Connecting

 As Tyler and I journeyed through a small part of the very large Mendocino National Forest, we often found ourselves in areas where many of the trees had been scarred, or even devestated by fire and bark beetles. However, our last night was spent on a cliff overlooking the beautiful Lake Pillsbury (where we stayed the night before) and the mountains and sky beyond. There, we were surrounded by trees that were mostly healthy, and the manzanita trees were blooming. Many bees were visiting the manzanitas, and that surprised me because we were descending from the high elevation of Hull Mountain, elevation 6,877 feet. However, I have learned that miner bees and eastern carpenter bees are indigenous to the area, and yes, are very attracted to manzanita. 

We were able to locate this beautiful camping spot because as we were descending, Tyler looked to the right and said, "This looks like a good spot for a picnic." The sun was warm, and while higher up on Hull Mountain a powerful and cold wind was gusting, this site was still, peaceful, and beautiful.  A ground squirrel, one dark grey lizard, a Western Tiger Swallowtail butterfly, a much smaller white butterfly, and the bees were our noticable companions. At one point, I looked to my right where the truck was parked, and there the squirrel was sitting still and upright beneath it. it appeared to be gazing off into the distance, giving the appearance of a small monk in contemplation.  

We ate our lunch, and decided to set up camp.  

The wind did eventually blow that night, and it blew hard. However, the camper and truck provided good protection. The night sky was clear and beautiful, but we found we could not linger outside long enough to fully take in and appreciate the view; the wind and chill were just too much for these travellers from sea level. However, that morning we woke to a bright sunrise taking place in that same clear sky. The lizard was out doing its morning pushups on a nearby log, and the bees were already buzzing about. We never did see coyotes, but we heard a few the evening before, yipping as they called their pack together. Yes, it is a strange, excitable cry, but it sounds so celebratory that always makes me smile. I believe they sing a song of anticipation, knowing that they belong together, and that it is time to gather and join in the hunt for sustance that will hopefully feed and sustain the pack. I have much respect for those creatures. We humans could learn much from them.  

In these next few unscheduled days, I have some more writing to do. For now, I am still savoring the times when we heard nothing but forest sounds and silence. I am also savoring that as we drove along those fairly isolated and rough roads, drivers of other vehicles would wave or nod. If we were stopped, people, including one sheriff, paused and asked if everything was ok.  Not one person drove by us without some signal of recognition. Yes, the interactions were reserved, but kind. We needed nothing more. I was reminded of my father. He would do much the same, by lifting one of his long and bony index fingers. I remember asking him once why he did that. He replied, "I would feel foolish waving my hand up and down." Somehow, then and even now, I learned to appreciate the small glances and gestures that connect us, reminding us that we are recognized.  

  

More later. I sense my garden is calling.   

  

Blesssings, 

Sue Ann    

         

image:  Overlooking Lake Pillsbury, Mendocino National Forest, May 2025