Wow! You haven’t heard from me since June 19! What’s been up? I’ll let you know!
First, in my last post (a part of a series addressing my six sailing points on navigating our reading experiences), I addressed points three and four. I drafted a final post on points five and six over a month ago but did not publish it, wanting to revise it more. I think the series has gotten too dense, too heavy. Anyway. . .
Then summer turned into a river of raging rapids, rushing me miles down stream (some hyperbole). Pause, pace. More roaring rapids are about to carry me away again, but before they do. . .
I’m choosing to postpone the conclusion of my six point series (leaving very few of you in suspense), and I’m going to write about summer. Summer is a time for lightness, for adventure, a time to put aside didactic exposition, a time to storytell! (Lord willing, someday I’ll finish the six point series.)
The summer saga begins. And it begins with the giggles of a three year old fairy. Can you hear her? Flossy blond strands surround blue sky eyes. Sunshine twinkles from her delicate fingers and toes. For six days, she dances with us. Together we laugh. Continue reading
Tags: Robert Frost
As I was describing in the last post: A few days before leaving Crescent City, California in August, I had an adventure. Yes, Paul was with me, but it was my special adventure. We drove the winding road up to the river, the Smith River which cuts through the Redwood covered mountains.
“For thus says the LORD, ‘Behold, I extend peace to her like a river. . . ” (Isaiah 66:12).
Our goal was to swim in the clear, cool river,
but this time, we stopped at a spot before Slant Bridge
and walked the trail down to the cool, emerald stream.
We heard the chatter of young voices and their parents.
Reaching the beach we could observe
the slanted bridge above to our left and look across the river to view a high cliff.
Paul and I returned to our roots as a couple as well as to Paul’s childhood setting this past summer, which I was describing in the previous post. Our trip began in Mount Hermon, Scotts Valley, and Santa Cruz, California — the genesis of our story decades ago. To continue this mini chronicle, after traveling north on Route 101 for seven beautiful hours, we approached Crescent City, Paul’s home town.
Heading north on Highway 101.
I love this drive where at times I can drink in the the glistening ocean vistas on the west side of the road while on the east side the stunning Redwood mountain range follows us, that is, we follow the range. I snapped pictures of the view at one point along Highway 101 that you see both in the header of my blog and above this paragraph. In these views the green hills cascade directly into the sea. This is Northern California glory.
Paul and I recently returned home from a two week trip to Northern California. Our roots as a couple spread along this northern coastline.* On Southwest Airlines we flew to San Francisco, then rented a Camry and cruised south, exiting the bay area, finally winding through the Redwood lined Highway 17 in the Santa Cruz Mountain Range, taking us to the little community of Mount Hermon where we met 37 years ago.
A Mount Hermon lane carved within the Redwoods.
Mount Hermon is a Christian Conference center with conference facilities, mountain cabins, and a post office. Besides the conference participants coming and going, over 1,000 people dwell year round in these hills densely populated by towering Redwood trees and ornate foliage.
While in college, Paul lived with three other guys in a three story, brown cabin-like house owned by Mr. and Mrs. Miller nestled precariously on the slope of one such hill in Mount Hermon. Continue reading