Falling Leaves

My neighbor Jackie stopped in and exclaimed how beautiful the yellow leaves were on the maple tree in my backyard. I downplayed it and said that she should have been here a week ago when all the trees were vibrant with fall colors. Then I turned and saw the yellow filling up the entire window and I was stunned. Knowing how much was gone, I no longer saw what was still here.

When leaves drop in autumn, I am sad for the loss of all the life that has buzzed, flown, grown, and trotted through the woods. Colors become muted, trees go bare, and a chill clings to the air. I turn away from the windows thinking that life has ended outside and there is nothing more to see. Yet when the leaves are gone, I will be able see deer moving down by the creek, a barred owl sitting on a branch, feel the contours of the land, and watch the sunset’s rays moving through the bare trees.

Harvest

Driving through the Illinois countryside last week, I realized how happy I was seeing the golden cornfields being harvested, the soybeans turning from green to yellow and rust, the warm sun shining in a deep blue sky with a cool breeze touched with hints of autumn’s crispness. The new crop of apples were being picked at Tanner’s Orchard, and everything looked, smelled, and sounded as if the season, and the year, had reached the fullness of life, what we have been working for since spring.

As I helped Jim and Peggy on their organic farm, shucking and sorting the ancient Oaxacan green corn, I gave thanks for how good it felt to be outdoors and physically active in a world of such variety and beauty. The crop was larger than anticipated because the deer and raccoons hadn’t found it. I rejoiced in getting my hands dirty and celebrated the harvest being brought in, as people have done with corn for thousands of years.

At a Wandering Pace

I remembered a John Muir quote incorrectly. I thought he said that nothing could be seen of nature when we’re moving at 40 miles an hour because everything becomes a bewildering blur. 

When people arrive in Yosemite today, after driving 60-70 miles an hour for four hours across the Central Valley, up through the foothills of the Sierra Nevada and into the valley, they do tend to stagger out of their cars dazed. At those speeds, the landscape has been a blur. Trees flash by the windows as we focus on staying on the winding road. We would be able to see much more if we slowed down to 40, but Muir didn’t think this is enough. 

I thought Muir was berating people who arrived in the valley by stagecoach, zipping over the new dirt roads, or taking the train to El Portal at the breakneck speed of 40 miles an hour instead of taking their time by riding horses over trails. Muir himself took things even slower by taking several weeks to walk the 200 miles from Oakland. (Wendell Berry wrote an insightful essay on adjusting to the pace of the nature in “An Entrance to the Woods.”) Yesterday I ran across this quote again. It doesn’t say 40 miles an hour.

Getting Close to Nature

Yosemite Valley is a place of solitude, a place where I come to make sense of the tragedies and horrors going on in the world.

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Before dawn I stand by the river to get a feel of its movement through the valley, then head off on a hike through the wild beauty of Creation. After the walking meditation with the mountains, the listening conference at the waterfalls, and the conversations with chipmunks on trails through the forest, I return in the evening to the river. I sit with the day’s experiences and discover the threads that tie them together.

Looking at the river in front of me, seven dark rocks run in a line across the light-colored ridges on the sandy bottom like a sand garden in Kyoto, with flowing water replacing the movement of the air. The ridges and different colors of pebbles on the bottom create patterns that occupy the mind while my spirit is free to wander.

If You Have One Day in Yosemite

Right now, early October, is the best time to hike in Yosemite – day hikes, long hikes, one hour hikes in the morning or afternoon. For the next ten days, temperatures are expected to be in the high 70s during the day and in the mid-50s at night, although both will start sliding a couple of degrees cooler every few days. It will be dry because the rainy season hasn’t yet started, and I’m hoping for a really wet winter because there’s been a long drought. There aren’t many people in the valley now and it’s really quiet.

You could hike for several weeks and not cover all the trails in and around the valley, but if you only have one full day in the valley, and you want to see a lot, this is what I’d recommend. 

Start off before dawn in Leidig Meadow and watch the stars give way to the orange and yellow colors of dawn. You will see deer and probably a few coyotes. Sunrise is at 7 a.m. and sunset at 6:30 p.m. so you have a maximum of 11 ½ hours to hike. As soon as it is light enough to see the trail, maybe 6:30-45 a.m., head for the top of Upper Yosemite Fall, pausing at Columbia Rock halfway up the wall to take in the view, as well as to catch your breath.