Wow, I Can Finally Breathe!

Sometimes, I forget that my hometown sits only 1,000 feet above the ocean. Whenever we travel, we often expect ourselves to perform better than we actually do. Is there a lesson to be found in that? There are a few! There is value in knowing your limits. Have peace in the knowledge that some things are simply outside of your control, like the amount of oxygen in the air. It is perfectly okay to just do your best, instead of being the best. 

I am not the best, especially at high altitudes. In today’s blog post, however, I enjoyed the experience of actually being able to breathe. What a concept.

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Featured photos: https://photos.app.goo.gl/pCJ32b4GbJG85zst9

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August 31st, 2024- California Day 8

The air was blissfully damp and oxygen-rich. I felt like a dead plant that had finally been watered. My leaves were unfurling. My stomata were opening again. My heartbeat was steadier. My brain was clearer. Does elevation really have this much of an effect on me?

As we trekked through the forest of redwoods, I reevaluated my life decisions. I have always enjoyed being an Ohioan, but does living at a lower elevation put you at a physical disadvantage? I imagined an apocalyptic situation where we might be forced to flee to somewhere like Denver. The zombies would get me before I could even catch my breath. In that case, yes, being an Ohioan would make me a prime zombie target. Not to mention my ingrained “Ope” would certainly give away my hiding place at least once. No siree, I couldn’t survive a zombie apocalypse, that’s for sure!

As for the hiking-induced asthma I get in the mountains, well, that hasn’t killed me yet. And what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, right? Thoroughly buoyed by this encouraging revelation, I pulled myself from my reverie. The forest around us was spectacular. Ferns cut lacy patterns into the white drapery of fog. Cheerful yellow slugs slid along the fern fronds, causing the plants to droop under their weight. A spongy bed of pine needles cushioned my trail-weary feet. As a hiker, these low-elevation trails were a dream. As a biologist, they were a treasure trove. I love the flora and fauna of California. Wyoming is my favorite state to be in, but if I were to study science anywhere, it would be California. They have it all! Deserts, oceans, lakes, streams, forests, meadows, and mountains, California abounds in ecosystems. Having now visited California twice, my poor husband has grown well accustomed to my scientific obsessions. Some of our California hikes have been significantly delayed because I keep stopping to take pictures of new specimens. Ferns, slugs, spiderwebs, and trees were my favorite subjects of this particular hike. I stopped cold, however, when the sun came out. It was a pale morning. The slap of the harsh California sun had been tamed into a gentle, golden caress by the lovely humidity. When it gained enough strength to push through the mist, the sun was severed into hundreds of sunbeams through the redwood branches. The effect was magical. I had been kneeling on the ground, trying to capture the perfect shot of a spiderweb laced around the round nodules of fern sori. When a sunbeam hit my face, I looked up with a gasp. Above our heads, the light zigzagged in intersecting lines. Sunbeams fell on our hiking trail like miniature spotlights. They cast the ferns in silhouettes. The forest was illuminated in pattern of light and darkness. It was a scene straight out of Heaven. Every few yards provided a new angle from which to enjoy the magnificence. The rest of our hike quickly dissolved in the wonder of the sunrise. It hardly felt like we were hiking at all. For that moment, we were frozen in time. 

We returned to our Airbnb for breakfast, then locked the doors behind us for another day of adventuring. On a coastal trail, blackberries grew so thickly along the trails that there was scarcely enough room to pass uphill hikers. We pressed ourselves into the prickly bushes, taking turns with other people to either smoosh or be smooshed. Always a fan of wild edibles, I feasted on the juicy berries at every impasse. By the time we reached the shoreline, my fingers had been stained purple with the rich juice. The Pacific beach was wonderfully rocky, joining forces with the damp, cool air to disuade anyone from crowding the beach with towels and sandcastles. I love a rocky beach. Don’t get me wrong, I like building sandcastles and looking for seashells, but there’s often something about a sandy beach that feels artificial. How many white, sandy beaches have sand trucked in instead of naturally formed? I don’t actually know the answer, but nonetheless, my misconception remains solidly rooted. Besides, a rocky beach doesn’t stick to your socks like sand does. 

Each rock on the beach was like a snowflake. The grey stones were marbled with white quartz, striping them in unique, eye-catching patterns. Occasional seagull feathers and driftwood interspersed the rocks, creating a flatlay that could easily be a computer desktop picture. I took a couple pictures, of course. Who wouldn’t?

We strolled among more redwoods that day too, hiking through the fittingly-named Tall Trees Grove of Redwood National Park. A small river wove through a redwood valley. The water was so clear it was nearly invisible. Hot in the midday sun, we took off our shoes and waded into the shockingly cold mountain runoff. Colorful stones glittered under our feet. Minnows darted away from our shadows. The tallest trees in the world elbowed their way past more diminutive species, slicing like swords into the sky. They filled the forest around us to form a dense, prehistoric scene. A velociraptor could have emerged from the brush and looked completely at home. We, on the other hand, looked silly. Our very-white feet wiggled toes in the cold river. We giggled at each other and chatted about nothing. And soon enough, we moved on. The forest was lovely to visit, but it was too dignified for us to call home. That privilege was reserved for the redwoods and velociraptors.

Back in civilization, we had an early supper at an Oregon McDonald’s. Upon our arrival, I made my usual pilgrimage to the women’s restroom, surprised to be affronted by a keypad on the door. McDonald’s bathrooms in my little hometown are never locked with a keypad. Startled and somehow chastised, I had to return to the counter to request the code. It was baffling. As we ate our supper, however, it became apparent why the bathrooms had to be locked. In this town, substances and poverty were a huge issue. A few altered people wandered down the street as we ate our food. A harried-looking grandmother, presumably the manager of the McDonald’s, openly argued with her granddaughter, an employee, about mopping the floor. Across the dining room, a family settled on the benches to share a dinner as well. They appeared to be a grandmother, two granddaughters, a baby, and a boyfriend. The granddaughters were young and small, looking hardly older than twelve. Despite this, one girl carried an infant strapped to her chest. Another customer engaged the two girls, looking alarmed at the young mother and her baby. The girl just laughed. 

“Oh, we’re sisters! I’m 18 and she’s 20. People think we’re younger than that all the time!” 

The concerned woman nodded and turned away. The young, tiny mother commenced with attempting to make a bottle in the McDonald’s dining room. The young man, presumably her boyfriend, hovered nearby. He looked shellshocked, arms hanging limply at his sides. The baby started to cry.

A swarm of emotions flooded over me as I watched the family. We had just spent the entire day enjoying ourselves in the forest. We watched a sunrise in the trees, ate snacks on fallen logs, and ate blackberries on the beach. In a word, our day was carefree. But for this young family, their day was anything but. The young mother struggled to make the bottle with the cold water they’d gotten from the McDonald’s drink dispenser. The young boyfriend watched from nearby, looking almost scared. What sort of things did they have to worry about? What kind of situation were they in?The family remained in my mind long after we'd left the McDonald's that evening. They lingered in my mental periphery for days afterwards.

I felt almost guilty. Tyler and I have been extremely blessed since the first day of our marriage. We have a wonderful home, excellent jobs, and a large community of family and friends. We don’t take these blessings lightly. And, when we get the chance, we try to return the blessings to someone else. I love volunteering at my church. Tyler organizes a yearly Christmas toy drive for hospitalized children. The way I see it, we have an obligation to fulfill. We have been given the chance to see and enjoy many, many amazing things. It is only right for us to give others that chance too. 

Kindness makes the world go round.