Returning

  There are special places in most of our lives. Returning is like going back to a source. It is that way for us in Big Sur.

            It's been a couple of years since we've been able to hike into a redwood forest where the hook of California was set in our heart over 50 years ago.

            Pacific storms, years of closure of the magical Highway 1, and fire damage  kept us from a camp and hiking trail that has marked the turns of our life. 

            In our early years there were the camping trips, the great joy of friendship around the campfire and exploring the wilderness. Our first trips were to a private reserve before it became a state park. It was a cosmos away from the pressures of a newsroom and deadlines and urban life.

            As our family grew, our daughters grew up hiking into the forest on our visits. Each visit would add a layer of memory of their growth, friends and California dreaming.

            Once we became Californians, we were here, often. Our home is an enchanting hour away. But we've not been back  for a while and we were more than eager to return.

              The road and the hiking spot are open again and it was time for a "homecoming," to the place that launched the dream of "someday" living on the California Central Coast.

 

                A stretch of Highway 1 is closed and there is heavy work underway, so we had the highway to ourself. Ditto our return to deep in the California Redwood forest.

                The mystical trees carry burn scars, a couple including an old giant were felled by the fire. New trees propagated. New bridges built.

            It was sweet to hear that soul refreshing mountain stream on its way to the Pacific.

            I call the trees mystical not only for their age and rarity, but for their ability to sustain fire, and protect the core as seen above. The outer hairy bark is darkly charred, but the wood just beneath that was not.

            The heat and flame engaged the taller canopy, killing its ability to feed on mist, rain and take in sun. It died from the intensity of the firestorm. The others in the grove survived as flames did not reach the height that killed the old sentry, now returning to the earth and to the mycelia.

        One wonders how many storms and fires these kilns have survived since the 1870's. The Rockland Lime and Lumber company extracted limestone chunks from a quarry in the mountains, used redwood timber to fire the kilns to about 1,700 degrees to create quicklime.

            After a couple of days to cool the product was loaded into barrels and transported down the mountain through a canyon on a pulley system or by wagon to the beach where it was loaded on ships and sent north where it was used to build in San Francisco.

        It's troubling to ponder how many trees were destroyed in the process. The quotation from John Muir on the bench below refers to them as "kings...spires in the sky..towering serene through the long centuries, preaching God's forestry fresh from heaven."  Amen!

        The rugged Big Sur coast, mountains and forests are famed for their beauty and the legendary characters and unique life that emanated from here. Keeping the historic highway open is a constant challenge. It made the heart feel good to return. Lana and I are always grateful our pal Jim Cahill introduced us to the magic a half-century ago.  

See you down the trail.

Clearing the mind in the trees. Saying Goodbye.

 

There are times when we need to be with the trees, and away from some of the human madness.

Time after time I wonder why we can't learn. Why are we be as barbaric as the human ancestors who threw rocks and carried clubs.
 The little plaques in the frame above denote historic moments in the course of the 2000 years of this tree's life. We've been killing our best for at least that long. There have been marvelous discoveries and advances. But the beast in us is still on the prowl.

Why can't we learn? Notice below how four trees grew together, a family, increasing their common strength and well being. 

 

For at least a couple thousand years these citizens of planet earth have endured.

By comparison humankind is short sighted, destructive and transitory.

 Just being in the presence of these old giants is good for the soul.

A couple of side notes now-

Look at this forest color scheme starring a banana slug.

And is this how you spend your time at the beach?

Thinking of fitness, please allow me a couple of farewells to tennis pals...one is a see you later, the other is good bye.

I estimate that at least 90% of the hours I've spent on the tennis court since I began playing the game about 14 years ago have been in the company of Roy Evans.

Roy is a quiet and thoughtful Welshman. We competed in doubles at least two days a week for most of those years and there were years when we were on the court together 3 times a week.

We called him the Welsh gazelle because his speed and quickness got him to some impossible gets.

There was never a cross word between us. We loved the game and the complete focus it requires. Whether we were on the same side of the net or trying to beat each other, we loved the joy of simply being able to play.

Roy has moved north to be closer to family. The courts seem strange without him and his brightly colored shoes.

Thanks for all the great fun.

We say good by to Jess Bathke.

Jess was an active player when I first started learning the game. He'd been the Club president and seemed to be a friend to everyone. Over the years I improved enough to play at his level and we became friends. He was a community giver and led organizations that  provided community services.

A couple of years ago when I faced surgery, Jess, who had been through it, was an assuring friend letting me know that soon enough I'd get back to normal and be able to return to the courts. We were coffee group conversationalists and usually on the same side of issues. We had lunch with other tennis pals and always Jess was the class act of the group. He was a man with a deep faith, the kind of person who uplifts and is a joy to be around. 

On the court he was a tough competitor. We discovered that before tennis, we had been basketball players, our favorite game. But age made tennis our new game and we threw ourselves into it.

Jess had to give up the game during the early days of Covid and it was tough, but age had taken it's toll.

A week ago Jess had a full and busy day with his beloved Pat. That evening he had a steak dinner, a couple of glasses of wine. He watched some TV, played solitaire on his computer and went to sleep. And he was gone from this world.

If anyone deserves the peace and mercy of such a passing, it is Jess.

Jess was 88 and had been active, competitive and skilled player until 86. His age and his movement on the court was incongruous to most.

I learned when I began playing in his doubles groups, that he always sat on the bench between end changes and breaks. 

Just a brief rest and recharge. 

When I got back to the courts after my surgery I started doing the same thing. I continue to do that and now it will be a way of remembering a good player, a good friend and a really good man!  

Milky Way "cloud" and star field in Cambria 6/1/22.

See you down the trail. 

TWISTED & SINKING

 

        It's called the Twisted Grove, one of the many Redwood families in the Forest of Nisene Marks State Park in the Santa Cruz Mountains near Aptos, California. 

    I see it as a metaphor of now.

        The trees live on the San Andreas fault and changing land in their hundreds of years have caused them to twist to reach to for the light.

         Consider the great palaver about the leaked Supreme Court opinion; That a radical right wing clique appears to be on the verge of banning individual liberty has the majority of Americans dutifully concerned....that the Republican party who packed the court with zealots is more concerned about the leak than a regressive decision, unwanted by a majority of citizens. 

        The Supreme Court we were taught to vaunt and hallow is exposed as being more horse shit offal of our broken political system. Almost holy respect for the Supremes? The mystique is gone.  

       Please recall three of the supremes were nominated by Donald Trump, after one nomination was stolen from President Obama. Two were nominated by George W. Bush. What do Bush and Trump have in common? Both lost the popular vote. 

      The majority of Americans voted against their judgements and character, but they put 5 on the court. At least 3 of those five lied on camera about Roe V. Wade when questioned during their testimony. And on this high court is a man married to a person of questionable character who supported the January 6 insurrection. 

   

        Sinking is another matter.

        The SS Palo Alto began as a concrete ship, a tanker built for WW I in 1918. The end of war left the Palo Alto without a mission. In time it became an oil storage barge. Later it was purchased to be an amusement center and opened in 1930 at Sea Clift Beach in Santa Cruz County.

        It thrived, only briefly. After two years of dances, dinners and the social life, the depression changed the course of the Palo Alto.

      Over the years it languished, interrupted by periods of attempted revival and then more trouble. Storms cracked the hull, there was renewed effort, a hamburger stand, bait shops, more storms and broken masts, more storms and the original crack in the hull worsened, more rehabilitation and repairs, and it was used as a fishing platform. So it was until 2000 when the ship deck was closed permanently.

        The concrete tanker is now a home for sea birds and a flourishing sea life. It has become a kind of reef, as it continues  sinking, slowly into the sea.

        I think this too is a metaphor; 

    the once important Republican party, broken and infested now with extremists, non traditionalists, anti American authoritarians and fans of autocracy. Republicans I covered are repulsed. Generations passed would abhor the party.

    the American ship of state, divided and the constituency not particularly intelligent anymore.

    Tragic comedy-an irony;

    Right wingers have always worried about subversion and infiltration, by the Soviets and then the Russians. There's a great case to be made how that infiltration target was and is the republican party and their nation breaking, hate your neighbor culture wars, and grievances gaggle. Now they attempt to "game" the system, trying to rule as a minority party.

    

    Twisted and sinking.  We have been before. 

    Begrudgingly or with belief, we've course corrected, cleaned up the act, busted monopolies, jailed bosses, chased off demagogues, created government compassion, reformed courts, improved, established liberties and continue to evaluate and struggle.

    Struggle. That is our history. Forces of enlightenment and liberty pitched against ignorance, greed, self interest and control.  

    We've endured, almost as long as the youngest of these big trees, that live on a fault line.

        We were at dinner party and in the rambling conversation conviviality I heard myself say I'm ascribing more dignity and favor to trees than I am to a whole lot of humanity. Trees last. By comparison we are on a short timeline.  

        There are good people. Lots of them. Though we may be old and tired or weary, it's time to go another round for human dignity. There is work to do, truth to be told, challenges to make, courts and government to reform, laws to pass and elections to be won. We can model for and work along side like minded youth. For those of us active in the 60's and 70's, there are lessons to teach and to remember. 

        Trees reach for the light. It's what they do to live for hundreds and thousands of years.  Democratic republics could take note. 

        Find the light.  See you down the trail. 

    

              

THE WEEKENDER-AWESOME-PEACEFUL-AND THE DOG GOLDBERG

THE ELDERS OF THE PLANET

      As the news of floods, drought, wildfire and tropical storms fill the airwaves and internet I've been thinking about some of my favorite living things-the giant Sequoia trees only some 4 hours from here.
    From 1,200 to 1,800 years old I try to imagine the kind of changes that have swept over this planet since they first emerged as saplings.  I am filled with awe and reverence whenever I am in their presence, or in the presence of their cousins, the coast Redwoods.  That is why Big Sur and the
Sequoia national parks are so special to me.

TIME TO CHILL

   No matter where your journey has taken you this week, here are a couple of frames to help you find a road to peaceful relaxation.

THE WEEKENDER VIDEO

it may have you howling

   Find something to enjoy this weekend.  See you down the trail.

AUTUMN IN BIG SUR

THE WORLD OF THE LIME KILNS

It is a heart link for us.
We were first enchanted by the area
when it was a private campground.

From that date in 1969 our lives were

 drawn again and again to

special moments in this Redwood Forest Canyon.

We've celebrated, mourned, camped, hiked,

and always gain respect for its reverie.

The light plays with shadows

in a fairy like way.

Textures abound.

 Up the canyon are the old Kilns, reverting to time's and the 
forests design for them.

The Rockland Lime and Lumber Company

built the kilns in 1887.

Crushed limestone and debris from a landslide

and from shallow hillside pits north east of the kilns were 

put on sleds for a trip down the slope.

An 1888 State Mineralogist report said the kilns were 

loaded from the top and had a capacity of 110 barrels a day.

The operation burned local redwood to heat

the stone to 600 degrees to breakdown the

limestone into quick lime or caustic lime.

The byproduct was was removed from the kiln, cooled and

then loaded on wagons to be taken out of the canyon.

 Down the canyon to steam powered pulleys to be loaded aboard steamships that carried the material north where it 
was used in cement and concrete to build San Francisco.

As our friend Jim, who first took us to Lime Kiln and Big Sur, always says "Big Sur never disappoints." 
See you down the trail.