a post from a blog I began nearly 10 years ago. And since I've labeled this 'part 1', you can expect me to do it again when the written word fails me.

Saturday, August 13, 2005

What defines a "good life?" Is it the length of time we spend on this planet? Or the actions we take toward those around us? Perhaps it is measured in the accomplishments we make. There are many who believe that they need to acquire things to fulfill their lives. Still others believe that a good life is achieved by following a set of 'rules' carved in stone brought down from a mountain. If you follow these 'rules' you will be rewarded at the time of your death with eternal happiness. I don't follow that belief at all primarily because I don't think life ends with death. Death is just one stage in our existence. It will occur over and over as we are reincarnated. I believe that our purpose in life is finding the answers that we need to reach omniscience. The journey to achieve this state is what defines a life. The people we meet, the experiences we encounter, the things we learn are all a part of this quest. I believe that a good life is measured by our experiences, by the lives we touch, and those lives that touch us.
The irony of life is that many people (myself included) easily forget this. We often measure our lives by the most trivial of things. Money, success, acceptence. We feel stressed by trying to achieve these things and are consumed by this compulsion; however, none of these things will be carried on to the next life. Their importance only exists now. I was reminded of this because of the passing of two people this week. One I knew for a very short time and one I never had the pleasure to meet; however, both have had a profound effect on me.
The first person was my favorite manager at work. He went out of his way to help everyone. He always acknowledged hard work with genuine praise and acclaim. He was the first person to make me feel truly welcome in a new place. He did this every time he saw me. I learned about his life through the fascinating stories he shared. We laughed every day. He was a constant source of support and encouragement. In short, he has been one of the biggest influences in my life and I didn't even know him a year.
The second person was a young girl I learned about three months ago. She was diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor late last year at the young age of seven. Despite every attempt to prolong her life, she lost her battle earlier this week. She was a beautiful young girl who was full of life. She was surrounded by people who loved her. She always had a positive outlook. Even when she was in constant pain, she made people smile. In the short time she spent here, she touched so many people and reminded us of the importance of living every day to its fullest.
Although I am sad that she has gone and am even more devestated that I won't get to see my boss again, the best way to honor their lives is to remember their strengths and to focus not on what may occur weeks, months, or years away, but to concentrate on today. It is paramount that we live every day to its fullest, experiencing everything around us, extracting every piece of knowledge and enjoying the simplest of pleasures. This may sound like a hallmark card, but what the hell, it's my way of dealing with grief. And there is no wrong way to grieve. It is equally ironic that it takes loss to remind us of how much we have missed in life. I am newly resolved in living my life as simply and happily as I am able.
To Michael and Katie, I say thank you for everything you have given me!

"I think that I shall never see..."

After sharing my love for nature, specifically trees, I thought I'd share some of my favorite California natives through photos I've taken through the years. I hope you enjoy these trees as much as I do.

Coast Redwood

I'll begin with the tree I wake to every morning. Coast Redwoods are the tallest of all trees and some of the oldest living things on the planet. What amazes me the most is how these trees can survive during the very dry summer months. They only grow in a narrow strip of coastal California, from Monterey county to an area of Southern Oregon for a reason. The summer months along the coast are foggy nearly every day and these trees rely on this to keep them alive. They collect moisture from the fog in their branches and literally cause rain to fall. We call it redwood rain and many's the morning I would wake to wet car seats because I forgot to roll up my windows.

Twisted Redwood

Redwoods are truly amazing trees. There are actually several redwoods in this grove whose trunks are twisted. There's no obvious reason for them to have grown this way. In other cases, there are redwoods with huge chimneys, areas of the center of the tree that have been burnt out by fire. Often the heart wood seems nearly destroyed, but the tree continues to thrive. They rarely fall from the base. More often they drop branches known as 'widow makers'. The impact when they hit the ground causes a large 'bang'. I have seen some that are in excess of twenty feet and extremely heavy.

 

The Coast Redwood's closest relative is the Giant Sequoia. They only grow in areas of the western Sierra Nevada in California. This picture is of "Bull Buck" in the Nelder Grove. It is nearly 250ft high with a circumference at ground level of 100ft; yet, it is not one of the top 40 largest Giant Sequoia! They have a much greater mass than their coastal cousin, perhaps because they get more moisture. Both sequoias have an entire ecosystem that lives in their upper branches with species scientists are still discovering.

Trying to see the top

It's really difficult to get an entire tree in one shot. I think this perspective gives you the best idea of how massive they truly are.

Coast Live Oak

There are many varieties of oak tree in California. They come in all shapes and sizes. Some lose their leaves and others are evergreen. My favorite, by far, are any that grow as gnarly as this one. If you stare long enough, you will see the elves and dwarves peeking around the trunks and catch the flutter of faerie wings. Really, keep looking.

Elfin Forest

This oak grove is known as the Elfin Forest. The tallest trees in this area are hundreds of years old, but the tallest is only 20 feet. This particular grove is no more than 10 feet high.

Joshua Tree

Joshua Trees grow primarily in the Mojave Desert. Driving past a field of them reminds me of a Dr. Seuss book. I'm always looking for Horton or the Lorax.

Incense Cedar

Incense Cedar are often grown in California for use as Christmas trees. They have a wonderful aroma. I particularly like the fall colors on this one.

Monterey Cypress

Monterey Cypress, though iconic up and down the California coastline, only occurs naturally at Cypress Point in Pebble Beach and Point Lobos in Carmel. This one is at Half Moon Bay. They look as tortured as the Bristlecone Pine I spoke of in a previous post.

Ponderosa Pine

Ponderosa Pines is common to western states. Here it grows next to coast redwoods. I love the jigsaw puzzle bark and the huge pinecones.

Jeffrey Pine

And last, my favorite, Jeffrey Pine. You have to drive to see these trees. They only grow from 5000 to 7000 ft. They are quite similar to Ponderosa Pines with long needles and large cones. I wished I had a better picture, but it still wouldn't capture why this I love this tree so much. For that, you have to walk right up to it, place your nose against the bark, and take a long sniff. Butterscotch! No, really, they smell just like butterscotch candies.

“The clearest way into the Universe is through a forest wilderness.”

Today is my sister's birthday, so before I go any further I'd like to wish her the happiest of days, the healthiest of years, and all my love. She is someone I truly respect as well care deeply for. And she shares her birthday with another intelligent human being, Aldo Leopold. As well as being a scientist, author, and professor, he was a key figure in the development of environmental ethics, which expands ethos to include all life and the planet we inhabit, and one of the earliest conservationists.
Like Leopold, I grew up loving the outdoors. Just before my third birthday, my family moved to the country where I spent my school-age years. I remember long summer days spent swimming in the pool and riding my bike up and down our long, quiet road. I fell asleep to the lulling call of the whippoorwill. In the winter, I relished days where school was canceled because I could play all day in the snow with Maggie, our Golden Retriever. There is nothing more peaceful than the silence of a wintery day. Our house was nestled in the woods, yards off the road and even further from our nearest neighbor. In fact, only in winter months were any other houses visible. We had a huge field next door, perfect for tobogganing and cross-country skiing. Our front yard was a flower and herb garden. And beyond our backyard was a huge organic garden. At my elementary school, we made regular trips to the Nature Center, where we learned about tapping maple trees for syrup and identifying animal tracks. I loved every minute of my time in the country. Even after I grew into my teen years, I still found peace and serenity walking my dog, Kiska, along the railroad tracks.
When I turned 20, I moved to Florida and lived there for nearly two decades. The entire time, I never fully felt at home and I never knew exactly why. I moved back home for a brief time before making my latest move across the nation to California. I had been to the area once before when I was young and always wanted to return. After living in the San Jose area for over two years, I moved back into the woods and finally realized what my life had been lacking. Trees. At first I thought it was water, as I had grown up less than a half hour from Lake Michigan; however, I lived in Lakeland, Florida. It was called that for the obvious reason. And though there are trees in Florida, they are nothing like what I had grown up under. And most are palm trees, not a true tree in my opinion. The fact is there is nothing more comforting to my mind and heart than the beautiful expanse of branches overhead. Even when I lived in my first apartment in the redwood forest that was far from comfortable, I was much more at ease than I'd ever felt down in the valley. And there could only be one reason,
this was now my home. And who wouldn't love seeing this every morning they woke up. The redwoods embraced me and comforted me. Just as the maples and oaks did all those years ago, the trees welcomed me into their world and guided me through difficult times. Soon after my move, I met a wonderful man who had an equal love of nature and also an incredible knowledge of California native plants. I saw the forest through new eyes, learning names of plants and how the ecosystem of the Santa Cruz mountains works. And I love it even more. I now can name many of the ferns I see on our walks. We take walks nearly every weekend and have vacationed everywhere from the Russian River area to Carrizo Plains to the Anza-Borrego Desert. But one of my favorite trips was to the White Mountains. There I witnessed one of the most incredible trees I have ever seen. In one of the harshest environments where there is little rainfall and minimal soil to grow, lives some of the oldest organisms on the planet, the Bristlecone Pine. These trees were amazing, their roots stretching for yards seeking much needed water, sun-burnt branches holding firm against gale-force winds. These trees spend thousands and thousands of years in this desolate land.

It's hard to believe they are even alive, but they are and they will be there long after we are gone. Within one grove, there are two trees whose ages are 4846 years (Methuselah) and 5064 years old. Whether I actually saw either, I don't know as their location is kept secret to prevent destruction. But as this photo shows, the trees I did see are stunning. I stood in awe, looking at living things that have been there much longer than this nation has been in existence. Standing there, I was reminded of why I love trees. They are grounded. They provide shade and comfort. They bear fruit and nuts for our consumption. They can be used to create the houses we live in, the bowls we eat from, the chairs we sit in. They truly are giving trees. And they continue to give me pleasure and peace of mind. I will always look up to their branches and see my past, present, and future.