10/20/06-10/22/06
Drip-ploink, drip-ploink, drip-ploink. Last weekend I had driven to the Hoh Rainforest for a bit of reconnasance for a mountaineer's photo trip the following weekend. I was looking for fall color and maybe a few elk. By the time I had arrived, a steady rain had been falling for several days and the moss was swollen with the rain. The air around me hushed and silent except for the dripping of raindrops from leaf to leaf the saturated ground. As I was only there to check on the progress of the fall colors, I was soon heading back to my car. But something pulled me back to the shelter of the visitor center's overhanging eaves. It was the quiet and stillness of the place. The same quiet I had relished as a child and relied on in my adult years. This was a special place to me, almost sacred - a place I believe God comes to pray. And here I had to leave, not wanting to, not feeling as restored as I knew I could be - but I would be back in a week.
The following weekend wasn't wet at all but sunny and autumn bright. The light streamed through the same leaves that the week before filtered the rain. Leaves that seemed dull before were brilliant overhead creating a sun-like glow een in the most shaded areas. I meandered along the nature trails (Hall of Mosses & Spruce Trail) and ventured a bit up the Hoh River trail. Sat on a sandbar along the Hoh where I could see the mountains up the valley but not Mt Olympus. I took photos of all sorts of mushrooms and turning foliage and on Sunday morning a few elk cows ventured near the campground. The mountaineers group I led all seemed to enjoy themselves during a weekend of nature, photography, and campfires.
There is a different feeling to the Hoh when the sun comes out. There is still a comfort like sitting on my mother's lap, but not the enveloping comfort as when she wrapped me in her arms. I'm not sure if it felt different mainly from the weather or from the fact that this time I wasn't alone. Usually I am at the Hoh by myself in times of need, when I need a quick hug from my mother. Here I was in the Hoh with people, most of whom I hadn't met until a few nights ago - all wonderful people, but just not the same. But of course, this is the rainforest and what's a rainforest without rain? The silent solitude found when rain splashes from the leaves isn't there when the sun splashes instead.
But as I sat in the glow of the campfire, watching the stars above and listening to the river alongside the campsite, my accostomed calm came across me and I smiled a deep smile. My mother's arms had enfolded me.
Drip-ploink, drip-ploink, drip-ploink. Last weekend I had driven to the Hoh Rainforest for a bit of reconnasance for a mountaineer's photo trip the following weekend. I was looking for fall color and maybe a few elk. By the time I had arrived, a steady rain had been falling for several days and the moss was swollen with the rain. The air around me hushed and silent except for the dripping of raindrops from leaf to leaf the saturated ground. As I was only there to check on the progress of the fall colors, I was soon heading back to my car. But something pulled me back to the shelter of the visitor center's overhanging eaves. It was the quiet and stillness of the place. The same quiet I had relished as a child and relied on in my adult years. This was a special place to me, almost sacred - a place I believe God comes to pray. And here I had to leave, not wanting to, not feeling as restored as I knew I could be - but I would be back in a week.
The following weekend wasn't wet at all but sunny and autumn bright. The light streamed through the same leaves that the week before filtered the rain. Leaves that seemed dull before were brilliant overhead creating a sun-like glow een in the most shaded areas. I meandered along the nature trails (Hall of Mosses & Spruce Trail) and ventured a bit up the Hoh River trail. Sat on a sandbar along the Hoh where I could see the mountains up the valley but not Mt Olympus. I took photos of all sorts of mushrooms and turning foliage and on Sunday morning a few elk cows ventured near the campground. The mountaineers group I led all seemed to enjoy themselves during a weekend of nature, photography, and campfires.
There is a different feeling to the Hoh when the sun comes out. There is still a comfort like sitting on my mother's lap, but not the enveloping comfort as when she wrapped me in her arms. I'm not sure if it felt different mainly from the weather or from the fact that this time I wasn't alone. Usually I am at the Hoh by myself in times of need, when I need a quick hug from my mother. Here I was in the Hoh with people, most of whom I hadn't met until a few nights ago - all wonderful people, but just not the same. But of course, this is the rainforest and what's a rainforest without rain? The silent solitude found when rain splashes from the leaves isn't there when the sun splashes instead.
But as I sat in the glow of the campfire, watching the stars above and listening to the river alongside the campsite, my accostomed calm came across me and I smiled a deep smile. My mother's arms had enfolded me.
1 comment:
I miss Mom most in the Hoh, too. I can almost feel her pull me close when I pass the fallen log turned bench where the '3 generation' photo was taken with Grandma Stenek, Mom and me so many years ago. Pull me close, and then pinch my butt. Her spirit follows me on every hike in the Olympics, but it pulls closest in the Hoh. -k
Post a Comment