Yosemite

 I have been having such an amazing trip:  sunshine, shoelessness, family, spiritually satisfied children (singing and climbing).  My thoughts have been drifting to the things that are happening and things that can be.

I was in Yosemite for less than 12 hours and found myself reverting back to the same habits that I had 20 years ago.  What might that be you ask?  I found myself taking every pen I could sneak. I stole a coffee cup the first day so that I would not have to pay for coffee.  The list goes on.

 Marina did a lot of climbing and Falcom wandered around daydreaming of vocal camp. 

On the second day in the Valley, Marina did some bouldering around Camp 4.  She discovered that climbing on actual boulders is more difficult than climbing in the gym.  I am not sure if this was because of the material the boulders are composed of or because she is aware that at the gym there is cushion and padding available should she fall.

It was not long before everyone was too hot and so we went back to Curry and spent the rest of the day in the pool.  While the kids swam, supervised by the lifeguards, I played Sudoku and took walks around the tent cabins.  I asked the universe why it was so important for me to come to the valley if all I was going to do was sit by the pool.  Before long while strolling around it was revealed to me.

Why does anyone go home?  Why do we drive past homes that we lived in as children?  I did not realize until I asked this question that I had been saying hello to all of the rocks and trees that I had always said hello to.  I was touching the same trees that I had always touched.  

There are two types of typical valley visitors;  the ones that wake up at the crack of dawn to take big hikes and the ones that sign up for tours and rafting trips and put on their full make up in the mirrors of the group showers each morning.  I revel in the fact that I do not fit into either group.  Even though I am now deeply entrenched in middle age I still fit into a third group.  This group loves being in the valley and feels no compulsion to be herded by expectations.  "I am in Yosemite, therefore I should..."  Whatever.  This third group is like the punk group.  I saw a good example of them in the Curry Village parking lot.  In a Volkswagen van, under an apple tree, a group of young men were hanging out in the dark around a light of some kind.  They were talking about climbing.  One guy was reclining across the top of the van.  They were laughing and planning.  Maybe they were sleeping in their van or sneaking off into the trees with their thermarests and sleeping bags.  To me, they were noticeably invisible among the first two groups.  They needed nothing.  They were not intrusive or invasive.  They were breaking all the "rules" but there is not an employee of the Delaware Company that cares enough to notice the rules being broken. 



Waiting for the Bus

As the kids swam in the pool, and I strolled around, being ignored as if I were a ghost, snatching up little things the way a brownie does in someones cluttered house, I noticed everything that has changed.  More than that, I noticed everything that has not changed.  The trees are still in their same spots.  The rocks, the boulders, the walls still looked down on me as they have done since I was a baby. 

Mema and Alana at Yosemite Falls 1969

And then I was interrupted from my meditation by an elderly couple who spoke to an elderly woman sitting beside me at the pool.  "The air is so soft here."  one said.  What a beautiful way of putting it.  The air in the Valley is soft.  "I've been coming here every year for 77 years."  The other said, "I'm turning 80 this year and I like to do all of the things in the Valley that I've always done, like swim in this pool."  Beautiful.  Will I be like this woman?  I hope so.  She walked away and the first woman said to me, "You have come to Yosemite just to sit beside this pool?"  I looked at her with disdain.  "Where are you visiting here from?"  She said.  "We are here from Alaska."  I told her.  She said, "Oh, I see then why your children don't care about the mountains."



Picnicking with my family at 1 year old

Obviously she missed the ant studies that Falcom was doing.  Or that he was soaking up the amazing sun.  Or that my daughter had been doing more recreating in the past week than she had been able to do all of the previous rainy month in Alaska.

Later that day I saw a young couple who were on the brink of transitioning between the traditional group and the punk group.  The young man was saying, "We drove all night to get here, and there is no place for us to stay!"  There are endless possibilities of places to stay, these two had just not realized yet that they just need to step outside of themselves to look.

I left the valley grateful that my rocks are still there for me and grateful for the knowledge that I may be aging but inside, just like my rocks, I have not changed.