I was looking forward to some quiet time with the redwoods, wondering what they would have to tell me. On the drive over to Armstrong Grove State Park, Carrie Newcomer’s song prepared me to listen, “Take more time, cover less ground, time to know what I seek has already been found,”
I arrived early enough on a Saturday morning to score one of the coveted parking spots at the entrance to the park. The air was moist from the fog lingering in the tops of the redwoods, thick with the scent of redwood bark. I breathed in deeply, soaking up the cool, fresh forest air and the serenity of nature’s cathedral.
Looking for quiet on a Saturday morning was an unrealistic expectation. The shrill voices of exuberant children bounding down the path ahead of their parents first broke the stillness, music in itself. I wonder if the trees smile at the voices of children at play?
Next came wave after wave of tourists engaged in intense conversations with each other, in a cacophony of languages. Their gaze was either at each other or on the footing ahead as they hurried down the trail, oblivious to their surroundings. A few paused to take a picture by a “named tree” to prove the “did nature” today. Then one of Recology’s garbage trucks lumbered down the road to the picnic area to service the dumpsters, lots of crashing, banging and loud beeping to awaken any campers who had slept in.
I noticed the waterfall trail, one I had not taken before and because any waterfall entails climbing, it was the “road less traveled by” as Robert Frost would say.
A jogger zoomed by me, gazing only at the ground or her watch, tracking her time and distance. Clearly, she had not embraced Carrie Newcomer’s song, since she was intent on taking less time to cover more ground.
It was a short climb to Fife Falls, well worth it for the sound of running water. The falls are small during the dry season and quickly flow underground until the rainy season when all the creek beds will be rushing. I sat on a bench, with a tree stump footrest and watched the wispy clouds roll by over the treetops and finally heard the stillness, only wind in the trees, an occasional cone dropping in my lap, the percussion of squirrels chirping and woodpeckers at work.
Five minutes later families arrived with fidgety children, took pictures and lingered on the footbridge, intent on their conversations once more.
It is hard to be disappointed when surrounded by such beauty. Was no one else there to hear what the trees had to say?
And then they spoke to me.
“Look up!” they whispered, and I did, awed by their lofty strength.
“Look down,” they said, and I did.
“See how we support and sustain each other, especially through traumas.”
“Watch your head,” they said, as one of their members stretched across the trail, not fallen, but bending, like that last rep in strength training when you have to hold a pose for a count of five. Wow, what resilience!
And then they bid me look around at the faces and creatures hiding in the tree trunks and stumps. What an unusual collection of forest friends!
It is hard to be disappointed when surrounded by such beauty. Pause. Look. Listen. Take more time to cover less ground.
