A recent visit to the Mariposa Grove in Yosemite where the Giant Sequoias still stand, both touched and saddened me. They have existed for more than 2,000 years, weathering fires, earthquakes, logging, oblivious tourists, and who knows what else. Standing before these trees was humbling -- as humans we live an average of 70-90 years. But to these trees, that period of time is a fleck of dust floating by on a summer breeze. They have seen us, our parents, and grandparents come and go as these Giants stand in silent witness to history.
As I sat near these trees and listened for their voices, I felt dizzy with their enormity and dwarfed by what they have seen during their lifetime. If I could share a beer with anyone in history, the consciousness of a Giant Sequoia would be on the list. I sat quietly, picked up a low slow voice that may have been the tree, and felt some of what they felt with tourists scrambling around their roots. For me it was a memorable and touching half hour.
As tourists poured by me, phones in hand, I realized that they had a different agenda while standing before these enormous trees. It seemed their primary objective was to compose their social media photos to impress family and friends. At least one person in every group designated themselves as the director and when so ordered, the party struck their pose. These Giant Sequoias were only the backdrop for the photograph; completely absent was any sense of awe and respect for these Elders. From watching the streams of people moving past some of the most striking scenery, it seemed the purpose of vacations was about creating an enviable snapshot that trumped anyone else's vacation photos.
It appeared to me that the experience of being in Yosemite National Park had little to do with the immensity of nature, the hopeful connection to a reality that is not mediated through a television, iPhone, or other device. Today do we not feel a connection with the giant trees that drew them there from the park map or brochure? As long as the SnapChat or Facebook photo looks good, then all is good, and it's time to move along to the next photo op.
While enjoying Mariposa Grove, I reflected back to the 2017 nightmare of the Railroad Fire. This fire was unique -- it was unstoppable and uncontainable. Panicked residents threw a few belongings into their car and raced for safety. In modern times a natural disaster like this seemed inconceivable, and yet the fires unapologetically raged. Technology be damned, nature had her pound of flesh: 45 people died, more than 12,000 acres were scorched beyond recognition. But while most people fled and animals scattered, the trees were locked in place. Mariposa Grove within the Park's borders were mostly untouched. However, the inferno ravaged a stand of ancient, immense Sequoia trees in an area called Shadow of the Giants outside of Nelder Grove.
The Shadow of the Giants was one of those special semi-secret spots where Oakhurst locals knew to send their friends and family. It was a magical place with trees that literally spanned millennia. Since it was outside Yosemite, crowds were nonexistent. You could commune with and hug the trees to your heart's content. But to get there, you had to drive through a neighborhood and into the hills that led to the mountains. You had to know where to turn to find this hidden place. For the lucky few who did, WOW! The trees could have inspired one of J.R.R. Tolkien's stories; and if you were there for more than the photo op, you felt the magic that weaved a spell along the creek and through the grove. Lay your hands on the trees and they would speak, lean against them and they would lean back against you. You could glimpse how a being that lived 3,500 years might see the world.
But fire trumped time, cared not for antiquity, and raged through the stand of trees. Those who had been to that area couldn't believe the Giant Ones were gone, burnt beyond recovery.
Walking near the Shadow of the Giants now is like walking a Civil War battlefield. The dead are still present, their shells stand blackened and empty. In odd juxtaposition, wild flowers in epic bloom are running along the creek that fed the enormous trees. But the ancient ones are gone and sadness wraps my heart.
Out of my pocket I took a Sequoia seed cone that I had picked up in the Mariposa Grove and gave it a hopeful toss in the direction of the creek. It may not catch in the soil and may not become a seedling, a sapling, a Giant. But the seed cone of a Sequoia offers hope. Maybe, just maybe it will root, grow, reach for the sun and become like its predecessors. Life is ever hopeful, otherwise what is the point?
