Echoes of the Mountains

The grass made me stop.

The little feathery meadow grew in our Arboretum garden. It lay in a rectangle of sunlight and threw a hook of memories at me.

Though I can no longer hike the High Sierra Nevada I regularly did so in my middle years. I climbed on the John Muir Trail and in the Ansel Adams Wilderness. These Sierra are majestic mountains, the "Alps of North America", so dubbed by a British friend. Smashed between two tectonic plates the eastern side soars thousands of feet seemingly straight up from the base of the high desert. Vast vistas appear at a turn of the trail or on the saddle between peaks. The clearest glacial lakes lay below crests a few thousand feet above. Rivers carve gorges and valleys, sometimes racing between narrow walls or falling over brinks.

My favorite trail led to Lake Ediza at the foot of the Minarets. These jagged peaks sit atop the already high Sierra and I was drawn to be near them. It's a long hike, a rugged trudge of several miles gaining steep feet of elevation.

Etched into my memory is the smell of the trail: hot duff puffing with our footsteps and tangy resonance of pines towering overhead. The plumage of jays matched the deepest crystalline blue of the skies above. Birdsong was in three dimensions.

I hiked amid sounds and smells and sights that drew my attention to the largeness of the forest and peaks. My goal of Lake Ediza pulled me over rocks and through trees. Bigness enfolded me.

It was riverbank grass I recalled. Once while hiking I was drawn towards a sunlit patch, pulled away from the trail to stop and sit. The crayola-green grass was narrow leaved, not dense yet tall enough to flutter in the breeze. In between the blades I could see small cones from the overhanging tree, pebbles and insects. The river burbled as it slowed and widened. Chickadees and juncos flickered over the water and into the trees. My focus narrowed to this little meadow which lay among the grandness of mountains. Ignoring the destination which drove me I sank into the grass, growing roots like them. A rich peace enveloped me.

My accumulated years have brought one of many changes. My world has become more compact. I've calmed and stopped striving to accomplish. During my career my specialty involved group consultations, workshops and conferences. When retired my vintage clothing business required research worthy of a college degree. Now I'm very happy to sit in the morning on my deck admiring the progress of my potted strawberries against the backdrop of the forest I planted. I enjoy making earrings my sister adores. I love to quietly sit with my husband petting our dogs.

These days I look for serenity, a connection to what is Real. Not always. Sometimes I need to see some grass in the sunlight, hear the wind through pine trees to send me back to my beloved Sierra. In the Arboretum gardens the sight of thin bladed grass in a patch of sunlight under trees filled me with that deep down peace.

My spirit resounds.