Like many of you, my husband and I have seen scheduled vacations fade from view before even an iPhone image could be snapped.  We were no longer even considering the exotic trip to Portugal or some other far away destination snickering at us from a glossy travel brochure; what we were aching for was to see our children and family, to turn off the pagers, phone calls, and bad news, and escape the gossipy hubbub that sometimes strangles the medical profession.  As many of you know, both of our children (I should say three now since we have a wonderful Son-in-law) live in California, and my mom is in an assisted living center in Arizona (we could not convince her to move to Texas, too many trees among other perceived flaws). As we carefully studied the restrictions of the various states, and relative risk of road travel and outdoor activities, we crafted what we excitedly thought could be THE PERFECT ROAD TRIP.  Over coffee in the morning, and sometimes a glass of wine at night, we brought out the maps, Googled the National Park Websites, and began packing for the unforeseen road blocks that might arise. We packed Clorox wipes and hand sanitizer by the gallon, masks, toilet paper and sleeping bags, pillows, sheets and blankets, and coolers filled with sandwiches and other road trip food not generally allowed in the home under normal circumstances. We downloaded books on tape, filled our coffee mugs, and in the wee hours of the morning on July 10th, our overstuffed F150 pointed its nose west, the trip odometer set to 0.

 

A trip such as this can do many things.  For us, we had time to talk and laugh and recount so many of our old journeys. We planned and plotted future journeys, with dreams of grandchildren dancing in our heads.  We took care to hand each other food and drink, navigated through construction/destruction, and took the wheel when the other needed rest. With the pagers and cell phone noise replaced by the steady sounds of tire on pavement, the edginess and fray of our hectic lives began a slow melt. As we passed from state to state, we captured opportunities to do the simple things that nature afforded, with a low risk of infection.  We dragged our hot selves through the New Mexico sun to see Cadillac ranch, remembering an album cover we had grown up with; heck we remembered when there were albums.  We hiked a historic Santa Fe Trail. We drove on the Utah salt flats, where we did not set any speed records.  We visited the Arches National Park in Utah, and exchanged ideas on what people and animals, like clouds sometimes, could be seen in the various rock formations.  We watched and listened to birds of all types, but especially the Crows, that watched us. We were entranced by the ever-changing vistas of desert to mountain to field to stream. And finally, as the border into California was crossed, warm tears trickled as embraces were exchanged with the three amazing adults I still call my children.  For the days that followed, we hiked, biked, jet skied, golfed, played games, and walked on the beach, with masks and hand sanitizer at the ready.   As we gazed into the heavens straining to see the Neowise comet, we were reminded by our children of how we had dragged them from their beds in the middle of the night to watch meteor showers, and how they intended to do the same to their children. My husband and I remembered seeing Haley’s comet together. And we pondered the situation at hand, and how it had affected all of us, and how thankful we were to be (safely) together.

 

All trips have a few moments that touch us deeply. My husband and I by some stroke of dumb luck (or perhaps divine intervention?) procured one of the last passes into Muir Woods National Monument, home of many a giant red wood tree. It is impossible to walk through this park without a sense of awe and reverence, as these giants tower and reach into the sky, serene, the quiet hush of the forest dotted with but the calls of the wind and the wildlife. We stopped to read a plaque entitled “Family Circles”, explaining how many of the redwoods grow in rings around each other, called families. The trunk of the center tree in this particular circle had been damaged.  Here is the rest of the story:

 

“Despite such terrible damage, the tree did not die.  Below the ground, its massive root system was full of vitality. Before long, hundreds of young, bright-green burl sprouts began to come up around the circle formed by the root crown of the original tree.  Some of those sprouts have grown into the full-sized trees that stand in a circle around the original trunk.”

 

Another plaque sported a slice of a redwood, positioned so you could see the rings of the tree, and chronicled its life, beginning in 909 A.D.  This tree had lived through the establishment of the Cliff Dwellings, the Aztecs, the American Revolution, up until the establishment of the Muir Woods National Monument in 1908. Using their massive root systems and thick trunks, they have survived parasites, pests and environmental challenges including fire and drought.

 

Quietly I thanked God for the strength of my family, our love, and the rings of life we had built together, that no parasite or pest, fire or drought, could destroy.

 

As we began the last leg of our journey, to visit my mom, from afar, the lesson of the redwood embedded my thought process, my husband’s hand folded around mine.  It had, in fact, been the perfect road trip. A time for renewal and rediscovery of those things that really matter, a celebration of family, of love that endures even the most difficult times, and a road map for the future, courtesy of the Gentle Giants: When adversity challenges, grow your love deeper and stronger, hold fast and grow straight and true, always reaching to the sky from where your love comes. Wishing all of you the best.