By Louie Ferrera

It was around nine years ago when I first discovered it. Poking out of the ground in our backyard where the kitchen wall meets the ground, this tiny redwood shoot couldn’t have been more than three inches tall. I remember in the spring of that year purchasing several bags of a type of mulch known as “gorilla hair”. This “hair” is actually shredded redwood bark. We had spread it all around the roses, shrubs and other ornamental plants in our yard. A redwood seed had somehow made its way into one of the bags of mulch. Redwood seeds are very small, one would fit comfortably atop one of my fingernails. Think about it: the tallest and most massive trees on Earth sprout from a seed not much larger than a grain of rice!

So, here was this tiny living thing, its dozen or so slender green leaves reaching bravely towards the light. The conditions in our yard had to be just right in order for this seed to sprout. We had a unique situation here so Carol and I decided to just let our proto-tree be. I can’t recall exactly how long we let it grow where we found it, but at one point we realized that it probably wouldn’t be a god idea to have a redwood tree growing so close to the foundation of our house. Very carefully we uprooted our little tree and transferred it to a small clay pot. We left the pot in the sun and made sure that it was watered. Other than that, we just let it be. Gradually our little redwood became no so little. Over the next couple of years the clay pots got bigger and so did the tree.

By the fall of 2016 our redwood was nearly three feet tall and had outgrown the large pot it was currently living in. We wanted to plant this tree in the ground but had to choose our spot wisely. Under the right conditions, a redwood tree can grow to be over two hundred feet tall and require many adults holding hands to circle its base. We ultimately decided on an unused corner of our backyard where the fences meet at a right angle. 

Election Day of that year was a dark day for our country. I awoke the next morning to the horrible reality of Donald Trump as our new president. I was teaching second grade at the time and I remember feeling an overwhelming sense of doom despair all that day. When I returned home from school, both Carol and I had a strong desire to do something, anything, that would be positive and life affirming. We decided that this was the time to plant our redwood tree.

We sunk a shovel into the ground, mixed the soil and removed all of the rocks and weeds. When the hole was deep enough, we added a healthy amount of compost and mixed that in too. We turned the redwood tree’s pot upside down, tapped the bottom a few times and out it came. We carefully placed the tree into the center of the hole, covered it with soil, added some mulch on top and we were done. We stepped back and admired this tiny, brave little tree, standing in the ground for the first time in its life. Looking back, I remember at that moment feeling truly hopeful for the future, despite what had transpired at polling places the day before.

It’s August of 2023, nearly seven years since we first planted our little redwood tree. In the spring of this year, Carol created a beautiful Zen garden centered around the tree. There’s a solar powered fountain, numerous succulents and climbing plants, a wind chime that sings whenever there’s a breeze and a hummingbird feeder that’s become the place for these tiny birds to sip their meals. There’s also a bench where we can sit and take it all in. When I’m sitting here, I have to crane my neck in order to see the top of our not so little redwood tree. I measured it today, it’s 14 feet tall! Every spring we see light green leaves of new growth on the tips of its branches. Redwood trees can live a very long time. Unless someone comes by someday with a chain saw, our tree will outlive us, and our kids and our kids’ kids and…

Plants have an uncanny ability to emerge and thrive in the most unlikely of places; through a crack in asphalt or along the median strip of a busy freeway, in the searing heat of the desert or the frozen tundra of the arctic, or even in our own backyard, hidden in plain sight. Keep your eyes open!

By Louie Ferrera

We gradually make our way along the bluffs, a slow snake, we slither and wind. Limantour Beach gradually dissolves, consumed by the march of fog until it is engulfed in a cocoon of pure white. The trail describes a wide S as it makes its way upward and away from the coast. The transition from coastal to forest habitat is abrupt and we find ourselves walking along a narrow path through a dense and mysterious forest of mostly poplar trees and tangled underbrush. It’s late afternoon but the canopy is so thick that it appears to be evening. A dark, slow moving creek, its surface speckled with bright green splotches of duck weed, runs to our left along the edge of the trees. It’s as silent as a dream and completely still. We spot a small solitary bird flitting among the lowest branches of a tree just off the trail. Olive green with a suggestion of yellow dusting its breast, dark wing bars, white eye rings and a flat crest that sweeps slightly backwards tells me that this is a Pacific Slope flycatcher, a secretive bird of the forest that’s more often heard than seen. We’re granted a minute or so of its time, an eternity in birding, before it disappears into the impenetrable trees. The appearance of this bird feels like a blessing. There’s an unfathomable mystery to this spot. Our progress slows to a crawl. We don’t speak. I breathe in the deep green aromas that surround us and try to take it all in.

We continue on, the trees thin slightly and that’s where the flowers appear. These are a type of lily, with several six-petal blossoms running alongside a tall, thin stalk. The brilliant red/orange color of these flowers makes them literally vibrate against the green of the surrounding forest. Around a bend, the creek crosses the trail and runs beneath a makeshift metal plate bridge. All around are cattails, fuzzy brown hot dogs atop dense, sword-like foliage. A breeze suddenly kicks up and gives voice to these plants. A rustle and swish breaks the silence, the forest spirits speak. Just as quickly, it’s quiet once again.

As we emerge from the trees into a more open section of the trail we hear a strange and unfamiliar sound, like a cross between a braying donkey and a creaky metal gate. At that moment we look about a quarter of a mile into the distance and notice several large tule elk, well know residents of Point Reyes, grazing on a hillside. This strange sound continues intermittently for a few more minutes until we put two and two together: these are elk that we’re hearing. The brush is very dense along the right side of the trail but we can tell that there are also elk directly below us where the trail slopes downward.

The trail ends just beyond where our car is parked. We run into a starry eyed group of college freshmen, out here on  a pre-semester team building retreat. Judging by the smiles on their faces I can tell they have been touched by the magic of Point Reyes. We chat up the group leader for a few minutes, he’s a friendly young man with dreadlocks spilling out from under a backwards baseball cap. This is his first visit here and he too appears to be dazzled by the experience.

Over the course of the past forty years, I’ve spent countless hours exploring the vast wilderness of Point Reyes National Seashore just north of San Francisco in West Marin County. I always come here with no expectations, open to any and all possibilities that may present themselves. There’s deep magic here and a positive energy that permeates the air like a force field. While at Point Reyes I can feel the timeless wisdom of its many plants and animals, the towering trees, the gently flowing creeks, and the roar and whisper of the mighty Pacific. There is much to learn here and many corners of this wilderness that I’ve yet to explore. Every time I’m here, I come away with a deep sense of  fulfillment, aways yearning for more.

By Louie Ferrera

Throughout the years, the beach has been a consistent source of wonder and inspiration for me. The following short pieces all had their genesis on recent visits to Salmon Creek along the Sonoma County CA coast.

Barefoot

I love walking barefoot. With nothing between the soles of my feet and the ground I feel a rock solid connection with Mama Earth. By far my favorite place to walk barefoot is at the beach. I live a little over half an hour from the coast so when I want to have the ultimate barefoot experience, that’s where I head.

Whenever I sink my feet into sand I’m a kid at the Jersey Shore, running wild and free with my cousins and siblings; I’m wandering along a deserted Northern California beach; I’m in Hanalei on the island of Kauai with my wife and kids, as happy as I’ve ever been.

At the beach there are several different types of sand, each one offers its own unique barefoot walking experience. The sand closest to the surf is compact, cool and changeable. One minute it’s hard, my feet barely making an impression but quickly turns the consistency of oatmeal when a wave comes in. Sometimes I’ll just stand facing the water and let wave after wave wash over my feet until I’m buried in sand up to my ankles. Move a short ways up the beach beyond the surf line and that’s what I call the “Goldilocks zone”. The sand there is not too hard, not to soft, it’s just right. My feet sink into the sand perhaps a quarter of an inch and I can move along at a descent clip without getting bogged down. On a long walk I’ll often look behind from where I came to see my footprints fading into the distance like ties on a railroad track. 

Still further up the beach and that’s where the going gets tough. The sand there is completely dry and super soft, my feet sink in a couple of inches which makes walking a slow process. The warm sand does feel good on my feet but this zone can be unwalkable during summer.

I walk barefoot a lot so the calluses on the bottom of my feet are thick and tough. I can walk barefoot on pretty much any type of surface with little discomfort. However, there are the occasional thorn, cut or bee sting, tradeoffs I’m more than happy to make for the freedom of shoelessness.

Sea Glass

I’m continually fascinated by sea glass; the infinite sizes, shapes and textures, the process by which it’s created, the treasure hunt like quality of the beach combing required to find it. I understand the scientific explanations behind rainbows and shooting stars but still find these phenomena mysterious and magical. The same goes for sea glass. What began as a beer bottle or pickle jar is magically transformed into a glittering gem of color and luminosity scattered among the sand and sea stones at the low tide line. Of course this process never ends. Bits of sea glass are continually tumbled and tossed about by the surf until they become even smaller bits. A look at a handful of sand through a magnifying glass often reveals minuscule pieces of glass among the equally minuscule bits of rock and shell.

Sea glass colors are predominantly green and clear, with the occasional brown thrown in. Once in a great while I’ll stumble upon a rare color like dark blue or turquoise. I even found a red piece once. The shades of green run the full spectrum from grass green to olive and all points in between. I can tell the older bits from the newer ones by their opacity and smoothness. Occasionally there’ll be a raised letter or two on a piece of sea glass or the recognizable lip or bottom of a bottle, giving me a hint to their previous lives. A piece of sea glass never looks as brilliant as when I first spot it in the wet sand. The quality of sunlight at the beach gives it special kind of glow.

I have no idea how long it takes for the ocean to make sea glass. Is it weeks? Months? Years? How many times does a bit of glass have to be tossed about by the ocean until it’s opaque and smooth? How did these gems of glass get here in the first place? I’m sure there’s someone out there who can answer al of these questions, but like Iris Dement sings; “I think I’ll just let the mystery be.”

Wavespeak

Waves whisper

When they break upon the sand with a soft woosh.

Sea stones, silent and infinite, are given voice

Thousands click together with a sizzling hiss

As waves crash and retreat

Crash and retreat

Waves rumble

On a stormy day 

They roll in one after the other

Individuals blend together

A hypnotic hum of wonderful white noise

Waves crash

A storm at sea brings walls of water

Leviathans rise up through the churning cobalt

Pent up energy released with a terrifying boom

My body trembles

Waves roll

Silently

But if you’re close enough

You may hear a conversation

Between gulls and plovers

Sand crabs and harbor seals

Waves speak

The ancient language of the sea

And the sentient creatures

That inhabit her unknowable depths