It’s a whole new day. I cut further south to cross the Sierras on a more reliable road and return to the land of trees. In arid lands, they call this a tree:
In lands abundant with water, we call this a tree:
The transition between the two today is marked by a valley full of autumn colors, horses at pasture, cattle ranches, and citrus groves.
I take the back roads (but not high wilderness roads!), buy local produce, and climb again into the high Sequoia forest, perhaps not 20 miles from where I was stuck only 20 hours ago. (Yes, my arms, ribs, and shoulders are sore today!)
I love trees. I always forget until I’m away from them for a while, whether crossing the desert or returning back from the high Himalayas. Then I return to them and am filled with happiness. Today I walked up and hugged a Sequoia. They have a soft and matted bark. They’re easy to love and lean on.
On this trip, I have uncharacteristically ignored every visitor’s center, every interpretive signpost, every anything wanting to teach me something. Usually I soak up factual knowledge about a place, but this trip I have wanted to simply exist in the space, commune with earth, and follow my heart. It’s been so calming and fulfilling to let my mind be quiet in this way. Driving alone through all this wilderness has left me feeling empowered, free, and all the things that a good road trip conjures up.
A final mountain sunset before dropping down to Fresno. The next morning, I have the front license plate drilled onto my car (because I know I can’t park 10 minutes in San Francisco without getting a ticket if it’s not attached). Then I head home to some of my fabulous and creative friends, dressed as wood nymphs and performing live music in a wooded canyon at dusk. This is why San Francisco is still home.
