The summer is winding down; actually summer is just a season on the calendar for my loved ones who have already started back to school this week. But as the retirement slogans go, I am in the midst of my "endless summer." However, it was only this week that I felt like I could begin the implementation of my retirement weekly schedule. I was finally back in some sort of routine after my trip to Spain followed by my birthday and all that entails. It seems that August sets in and reality returns. Wednesdays on my current weekly schedule call for a "field trip." In my dream world that might mean a trip to a local museum, a trip to the beach or a local spot in the Bay Area. But this week (and last week) it meant a walk in the woods. Today I set off for a spot in Henry Cowell State Park that went somewhat according to plan. After all, once you're in the redwoods, what else matters? But I actually had started on my final route back to the car when I happened upon the sign, "Redwood Grove." I did try to stay focused on the schedule but I just couldn't resist. The Redwood Grove at Henry Cowell and I have a long, long history.
As an Iowa native, the redwoods have always held a special place in my heart. There's nothing like them in Iowa or even outside of California and Oregon. One of our first family trips was to Redwoods National Park but that was after I had discovered that there is a miniature version of that park less than 40 miles from home. My first visit was a stunning experience. My head was constantly thrust back to attempt to see the tops of each and every tree. The Redwood Grove was kind of ordinary to Ralph; I'm sure he had been hundreds of times and thought little of it until he took me there. It's just a jog off of state highway 17 to Santa Cruz and it quickly became a regular stop for us. "Any place you want to go?" was often answered with, "The redwoods?" From the very beginning, I knew that my desire to be there was unusual so I never expected yes for an answer but whenever the car took that turn off of the highway, there was a feeling of great joy and delight in my heart. The Redwood Grove was the best of all possible places for us to be. It is an .8 mile walk with 15 points of interest along the path. So Ralph and I could walk it at his pace, I could take my kids in or out of strollers, and even my father when they came for my master's graduation in 1995.
My desire to be in that grove has never waned. I went for a final visit before I moved to Washington, I have fond memories of sharing it with my grandchildren, and it was one of the first places I visited upon my return last year. So when that sign appeared on my field of vision today, there was no denying it. Yes, that would be a lovely finish to my walk in the woods today. I made my way from the River Trail and the minute I walked onto the path I noticed a change - there was something in the smell of the air that had been altered If you could identify a smell as that of motherhood, that's what it was. I was completely transported back to 1985 or there abouts. I brought our kids here a LOT. We would go to Santa Cruz several times during the summer and on most trips home, we would take a detour to the redwoods. Often the kids had no idea that I had made the turn. I would pull up into the parking lot and they would tumble out of the car. I think they must have just amused me, knowing it was a short walk so they would endure it and then Mom would be content to drive home. So, today, once again I walked that path with my head tilted back, searching for the tops of the trees and feeling extremely small. As the memories came flooding back with the smell of the redwoods, I missed chasing down a child or grandchild along the path, stopping for photos, or cajoling one of them out of a dark, burned out tree trunk. But my happy memories were more than enough to sustain me as I followed the trail back to the car and on to the highway back home. I am deeply blessed to live in this amazing place of beauty and memories of love.
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