Onward we rolled, into Nevada, where there are two things of note: long stretches of desert terrain, and Vegas. The former was nothing entirely new to us, but it is still strange to think that I was in the lush landscape of Zion national park only a few hours ago.
Vegas. That colorful city where people lose fortunes. And I guess they supposedly make them there too. At least the Casino owners make fortunes. As the buildings crested out of the desert, suddenly rearing their multi-hued windows, palm trees, and billboards from what is otherwise a landscape no sensible person would settle, I was struck with something. The city is tiny. Now perhaps this is only because we drove through it on the highway, rather than the famous strip, or perhaps it is because we arrived there in the day, but I attribute it to where we had previously been. We had just climbed towering cliffs over a hundred stories high, and stood in the wind which whipped over the precipice. And still, standing there on top of that peak, there were rocky climbs that stood above us. And even before that, we had stood beneath imposing hoodoos, who's stacked orange sides dwarfed us. You could even attribute Vegas' tiny nature to where we were headed, to some of the largest trees in the world, the Sequoias. Whatever way you turn it, Vegas was underwhelming. The wonder work of man in the desert, the bustling metropolis, pictured so full of energy and good times, the golden tower of the ever wealthy Trump, all seemed so temporary, fleeting, miniscule. Dust in the wind. Or it could just be part of my disdain for Vegas. Never liked the place.
Now, on to the rest of my tale for the day. We didn't spend much time in Nevada, or at least much that I remember, other than what I have already mentioned above. We soon entered the west coast state of California. Close after the border change, there was a terrain change. Orange and lemon orchards began to crop up, alongside vineyard after vineyard of grapes. I'll spare you details on the farmlands that we passed through, and the California traffic that swarmed the towns and cities.Therefore we skip the rest of the drive until just a few miles before the park. It was my turn to drive, but focusing on the road wasn't easy with the rolling hills of grass that rose slowly all around us, driving between two of these hills, we came upon a emerald green lake. Lake Kawean. Just a tiny spot of blue on our atlas, it spread out before us, shimmering amongst the grassy tan rises that surrounded it. Boats were moored at a dock on one end, specks of color in the landscape. Clusters of rock pierced the sand colored hills, their covering rippling softly in the slow wind. Here I was struck again. With a sense of perfect. It was quiet, It was beautiful, it was lush. And it wasn't within the bounds of the Park… I would gladly move there, build a house on top of one of those hills, and live there for a good long time.
Alright then, we've made it to the park. I'll let you in on something. When I was but a lad, I had just taken up the pencil as one of my favorite forms of entertainment, alongside romping, eating, and legos. But I had a problem. I couldn't draw trees. Watching Bob Ross paint his happy trees filled me with envy and determination. I scraped together what little I could earn, and alongside the monetary contributions of my ever patient parents, I purchased a book on how to draw the floral giants. As I was ever over confident in my abilities, I immediately flipped to the back of the book, where I was sure the coolest and hardest things resided. There I found instructions on how to draw the mighty Sequoia. I became fascinated with them, their width, their height, everything. It became a dream of mine to see the big trees.Which leads us to me, standing beneath the largest living tree on the planet. General Sherman, the greatest Sequoia in the park. The sign beneath him describes the difference in height as comparable to an ant looking up at a six foot human. It reached up from the snow and mist, its spongey red bark climbing into obscurity. The tree is over 2000 years old. The fact that the tree was old before Christ was born was just about as awe inspiring as its height and girth. We continued walking, taking pictures and having a good time in the snow, sliding in and out of holes cut in the big trees by fire and time. Mist blanketed the floor of the forest, adding a blue-white to the greens and dark reds of the sequoia forest.
Now our time with the sequoias was done, and we piled back into the van, and started the drive over to the campsite. At an elevation of around 6000 feet, the fog mixed with the sharp dropoffs and slanting sun of the evening to create flashing pictures of incredible beauty. Threads of sun woven and laced between trees, black against the brightness of the light. Blue on white on black on red, the forest spun by as we climbed the mountain. We of course tried to snap pictures, but the conditions were elusive, and I doubt we could have captured them with a camera. The mountain rose on, and we rose with it.I was still in awe when we reached our campsite. From the disappointing Vegas to the fulfilled dream of the Sequoias to the incredible mountain drive just to get to our campsite, it had been a full day. I was ready to eat and sleep. Right then folks, that's what I'm going to do.
~Stephen Minervino
I'm glad you found home tree! :)
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