Mission San Antonio de Padua

 When Tyler and I began discussing taking a fairly short camping trip in early May, I mentioned that I had always been curious about Mission San Antonio de Padua, about 26 miles off of HWY 101, north of San Luis Obispo. A friend told me that the mission was interesting, and that there was some good hiking in the area.  I had always been curious about the mission because it seemed to me to be a fair distance from Hwy 101, originally known as El Camino Real. We decided to check it out. This was the trip where we camped in the Valley of the Oaks, which was so beautiful.  

We arrived at the mission just after noon. We paused to have a snack on the tailgate before going in. The weather was warm and quite sunny. The grounds were very quiet, and again, I was struck by its remoteness.  Even Mission San Miguel, only a little further south, is just off of Hwy 101 as is Mission San Luis Obispo. Mission San Antonio does have a close neighbor, Fort Hunter Liggett Military Reservation, but even those grounds were quiet. 

We walked into the main building and were greeted with a warm welcome. We never learned the  name of our greeter, but she encouraged us to look around, and that we did. I am pretty much past the stage of romanticizing the missions, however beautiful and interesting the buildings might appear. The missions were institutions of enslavement for the Indigenous population, many of whom died due to diseases that they had not been exposed to before, and maybe even heartache (my theory). As we explored the mission, there was a short cello piece that played repeatedly over the speaker system. I love the cello, but this repetitive strain was so melancholy that I began to feel I was experiencing the weight of the sorrow of the members of the Salinan tribe who were moved there. Tyler and I went on to find our way to the courtyard, and then to the sanctuary.  Tyler expressed surprise at the number of rooms encircling the courtyard, and when we went back to the main entrance, we were told that those rooms, now used as retreat rooms, were where the "neophytes" were housed. How strange and confining those rooms and that role must have been for the Salinans. 

I mentioned to the woman who greeted us that I was surprised at the distance from 101 to the mission. She replied that it was because the builders of the mission were following the water, not the road, which did not exist at that time.  However, the mission was not all that close to water either, but they were able to build an aqueduct system which was pretty sophisticated for the time. 

We were told that services are still being held in the sanctuary, but only about 50 people from various communities in the area attend. We were also told that in the summer a few more attend, due to the arrival of those training at Ft. Liggett.     

We then decided to motor on to the campground on Nacimiento Creek that Tyler had found online. There was an open space, and it was wonderful to camp by the creek. We did have a few mosquitos join us just to keep it real. The next morning Tyler spotted a staircase going up a hill. Alas, it was covered with some also very real poison oak, so we decided to simply let it be.      

Attached is a view of part of the courtyard at the mission. The figure in the foreground is a sculpture. Tyler is standing further away. I am the unseen one lurking in the shadows.

             

And Then Came the Coyotes

 This is our first full day of being back from a two night camping trip on Mt. Diablo. It seems the summer rush has not yet started, so we pretty much had the camp ground to ourselves, with the exception of two lizards who had claimed the bathroom building as their refuge, and one female turkey who Tyler named Mildred, but we called her Millie. She appeared to be the sole turkey in the area, and we decided she was probably an older bird; her tail feathers were a little tattered, and her overall color was muted. We watched her methodical comings and goings, including a surprising brief flight. She even walked into our campsite as she went about perusing the area for food. She was definitely much less impressed by our presence than we were with hers.

Many birds live in the Mt. Diablo State Park, so the day into night was filled with bird calls, including those of ravens and a Great Horned Owl. The weather was definitely warm, but not overly hot as that area can get. I spotted a gopher snake that was stretched out as long as it possibly could be to take in the sun. Tyler also saw what he thought was a California striped racer snake who stopped by, but a visit to the Mt. Diablo Summit Visitor Center on Wednesday morning revealed that what he had actually seen was the Alameda whipsnake which is considered rare and endangered. I am sorry I did not get to see this seldom seen creature, but I am grateful for the photographic display at the visitor center.

We did not get to see many stars. While it felt to me like we were surely far away from any possibility of light pollution, we were actually only 14 to 16 miles from the large human settlements of Danville and Walnut Creek. That means a lot of light is being generated, and 16 miles is not nearly far enough for complete darkness. I am still amazed at how remote our campsite felt, but the bathrooms were a clue: they included flush toilets, showers, and even hot water.

While we weren't able to see a grand celestial show, we did have a nice view of the moon. It was just past its full moon phase, so it was still round and bright in the sky. Nonetheless, the night held a surprise for us. We were awakened from our nocturnal rest by the piercingly loud sounds of yips, howls, and other mysterious vocalizations of what sounded to be a pack or maybe even two of at least a hundred coyotes. The sound seemed to be all around us. We heard them again around dawn. Once again we found ourselves outside cell phone coverage so we could not do any research about what we heard so we were left to our fertile and imaginative musings. Such musings can be misleading, and facts can be helpful for holding misleading notions in check.

I have long respected the resourcefulness of coyotes, but after my morning reading, I find myself even more in awe. I have learned that most packs of coyotes include the alpha male and female, maybe some adult offspring, and pups. Their vocalizations are varied and yes, can be loud, due to the distances the sound must cover. They are social animals who mate for life. What we imagined to be several packs coming together, was probably just one group consisting of maybe 15 animals of various ages and hierarchical levels. Their vocalizations are not idle chatter, but rather fairly sophisticated communications between pack members. Such enthusiastic vocalizations also alert others about who is in the territory. The second night we were there, we heard them again, but they were further away. When we woke Wednesday morning we heard them once more and they were much closer. That morning we also woke up in dense fog and the temperature was much cooler. When I ventured outside the camper, it was still foggy. I saw a smallish solitary coyote over by the restroom. I watched it sniff around some, perhaps intrigued by the scent of a tasty lizard or two. However, there was little chance they would be out in that early chilly morning. The coyote then began to walk in our direction. At that point I took the advice of the lizards and retreated back into the camper. I know coyotes seldom want to engage with humans, but I was not awake enough to press that assumption. I also read this morning that solitary coyotes are typically younger coyotes who have left what is called their natal packs in order to find a mate and start their own pack in another territory. My respect for these fascinating and resilient creatures has grown because of what we experienced and learned.

I have started keeping an informal log of the creatures we see and hear on our outings. I am also going to order a field guide to the animals found in the West to take with us because we periodically find ourselves without a cell signal. Climate change, an administration that does not seem to have any interest in conservation whatsoever, and, of course, my age are all telling me to pay attention to who and what I am and am not seeing. The photograph I am attaching is the view we saw from our campsite. The woods that surrounded us support the life that we were able to get a glimpse of and enjoy in our short time there. Our state and national parks, already understaffed, are not immune to a marauding government and disrespectful human visitors. Many of the beautiful sandstone rocks and caves in the park are covered with graffiti, and there is a real danger of some of our currently protected public lands being sold off for private production and development. I was at risk of ending this post on a somber note, yet this morning, just in the nick of time, I received this encouraging reminder from Rabbi Yael Levy:

"As many ways as there are to get lost

that’s how many ways there are to return

.Let us walk with care

and lift up lightsfor and with each other."

Let us continue to celebrate what we have, and work for the good as best we can.

If you want to explore coyote vocalizations, YouTube is a good place to start:

https://youtu.be/l-0aK59t42g?si=mm3bCYX9ZQkrRNgP

A Blessing and a Story

 Last night I came across this lovely poem written by James Wright that I received through First Sip in 2024. It speaks deeply of a Spirit of Place. I need these reminders to look and take in the grace.

Yesterday, I found myself almost overwhelmed by some frustrations I was experiencing with Kaiser. Kaiser's system works well until it doesn't. I almost decided to not go to yoga; I felt maybe I was too frazzled and distracted. I did go, and of course that was exactly what I needed to do. After our lovely class, a fellow student came up to me and said, "I noticed your God Is Still Speaking bag." (I bought this small bag at a UCC conference years ago. It is the perfect size to carry my water bottle and other items I might need for class. I don't think I have ever carried anything else in it.) He then added that he had a story I might like to hear. I was happy to listen.

He said that years ago, a friend told him that his young son had run excitedly into the house after spending some time in the backyard. The child exclaimed, "Dad! The trees talk, but they talk very slowly!" I was delighted to hear this, and selfishly wanted to know of other conversations the child might have had with the trees. He knew of no others. Regardless, I hope the child was able to continue to ponder the experience. I am grateful to add my ponderings to his.

I am reminded (again) that the Holy Spirit always offers inspiration and healing, and speaks in many surprising ways.

A Blessing

Just off the Highway to Rochester, Minnesota

Twilight bounds softly forth on the grass.

And the eyes of those two Indian ponies

Darken with kindness.

They have come gladly out of the willows

To welcome my friend and me.

We step over the barbed wire into the pasture

Where they have been grazing all day, alone.

They ripple tensely, they can hardly contain their happiness

That we have come.

They bow shyly as wet swans. They love each other.

There is no loneliness like theirs.

At home once more,

They begin munching the young tufts of spring in the darkness.

I would like to hold the slenderer one in my arms,

For she has walked over to me

And nuzzled my left hand.

She is black and white,

Her mane falls wild on her forehead,

And the light breeze moves me to caress her long ear

That is delicate as the skin over a girl's wrist.

Suddenly I realize

That if I stepped out of my body I would break

Into blossom.

photograph: Petaluma, 2024

Correcting the Course

"I wonder how many times the world will change before we learn that the world IS change. I wonder how long we will struggle against change like a fish on a line, rail against it like children, build fortresses of sand around ourselves only to see the waves of change dissolve them again and again. I wonder how long it will take for us to learn that stability is vulnerability, that resilience is strength...

This is what it means to be resilient: to mourn a thousand endings and celebrate a thousand beginnings, to be as strong as steel and as soft as warm butter, to practice both resilience and acceptance, to cradle both life and death in our arms."

 Ethan Tapper, Vermont forester and founder of Bear Island Forestry and author of How to Love a Forest  

 

I found this quote in this morning's email from First Sip. I am unfamiliar with Ethan Tapper's writing, but now I am intrigued by his work. I have said and written more than once that I really am not a forestry kind of person. I generally prefer a more open landscape, preferably a dry one with a vista. However, on our last two camping trips I was able to see some tall healthy ponderosa forests in Northern New Mexico, as well as camp in a beautiful old oak grove in Central CA.  Not sure the latter counts as a forest, but there I was standing, sleeping and breathing among the silent ancient ones. I knew only awe and gratitude. Perhaps I am learning how to love a forest. Maybe I should get the how to guide book.  

Yet, what caught my eye in this morning's email was the reminder that the "world is change". Earlier this week I found myself praying, "Please guide us through these correcting times." The word correcting surprised me. Yet, I do believe these are times of correcting our course. Certainly what we are moving through feels to at least some of us as harsh, traumatizing, even dangerous. However, there is much about our nation that has long been harsh and dangerous. Harsh and dangerous to the land. Harsh and dangerous to those who were enslaved. Harsh and dangerous to the Indigenous people who were part of the land long before the settlers arrived.  Harsh and dangerous to those who simply want access to education, affordable health care, and a chance to work and support a family. Harsh and dangerous to those whose lifestyles and beliefs just seem too different. All of this reflects a resistance to change and growth, and that resistance is throttling us.

I am reading Kaitlin B. Curtice's book Native, Identity, Belonging, and Rediscovering God. I am not very far into the book, but she writes eloquently about what it means to her to be what she described as "a white-coded Potawatomi woman". It is a book about reclaiming her Indigenous roots and about reclaiming her own story, as well as the story of her people, while also exploring what it means to be an Indigenous person of Christian faith. She, too, is moving through a correcting time. We all are.  

Her writing reminds me that we must all remember our own stories as well as the stories of others and our nation. Yes, even the inglorious ones that embarrass, sadden and even frighten us. Curtice writes: "So with that in mind  we journey through our own stories, carrying our own experiences, living lives beyond the times of our ancestors. We step through that reality in trust, and we find a depth of God we could not have known existed - a depth  that holds us in a space where we can speak the truth to a time in which the rich and powerful express their power through oppression and not compassion."   

Let us all go forth courageously, shedding our own outdated codes in order to remember and reclaim our own stories. You might ask "Well, where are the guide books?" Everywhere. Both ancient and new voices are rising up, including our own. We just need to learn to listen and speak with discernment, not prejudice. With courage, not fear, and always with the intention to let love surface. Easy?  Probably not. But truthfully, I know no other way.     

  

 

    

image:  Wagon Caves, Los Padres National Forest, May 2026    

Sights and Sounds on Prewitt Ridge

 "Our lives, our circumstances, and our choices are uniquely our own. There are no right answers. But there is a right question. It's the one that rubs against our self-righteousness, resistance, and fears. The one that revolves a never into a maybe into an okay, let's see.

When you ask yourself, 'Why not?' you may find that you are no longer stepping reflexively backward or standing rigidly still. You could instead find yourself in motion, across a vivid and unpredictable landscape, over impossible mountains and beyond the deep blue water's edge, where you surprise yourself, once and for all, by getting wet."

Karen Maezen Miller

On the second day of our trip we drove up a winding and narrow road in Big Sur to Prewitt Ridge. The road is steep and unpaved, so patience and a sturdy 4 wheel drive vehicle are needed. Having experienced Big Sur only from the coastal highway, I was surprised to discover how high the terrain is. (AI tells me that the altitude is "roughly 3,200 feet" and roughly is a good way to describe every inch of those feet.) Nonetheless, we were able to wind our way to the top of the ridge and found a beautiful campsite that overlooked the Pacific Ocean. We could not actually see the water because there was a layer of fog on the ocean as far as we could see. It would move back and forth along the coast and the valley below us, but it never climbed to where we were, nor did it recede far enough so that we could actually see water. After we set up camp, Tyler took a short walk, and I sat and read for a few minutes. Eventually, we both settled in and simply watched the fog. The movement was mesmerizing. Tranquil is a word I don't get to use much, but that is how I would describe our day and evening. However, late in the night that tranquility was interrupted by a loud scream. We both sat up with "What was that?" rushing from our mouths. We listened and heard the unnerving scream again. Our minds settled enough so we could agree that the scream was probably not of human origin. I mentioned that I had heard that at times some wild cats such as a mountain lion can at times sound human-like. The piercing sound was quite unnerving, and my envisioning a nearby screaming mountain lion did not bring me comfort. The next morning while still in my sleeping bag, I looked out the window and saw a creature running quickly along the side of our camp. I still had cat on my brain, so I told Tyler that I just saw one run by. He asked what it looked like. I reported that it was tan and smallish with a remarkably long black tipped tail. He then asked if maybe I had seen a weasel. I could not answer the question because I had no idea what one looked like. At that moment we had no cell phone coverage, so the research was delayed, but once I could investigate online, I concurred that I probably did see a weasel. I also learned that in times of high stress or territorial disputes, weasels can and do emit a piercing scream. As alarming as the whole experience was, I feel fortunate to have gotten a glimpse and sound of this creature. When we camp we see and hear birds, mostly jays and woodpeckers, and we often spot lizards and squirrels, but otherwise we do not see much wildlife. Yet, a couple of years ago, we decided to meet two longtime friends at a KOA in Petaluma. They travel in a RV, so we camped among the RVs for two nights. Even in that full campground, a fox and I startled each other on our solitary predawn journeys, and from our friends' campsite I was able to watch an owl taking flight at dusk. I treasure all these brief sightings. Karen Maezen Miller's quote resonates with me as I learn how to camp. Unlike Tyler, I did not grow up camping, but even in my 70s, I find it a worthwhile endeavor. I am grateful for his skills that help me to get out in nature so I can get a glimpse of some of her landscapes and wildlife. Most of us need to fine tune our senses. Otherwise, we risk becoming lulled into giving developers a free hand to pave and overbuild. It is too easy to forget that we are all in this together, and we all need space to thrive.

Image: Yes, there is an ocean, and goodness knows what else, out there! May, 2026

Mariposa Lily

I have fallen in love with a flower. On one of our walks during our recent trip, we spotted these lilies growing among the grasses.  It is a CA native, so it has an intricate role in the  pollination of the life around us. There are several varieties of this lily, and I have just learned that it was/is also an important plant for the Native American culture, both as a source of food and for medicinal purposes. I am smitten.   

I recently have been reminded of the resilience of hospital and hospice chaplains. I have been visiting a friend who was a member of the church that helped inspire my unsteady steps as I dealt with my aging parents two states away. It was at that church where I began to understand the importance of a faith community.  She is now in the hospital, and the medical staff is trying to help her restore some of her physical strength after her recent heart attack so she can go home and receive care there. She is in her 90s, and not yet in hospice care.   

For most of us, hospital rooms are not places of luxury. I find myself trying to fit around equipment, the priority of the schedule of the medical personnel who are tending to her, and family members. Frankly, I am not as agile as I once was as I try to stay focused and attentive to the Spirit and to the physical priorities of what is going on around me. 

So, this morning I pause and ponder a lily blooming among the tall grasses.  On the same trip I also was blessed to see many bees busily visiting blooming flowers, not in suburban gardens, but growing wild. I also came across several patches of the California native milkweed, Asciepias speciosa or showy milkweed.  It was not yet blooming, which is why I could recognize it. I have tried to grow some in a large pot with no success. Yes, failure can be a very good teacher, as many of us are learning in these times.  

I must add one more thing. As we Californians prepare to vote for a candidate to run for governor, I believe it is our responsibility to keep our environment in mind. I will simply say that candidate Hilton appears to hold little regard for the environment. Please vote, and please vote for the health of our land. Yes, it is a balancing act. Let us be attentive to what we are trying to pollinate as we find ourselves trying to live in these rocky times. 

      

Meaning and Beauty on a Monday Morning

 "You take the pen -- and the lines dance.
You take the flute -- and the notes shimmer.

You take the brush -- and the colors sing.
So all things have meaning and beauty 

in that space beyond time where You are.
How then, can I hold anything from You?"

~ Dag Hammarskjold~   

As quoted in First Sip    

    

Image: 

Tyler took this picture, and I think the photograph does a fine job of showing just how large some of the oak trees are in the Valley of the Oaks,  Wagon Caves Rock Formation, Los Padres National Forest.  Although we did see several caves on our hike we did not find the actual Wagon Cave. Now there are at least  three items on our to do and see list: seeing the caves, viewing bighorn sheep, and witnessing condors in flight.   

Early this morning we had very high winds. The winds have returned, but are a little milder.  Alas, our planet continues to grow restless. Why wouldn't she?