C is for California

I have only been to California twice in my life for a total of 2 weeks. But both those weeks are intensely ingrained in my memory as times of physical exuberance and spiritual exploration. The two trips were at a small camp of 20 or so people and each day had a different adventure in store. Whether it was climbing mountains, kayaking or mountain boarding the camp kept us moving. In the midst of all this action there was time for deep conversation, questioning, frustrations and tears.

Before the trip even began I was excited to go to California because it was the place my father and my aunt spent a good part of their young adult years. I know there are many stories my father never had a chance to tell me and I wish more than anything I could have heard. My aunt does her best to relay the stories she remembers and she was a part of but, she’ll never be able to tell me what it was like to hike in the sierra mountain range for weeks at a time. So in a small way journeying to California was a way to reconnect with my father’s past as if somehow it still lingered out there in the mountains or on the streets of San Francisco.

I remember that on the day we hiked a moutain (whose name I can’t recall) on the way back down the mountain I was separated from everybody in my group. Initially I thought nothing of it but as the way back down took longer and longer I became increasingly nervous. It was the most alone I have ever been in my life, no one near me, no sounds of vehicles or “the world”. In the middle of wondering whether I had gone back down the right way a butterfly appeared and landed on my shirt. I remember freezing and just staring at this creature, who just as quickly as it landed took off again. It was the first time in my life that I felt there was something out there that was bigger than me on this planet. I nearly fell to my knees I was so overwhelmed with emotions and to this day I can’t accurately explain what happened in that brief moment.

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B is for Backyards

Day 2 of 26 in 26

cc licensed flickr photo shared by D’Arcy Norman

Having a backyard in America seems to represent something larger than the plot of land itself. It is an ideal that many strive towards (along with the white picket fence). For me backyards represent childhood and time spent with close friends. Many of the adventures that went on in my best friend’s (who lived 3 houses away) backyard are some of my most cherished memories of childhood, a whole different world could exist right in his backyard.

Then there is my backyard. It wasn’t the central location for play but was a place my father kept his garden and where I first learned about gardening, dirt and digging your own worms for fishing. There were times we spent sitting out on the back patio as a family watching the bats in the park fly from tree to tree. Or my dad cooking on the charcoal grill for a fourth of July celebration with family. My backyard was a place to spend time with family.

Because of the special meaning backyards hold within their fenced boundaries I am thankful for them. I look forward to having a backyard one day so I can grow more memories in a plot of land.