The fog is quiet as a dream. Sunny mornings sing, foggy mornings whisper. The sky today is a grey blanket, the diffused light deepens the infinite shades of green and colors become more saturated. The air is absolutely still. A couple of tiny songbirds occasionally fly across my field of vision, zipping from feeders to trees and beyond.
The times we’re living in are on hyperdrive and becoming more difficult for me to make sense of every day. It’s nearly impossible to shut out the noise. A morning like this is one time when the static and background noise fades away and my head is actually clear enough to think…or not to think, I can just be. Today I’m not waiting for the other shoe to drop, the playing field is even and my mind is calm. A foggy morning like this is the absolute best kind of morning ever.
A Townsend’s warbler, a regular autumn arrival, has just shown itself to me for the first time. I’m watching it bathe in one of our fountains right now. This is a sure sign that a new season is waiting at the doorstep. The air feels different today too but perhaps I’m just breathing easier and deeper. The summer heat has been so blistering. The impending arrival of autumn and the dream-like gift of this cool and soothing morning is the reward for enduring those infernal days. Beautiful birds are everywhere! The only way to really observe them, to actually be among them, is to sit motionless with the silence and peace and let the birds come to me. The white breasted nuthatch, simply stated, is a gift from Gaia. The Wilson’s warblers, titmice, chickadees, towhees and finches are all miracles on the wing. And where would we all be without those feisty and heroic little sprites, the hummingbirds? The reality of their existence is almost too fantastic to believe. Hummingbirds go into a state of torpor (near death) every night only to be reborn in the morning. They are the only bird that can fly up, down and sideways and hover like a helicopter. There are seven different hummingbird feeders around our yard, we always keep them filled.
Other sounds gradually fade in as the morning goes on: the chatter of our resident grey squirrels and the owl- like “hoo, hoo” of a mourning dove, the slight tinkling of a wind chime. The rising sun is securely tucked in under the fog blanket and the sky gradually brightens. Traffic sounds are now audible in the distance as the rest of the world begins to awaken. Our cat Ella is outside now so the birds are a bit more leery. She usually leaves birds alone and seems content to just sit back and observe them, swishing her tail inquisitively The spell of this unique morning has been broken and I awaken from a dream state feeling renewed. I breathe in the last wisps of peacefulness to tide me over until the next time.
One of the readers of this blog recently commented on how much she enjoys the “deep dives” I do when I write about music. This got me thinking; in pretty much all of my essays, I really do dig in and get to the heart of the matter, I “go deep” as it were. After four and a half years of blogging, I decided that It was time for a bit of a makeover. So… welcome to “Deep Dives”, different name, same thought provoking and heartfelt reflections on love, music and nature. If you’re new to this blog, scroll back and check out some of my past essays. If you’re a regular reader, thanks so much for your support, it means a lot. Now go ahead and dive in!
I put a smile on my face and I keep it on all day.
Joy
Keawakapu Beach is a mile long slice of paradise in the little town of Kihei on Maui’s south shore. It was Day #2 of our recent two-week trip to Hawaii and Carol and I were just settling into our Tommy Bahama chairs for a morning of sun, sea and sand. I looked to my right along the surf line and saw what appeared to be a ray of sunshine making its way towards us. As the sunbeam drew closer, it materialized into an elderly woman decked out in full yellow regalia. Her dress was the color of Vincent’s sunflowers over which she wore a thin long-sleeve lemon yellow shirt. Her wide brimmed hat was pale yellow with a crown of brilliant yellow artificial flowers circling the brim. This unique fashion statement was topped off by a small yellow felt purse decorated with the face of a chicken and worn slung over her shoulder. Her skin was leathery and deeply tanned, a large pair of sunglasses covered her eyes, her face was lit up in a beatific smile. Sunbeams seemed to literally be shooting out from the top of this woman’s head. It was clear to me that Ms. Sunshine could give zero fucks about what people thought of her and that she does what she wants. I was so taken by this woman, she exuded such a blindingly happy glow of positivity and was practically vibrating with love. Ms. Sunshine sauntered past us and on down the beach with a weaving, sashaying dance of a walk. I was left with the type of afterimage one gets from looking directly at the sun.
Two days later, I’m at our same spot on the beach and here comes Ms. Sunshine again. Her outfit was the same one as the other day except she had swapped out the yellow dress for a salmon colored model. This time I stopped her and we struck up a nice conversation. Her name is Joy. She appeared to be in her late 70s-early 80s. She had lived in Berkeley in the 1960s (wow!) and relocated to Maui 15 years ago. Joy loves walking up and down the beach and engaging tourists like myself in conversation. We found common ground in our mutual sunny outlooks on life and the fact that I’m a twin dad and her father was an identical twin. Our conversation was easy, both of us feeding off of the positive energy we were putting out. After a few minutes we shook hands and she went on her weaving way. I was a little richer and a lot happier from this shooting star-like encounter.
So much fear and negativity permeates our society nowadays, it’s like a millstone around our necks dragging us down. There needs to be like a million more Joys in our world spreading their message of hope and positivity and reminding us that it’s not all shit, that there’s still goodness in the world. Doomsayers like the malignant monster Trump and his followers thrive off of fear and negativity. Like the Death Eaters in the Harry Potter books it makes them stronger. Joy and those with an outlook like hers are the antithesis of the MAGA mindset. They and consequently we, grow stronger by putting love and hope into the world; giving a smile, performing a random act of kindness…whatever. It’s like what Marvin Gaye sings in What’s Going On?, Only love can conquer hate. I believe that Joy is the embodiment of this sentiment, she’s doing it one person at a time. Strolling the beach and making personal connections by way of her radiant outfit and equally radiant personality Joy is bringing people together, perhaps helping someone feel less lonely and reminding everyone she meets not only that there’s love and goodness in the world but also of the love and goodness within themselves. Joy is paying it forward, saying: I give freely, take this from me and pass it on.
I firmly believe there’s a way to find common ground with almost anyone. If more people believed that, perhaps there’d be less suffering and hatred in the world. Some may see Joy saunter past them with her outlandish outfit and sunny smile and may think she’s just a goofy old lady. Not me! Joy has an important job to do which she appears to take quite seriously: to spread the word of love and the importance of squeezing every bit of living out of every precious day that we’re granted here on Earth. Keep your eye out for the Joys of the world, there are more of them out there than you think.
You can come up with unusual solutions when you’re sitting in the love vibe.
Yesterday was as picturesque a bluebird sky day as there could possibly be, the temperature Goldilocks perfect. Summertime, and the livin’ is definitely easy. It was Multiples of Eight Day (8/16/24), a day not to be repeated for another hundred years! Carol, Denali and I celebrated this momentous occasion by driving out to Point Reyes for an adventure. We parked at the Coast Trail trailhead, laced up our hiking boots and headed out. Whenever I enter the mystical forcefield that is Point Reyes National Seashore my body buzzes with anticipation as magic always seems to be at foot. The light here is different than anywhere else and the air is always tinged with possibility.
We began our hike along a narrow, sun-splashed trail that offered little shade. Our path was lined with coyote bush, lupine, wild cucumber, blackberries and delicate, orange monkey flowers. A few bay laurel trees provided the occasional pool of shade. A soft breeze cooled the sweat on our bodies. After the initial climb we crested a hill and were rewarded with sweeping views of the endless blue Pacific a mile or so to the west. Being midday, the birds all seemed to be taking their siestas, save for the ubiquitous turkey vultures and red-tailed hawks riding the thermals high above us, describing slow, lazy circles against the azure blue.
Down, down we went, the breeze becoming stronger and the whitecaps more visible the closer we got to the sea. The trail ended at the bluffs overlooking the southern end of expansive, crescent-shaped Limantour Beach. It was an easy scramble down to the sand where we plopped down and immediately tucked into our Jersey Mike’s sub sandwiches. A group of Heerman’s Gulls were our companions, they plied the surf line digging for creatures in the sand. This is a handsome bird; two-toned grey with white stripes on its black-tipped tail feathers and a ruby red tip to its beak. White gulls with black wing tips wheeled overhead. The surf was gentle, the vibe sublime.
After cat naps we decided to continue our hike. The view along this stretch of the Coast Trail is breathtaking! The dun colored hills above the beach standing in perfect relief against a cloudless sky, the sweeping curve of Limantour Beach visible all the way to Chimney Rock, the westernmost point in the park. We took our time and enjoyed the view. Denali heads back to school this week so we wanted to have one more outing with her before she took off. Not every 20 year old wants to spend time with their parents but Carol and I have nurtured a close and loving relationship with both of our kids. A day like this is the reward for that nurturing.
In a half mile or so the trail veers away from the bluff and begins to wind gradually uphill and inland. We enter a short section of deep forest and deeper mystery. The tree cover is dense, the color mint green and soothing, the wind moving through the leaves like a whisper. We spy a large, round hole about ten feet up the trunk of a trailside snag. I bet if we staked this tree out, an owl would fly out at sunset. We emerge from the forest to the stunning sight of montbretia (falling star) flowers growing along one side of the trail. With everything so far being muted browns and greens, the brilliant scarlet of these iris-like flowers literally vibrated. Any hike I do at Point Reyes is always a journey, complete with some kind of wondrous and unexpected event thrown in. We had ours today at a tiny pond at the end of the flower patch.
Montbretia flowers
The murky, brown water of the pond was ringed with duckweed, tiny water striders skated across its surface. All around was the green of the forest. Carol spotted what she initially thought were fish. Upon further investigation these “fish” turned out to be California Newts, lots of them! We watched in wonder as these creatures glided just below the surface, rising occasionally to nip at an insect then just as quickly disappearing again. Newts move awkwardly on land but in water they are graceful swimmers. We were mesmerized by this newt ballet. There were many tiny fish swimming about as well. Of course eagle-eyed Denali spotted the snake, a tiny reptile about three inches long and as thin as an earthworm. It zig-zagged its way through the water to the shore where we picked it up, taking turns holding in the palm of our hand. Snakes are shy and elusive so a close encounter like this doesn’t happen very often. This was a classic Point Reyes moment where time seemed to stand still. We bid goodbye to the newts and the snake and continued on our way.
Can you find the snake?
The last mile of the hike was a slow ramble, the trail widening and opening up as we climbed out of the forest. At the end we saw a laminated sign tacked to the trail sign. It described in detail how one month ago a mountain lion had killed a deer at the Coast Camp (we walked through the camp on our way to the beach). A stark reminder that Point Reyes is a truly wild place in more ways than one.
I just spent the past three days dancing at the center of a swirling vortex of bliss. Tie dye, rainbows and glitter burst forth from its center and up into the air creating a vortex of its own. There were hugs and kisses and smiles, dust and sweat and joy…so much joy! At one point the individual ceased to exist, we simply morphed into one massive, swirling organism of love. Is this some kind of hippie fantasy? A psychedelic vision of an unobtainable nirvana? A time trip back to Woodstock? Nope, just another weekend of music and magic courtesy of The String Cheese Incident.
The String Cheese Incident (SCI, The Cheese) had their humble beginnings in the early 90s as a Colorado-based quartet of bluegrass picking ski bums (a fifth member was soon added followed by a sixth a decade later). Like a snowball rolling downhill the band gradually gained momentum, building a large and dedicated fan base that is the envy of any touring band. Like the late, great Grateful Dead, Cheese fans follow the band on tour, never missing a show. A run of shows is a much anticipated and celebratory event where old friends gather and new friends are made. When The Cheese come to town jobs and responsibilities are put on hold. SCI is the vehicle and focal point, an empty canvas onto which we the fans and they the band create something new and original during every show. Once the last notes fade away, the canvas is wiped clean in preparation for the next day’s festivities. We are thousands of Van Goghs, each adding a color from our individual palette.
The emergence of the Jam Band scene coincided with the demise of the Grateful Dead following the untimely death of Jerry Garcia in 1995. SCI has been at the vanguard of that scene ever since, gathering up stray Deadheads and like minded travelers along the way who were looking for adventure and something different. SCI are musical chameleons who defy description. Throughout the three hour journey that is a String Cheese show, a straight ahead bluegrass rave-up can morph seamlessly into a furious techno jam then back into the bluegrass, like Bill Monroe on acid. There are latin infused melodies and West African rhythms, lightening fast guitar picking and seamless ensemble paying that is nothing short of telepathic. SCI plays original music but you never know when they’ll throw in a nugget by The Allman Brothers or Talking Heads. The band understands the value of a well placed cover tune.
So, who the hell are these musical Merlins? Drummer extraordinaire Michael Travis, percussionist and erstwhile rapper Jason Hahn, laconic bassist Keith Moseley, firey electric mandolinist and fiddler Michael Kang, bouncy, bearded acoustic guitarist Billy Nershi and keyboardist Kyle Hollingsworth, that’s who! Like all good bands, each member adds their own unique personality and playing style to the mix. With The Cheese, the whole is greater than the sum of the parts. Billy, Keith, Kang and Kyle write the songs and sing ‘em too. The vocal harmonies are solid; two, three and even sometimes four part. Billy is a Tony Rice caliber flat picker with a little Dickey Betts thrown in for good measure. His playing style is tasteful and original. Kang has taken the mandolin boldly where no man has gone before. Think Bela Fleck on banjo and you’ll get an idea of his virtuosity. The interplay between these two is furious and inventive. Moseley is rock solid on bass. His gentle anthem Joyful Sound is a staple of their live shows and sums up nicely the simple joys of making music for people. Kyle sits perched atop a riser surrounded by keyboards, moving easily between piano, organ and synthesizer. He’s the “funny headgear” guy in the band. Kyle’s easy-going stage presence belies the seriousness of his playing. Keeping this train on the tracks are the Dynamic Duo of Travis and Hahn. Michael drives the band on traps, he’s a whirling dervish, all hands and feet. Jason adds the seasoning with congas, talking drum, djembe, shaker, cowbell and the kitchen sink.
New Year’s Eve, 2023.
The guys in String Cheese are serious musicians but they don’t take themselves too seriously. This is a band that knows how to have fun. Their symbol is the humble jellyfish. Taken from the eponymous Billy Nershi tune on their debut album Born On The Wrong Planet, this song tells the tale of a rough morning after a night of marathon tequila drinking when Billy’s brain is “just a jellyfish in the ocean of my head.” Dancing through the crowd at every Cheese show you’ll find people wielding homemade jellyfish fashioned from colorful umbrellas, complete with flowing tendrils of flashing LED lights.
Besides being a one-of-a-kind, impossible to define musical experience, the band creates something else, something that we all desire, something that we all need: community. Like it or not, modern American society is all about the “me” but, at an SCI show it’s all about the “we” where possibilities are limitless; no wonder they titled one of their albums Untying The Not! While The Cheese are holding court, we’re not focused on our phones but rather on the band and the kaleidoscopic synthesis that occurs when like-minded people and mind blowing musicians come together. Despite what the media is constantly telling us, it’s not all shit!! Step inside the force field that is a String Cheese concert and you’ll quickly see that love and beauty, joy and acceptance, camaraderie and creativity abound and are alive and well.
I guess what I try and do is to take all of this goodness that I’m filled with after a run of SCI shows and put some of it out into the world. Here’s the deal: String Cheese you keep playing, we’ll keep coming and together maybe, just maybe, we can steer our troubled world in a more positive, hopeful and loving direction.
There’s a monster living in our backyard. It only comes out at night, catching and devouring its prey in an elaborately constructed trap. This monster strikes fear into our hearts; a primal dread that sends shivers up our spines.
Ok, this “monster” is actually just a spider, an Orb Weaver spider to be exact, who my daughter Denali and I have affectionately named Junior. A month or so ago we literally stumbled upon it. Junior has chosen to weave its web across a narrow pathway between an Asian pear tree and a jasmine bush. Denali and I were walking into our backyard when I saw her recoil and shriek in fear. She had walked right through Junior’s web! Judging by what was left of the web, we figured it was one of those enormous garden spiders that we’ve seen from time to time in our yard. Right then and there, we hatched a plan. After dark we would head out with flashlights in hand to investigate. What we saw both horrified and fascinated us. Junior had completely rebuilt its web and was sitting in the center of it waiting for some unfortunate insect to fly in. This was by far one of the largest spiders either of us had ever seen. From its huge bulbous abdomen to its smaller head, Junior was at least an inch and a half long. Add in the legs and we were looking at one big ass arachnid!
Junior
Junior’s web is a marvel of engineering, it measures nearly two feet across. Of all the beautifully constructed homes in the animal world, from bird’s nests to the honeycomb inside a bee hive, I find a spider’s web like this one to be the most exquisitely designed of all. I think it’s pretty special having such a uniquely beautiful creature like Junior make its home in our backyard. We’ve since strung caution tape across the walkway so that Junior can live in peace and we can avoid the horrifying experience of walking through his web again. A spider like this is best left alone.
I think there’s a little bit of arachnophobia in all of us, especially me and Denali. Her paternal grandmother was an extreme arachnophobe, so perhaps that’s where we get it from. There’s just something about spiders that evoke a kind of primal fear in people. Except for species like Black Widows and the Brown Recluse, spiders are shy and harmless creatures that benefit humans by eating insects that we don’t want around. So, Denali and I go out every night to check on Junior. We shiver and we laugh at our squeamishness but keep our distance. We don’t want to tempt fate.
Carol and I recently spent a week traveling around Colorado. Here are a few of my impressions
Wildflowers
Crested Butte, Colorado is the self proclaimed “wildflower capitol of the world” and the Snodgrass Trail on the outskirts of town is its epicenter. It’s a lofty statement to claim to be the world capitol of anything but after experiencing the riotous outburst of color, shape, form and abundance that are Crested Butte’s wildflowers, I doubt that there’s anyplace in the universe that could begin to match them.
I’m a Californian, I’ve seen amazing displays of wildflowers, I know about wildflowers, but after Crested Butte I realize that I’ve seen and know nothing. We took photos, so many photos but photographs can’t even begin to describe what Carol and I experienced on the hillsides and ridge tops surrounding Crested Butte. It’s a vast canvas painted from God’s palette: oranges, pinks, yellows, reds, blues, purples, lavenders, whites and all shades and hues in between. Complimentary colors appear like magic; I never saw a shade of yellow without a shade of purple nearby. The predominant flower is a large, popsicle orange variety of daisy, in knee-high patches that cover entire hillsides. Mixed in are small, delicate, five-petal blue and purple blooms atop slender stalks. There is lupine and paint brush, wild rose and Queen Anne’s lace and of course there’s columbine, the Colorado state flower, larger and more spectacular than the kind that grow in my backyard. The sheer abundance and variety of flowers literally took my breath away! At certain spots along the trail, the colors went on as far as the eye could see. The feeling I had on our hike was similar to seeing the Grand Canyon or Yosemite for the first time, this wildflower display was on a scale that I simply had nothing to compare it to. These are WILDFLOWERS! It was awe inspiring. When Carol and I spoke to one another the only words we could muster were wow and amazing, whispering as if we were inside a cathedral.
I could look up the latin and common names of all these flowers and bore you by listing them, but what would be the point of that? Seeing these flowers is not about naming and categorizing but rather just being among them and letting their beauty wash over you. I felt great joy but small and humble too. I was just grateful to be here. I have no idea who or what “god” is but I do know that among the wildflowers of Crested Butte, I felt the presence of the divine.
Aspen Trees
The trunk of an aspen tree is bone white and telephone pole straight. The surface is marked by dark concentric rings that run the length of the tree and darker circular spots scattered among them. An aspen’s heart-shaped leaves are two-toned, the underside being several shades lighter than the top so when a breeze kicks up a shimmering light dance occurs. Countless millions of leaves flicker in time, their swishing sound is similar to that of waves receding from the shore. It is quite the experience to hike through an aspen grove while this dazzling show of light and sound is on display. In Colorado entire mountainsides are covered solely in aspen trees.
Waterfalls
waterfalls, waterfalls, waterfalls!
roiling ribbons roar
the hillside sings
Birds
As an avid birder, seeing a familiar species while traveling is like running into an old friend. On one of our hikes in the mountains a diminutive kinglet flashed its ruby crown for me and I briefly heard the unmistakable summer song of the elusive Swainson’s thrush echo through the aspen forest. A dipper did its river dance, bobbing up and down and under the water’s surface in search of aquatic insect larvae. For me, spotting a new species of bird is one of life’s simple pleasures. In Colorado I added the spectacular Lewis’s and red-naped woodpeckers to my life list as well as the brilliant mountain bluebird, broad tailed hummingbird and blue grouse, the latter skittering through the underbrush with four babies in tow. The next time I visit Colorado, these too will be old friends.
Some things never get old. Snorkeling with Hawaiian Green Sea Turtles is one of them.
When I’m underwater, turtles usually appear out of nowhere, gliding into my view frame when I least expect them to. I’ll be checking out the coral or some colorful reef fish when out of the blue, literally, here comes a honu (Hawaiian for “turtle”). Honu can fly, did you know that? They propel themselves through the water by way of the graceful, wing-like motion of their front flippers, it is truly poetry in motion! I sometimes imagine a turtle breaking through to the surface; its flippers become wings as it lifts itself from the blue of the sea into the blue of the sky and beyond.
This species of turtle is endangered and thus federally protected. It’s always a thrill to see a honu from the shore, especially when it comes to the surface to breathe. Their faces are oddly human-like. But to really experience these majestic creatures you’ve got to get into the water with them. If you’re lucky enough to encounter one while snorkeling, stay at least ten feet away, these aren’t zoo animals. My most memorable honu meetings and the ones I always hope for are when we get to swim together. The turtle will either be swimming below or beside me. I try my best to keep up with it by way of my puny human propulsion. If the turtle is moving at a leisurely pace this tandem swim can last a minute or two. During these brief encounters I can feel honu’s energy; this creature is ancient and wise and knows more than I’ll ever know. And just as suddenly as it appears, the turtle is gone, it simply melts into the blue at the limit of my visibility.
While on the beach in Maui, I always see fellow tourists getting super excited over the sight of a turtle, they’re calling their friends over and snapping photos with their phones. I’ll sometimes engage these folks in conversation, usually this is their first honu experience. The joy on their faces is still the joy on mine… every time I see a turtle. Like I said, some things never get old.
When I was 22, I decided to move from NJ to California. Two months later my friend Kenny and I were on the road west, traveling to a place I’d never been, that I knew next to nothing about and knew no one. I made a life for myself and am still here. In the summer of 1995, I took a two month leave from my job and traveled solo to England, Egypt and Kenya. My plan was sketchy at best, I was governed only by what I had gleaned from my Lonely Planet guide books and by my energy and desire for adventure. It was the trip of a lifetime. A year and a half later I had quit my job, took out a student loan and went back to school to get my teaching credential. My 25 years as an elementary and preschool school teacher were some of the most fulfilling years of my life so far. Psychedelic drugs? Oh yea, I tried ‘em. Traveling around with the Grateful Dead? Check! Trips to Guatemala, Mexico and Costa Rica? Amazing! Becoming a dad of twins…at 47? The greatest decision of my life and a gift that keeps on giving.
These are just the huge, life changing moments of my life, times when I threw caution to the wind, stepped off the edge, so to speak, and took a chance. There have been many smaller ones, too many to recount here but important nonetheless in shaping the person I am today. However, I’m finding out that as I age, I’ve become less and less likely to take big chances like these. I still love a good adventure but more often than not, I now choose the safer, more predictable route. A recent exception was the two-day white water rafting trip on the American River that my family and I took last summer. Filled with unknowns and exciting but terrifying Class IV and V rapids, I spent a lot of time on the river out of my comfort zone, my heart pounding with a white knuckle grip on my paddle. In the end it was a freakin’ blast and an epic trip in our family history. But given my druthers, next time I think I’ll choose the mellow Class III float instead.
What is it about aging that has made me so cautious? The older I get, the more difficult it becomes for me to step outside of my comfort zone. Knowing the specifics and having a solid plan before embarking on a trip helps for sure but there’s still that, “Oh man, what have I gotten myself into?” feeling. I often find myself worrying about what could go wrong as opposed to being psyched about the upcoming adventure. When I was younger, my desire for exploration and adventure usually outweighed any trepidation I had about a trip. But it’s not just big things like travel, it’s also the little everyday things that I’ve become more cautious about, my inner voice says: Bring an extra layer, it could get cold, don’t forget your cell phone, drive the speed limit, check Google maps, check the weather…ughh!! Spur of the moment decisions have become increasingly rare too. The days of “grab a few things and go” are fewer and further between. Now it’s plan, think it through, cover the bases, try and limit the variables. When I was younger I didn’t have nearly the responsibilities that I do now, so that’s one reason for my more cautious nature. Back then I was more apt to say, “Let’s do it!” as opposed to, “Hmmm, let me think about it.” Youthful impulsiveness has given way to a more measured way of going about life. When you’re young, you’re bulletproof. Nowadays I check to see if my armor is in place before heading out.
Look, I still take chances but now they’re just smaller ones. I still love the spontanaity of a good adventure, the serendipity of an unexpected occurrence always adds spice to life. When Carol and I are out on one of our nature excursions, the funnest , most memorable moments happen when we decide to turn left instead of right. We wind up where we never thought we’d be but exactly where we belong. When I try and over plan, The Universe tends to remind me that it has other plans for me. Perhaps the answer is to simply strike a balance between reasonable chance taking and common sense caution. Carol and I now own a camper van and are in the process of planning a two week summer road trip to Colorado. I have no doubt that everything will go smoothly and as planned, I’ll be relaxed, excited and worry free (insert laugh till I cry emoji). Here goes nothing.
Here at Riverfront Park, the Russian River carries small pieces of the forest with it on its slow journey to the sea. Leaves, twigs, bits of fluff, bird feathers and who knows what else. The river’s main current flows close to the bank opposite me in an unending ribbon of forest detritus. The flow is lazy today, not exactly summer lazy but it’s getting there. Summer is magic and I can feel its approach in the warm breeze blowing upriver. Today is hot but not too hot. It’s a Goldilocks temperature, you know the story. The polarized lenses of my sunglasses allow me to clearly see the rocks and sand at the bottom of the river and to also make out the subtle gradations of color as they move from light green near the shore to an increasingly deeper shade of green at the center of the river. It’s that shade of green: soothing and peaceful and evocative, a deep green trickle of emotions.
When a breeze kicks up the mint green leaves of willow trees reveal their lighter undersides in a shimmering show of light and color. A solitary turkey vulture rides the thermals, it dips and dives in and out of my view. A Great Blue Heron, looking quite prehistoric, heads my way only to abruptly change course and fly back into the forest. Its otherworldly squawk is a cross between that of a duck and a crow. An occasional blip breaks the silence as some mysterious fish briefly pops to the surface in search of its next meal. I’ve seen no ducks and no otters, just the river and the trees and a few cliff swallows doing their devil-may-care corkscrew dance above me. This narrow, rocky beach, just downriver from the “bend where otters play” has such gentle energy. It feels timeless here, my own private slice of paradise. This spot is easily accessible to boaters floating downriver but you’ve got to know where the hidden trail from Riverfront is in order to get here on foot. The entrance to the trail is overgrown with poison oak, blackberry vines and thimbleberry. Today I nearly missed the trail even though I’ve been here many, many times. At this time of year it is all but invisible to the uninitiated. As soon as I arrive, off went my clothes and into the river I plunged. What a baptism! Refreshing and invigorating, my mind and body were instantly renewed. I had no towel but didn’t need one. There’s nothing quite like air drying in a warm almost-summer breeze. I see three pairs of boaters approaching and the dream state I’ve been in for the past hour has ended. With the spell broken it’s time for me to move on.
On the hike back to my car I enter the forest and have transitioned into a different type of silence. Whereas the river silence is sparkly and filled with light and air, in here it’s much different. The light that filters through the canopy of towering second growth redwoods and bay laurel trees is green and dappled. The air is still, the sound deadened. It’s warm and womblike. There’s a primeval and unknowable quality to this patch of forest above the river. The late afternoon shafts of sunlight slant through the trees like golden spotlights, creating an alpenglow on the trunks of the redwoods. It’s mesmerizing and I just sit and breathe it all in. The Earth is beginning to exhale as another day draws to a close.
The view from the forest. My spot is just upriver.
