I passed a good portion of the Labor Day weekend joining millions of other Americans in a last gasp summer's end holiday. My choice for the weekend was California's high Sierra wonder, Lake Tahoe. There is something soothing about driving roads lined with towering green pine trees and taking in the sweeping view of the blue water lake from roadside vista points. I'll admit I joined thousands of other tourists doing the very same thing, and filling up my digital camera with hundreds of photos. You see every kind of person on the streets, from Europe, the Middle East, India, Asia, all mixed in with throngs of US tourists, couples, families, friends. People are happy, at ease, their eyes alight with the energy of discovery, as mine were. They ooh and aah at the sights, and offer to take pictures of one another.
"Making memories" is half the fun of a weekend getaway like this, and I made my fair share, forgetting the sad state of the economy, the irrelevance of the media that reports on it, the continuing ruinous corruption of the banking system, and the rudderless ship of state in Washington, as we seem to have no real center of gravity or focused leadership. The long promised but never delivered "health care for all Americans" is being kicked about like a political football again, while the nation laid to rest one of its strongest life time advocates with the passing of Teddy Kennedy. The SF Gate opened its coverage of the holiday with the poignant lead: "On this Labor Day weekend, many Californians find themselves more in need of work than a holiday." The article asserted that a whopping 40%, two of every five working age Californians, are out of work. The study was done by the California Budget Project, analyzing the total number of jobs available as compared to the working age population. Unlike the Bureau of Labor, they didn't fudge the numbers. But to my eye it appeared as though people were squeezing every dime they could out of those unemployment benefits before they run dry. They were all out for fun and sun.
The casinos at "stateside," just across the Nevada border in South Lake Tahoe, were the busiest part of the region. Tourists in shorts and t-shirts swarmed about the place, perhaps hoping to pull the lever on a big payoff at a slot machine. I've never gambled, but the pastime seems a good metaphor for what we have done as a nation these last years--living on credit and flipping houses to try and sustain a life style that is clearly unsustainable. If the American shopper has abandoned the malls, it appeared to me that they had all been transformed into tourists this weekend. Yet many came just for the serenity and fun of getting out in nature, fishing by an alpine lake, motorcycling, hiking--nothing you need Donald Trump's frowning permission for, just good clean fun.
For three wonderful days I joined the end of summer crowd starting off the day with a breakfast at the local Ihop, and banishing all thoughts of the economy and politics from my head as I toured the lake and the surrounding alpine wonders along California Highway 4, ending the trip with a visit to Calaveras Big Trees State Park. There among the groves of thousand year old Redwoods and Giant Sequoias, you get a perspective on life that diminishes the importance of all these silly human endeavors. It's just you, your companion, your camera, and the human eye and soul behind it. I walked up to a giant redwood, 25 feet wide at the base and whispered a silent prayer with my hand on its furry bark: "Father of the forest--you do not even know you are here, nor do you hear me or know that I am here. But I know for the both of us, and that makes all the difference."
I had that soft, langorous feeling in the groves, with an "end of summer song" running a chorus of feeling in my mind. When that tree sprouted up from a fallen seed, the tourist-filled city of South Lake Tahoe did not exist. Columbus would not even discover this continent for another 400 years! The thought that the great cities like San Francisco and LA are but recent newcomers on the scene compared to the life of that tree was both humbling and consoling. Life has roots as big and burly as that tree, extending back millenia, like the life of that tree, and we are but passing visitors in the park. While the first humans to walk under these groves sought wood for their fires and game for their food, the people on the trail today were all busy just taking in the light, delighted as they posed beneath the towering trees and snapped one digital picture after another.
I could not help but wonder who would wander by in another 300 years, and lay their hand upon the bark of that same old tree, standing proud and tall in the silent mountain grove. Would there be any freeways left to deliver the tourists? Would there be any trees left to greet them if they came? Would we be here with our bustling cities and urgent work? Then I let the thought go and just breathed in the clean mountain air, the smell of the forest, and the thought that it was good, indeed, to be alive. The world is so enormous, and I am so very small. I have lived in California for over 40 years, but had never seen any of these places before. How like my digital camera is my mind and life, I thought, just getting a few brief snapshots of it all and moving on. But life is that movement, and seeing is the wonder of it all. And something about the brevity and urgency of taking in the experience makes it special, unlike that old tree standing for a thousand years in the silence of the forest. This might be my one and only visit to this place. I might never return.
And that's life in an acorn, isn't it? I hope you took some time to live and see this weekend as well.
"Making memories" is half the fun of a weekend getaway like this, and I made my fair share, forgetting the sad state of the economy, the irrelevance of the media that reports on it, the continuing ruinous corruption of the banking system, and the rudderless ship of state in Washington, as we seem to have no real center of gravity or focused leadership. The long promised but never delivered "health care for all Americans" is being kicked about like a political football again, while the nation laid to rest one of its strongest life time advocates with the passing of Teddy Kennedy. The SF Gate opened its coverage of the holiday with the poignant lead: "On this Labor Day weekend, many Californians find themselves more in need of work than a holiday." The article asserted that a whopping 40%, two of every five working age Californians, are out of work. The study was done by the California Budget Project, analyzing the total number of jobs available as compared to the working age population. Unlike the Bureau of Labor, they didn't fudge the numbers. But to my eye it appeared as though people were squeezing every dime they could out of those unemployment benefits before they run dry. They were all out for fun and sun.
The casinos at "stateside," just across the Nevada border in South Lake Tahoe, were the busiest part of the region. Tourists in shorts and t-shirts swarmed about the place, perhaps hoping to pull the lever on a big payoff at a slot machine. I've never gambled, but the pastime seems a good metaphor for what we have done as a nation these last years--living on credit and flipping houses to try and sustain a life style that is clearly unsustainable. If the American shopper has abandoned the malls, it appeared to me that they had all been transformed into tourists this weekend. Yet many came just for the serenity and fun of getting out in nature, fishing by an alpine lake, motorcycling, hiking--nothing you need Donald Trump's frowning permission for, just good clean fun.
For three wonderful days I joined the end of summer crowd starting off the day with a breakfast at the local Ihop, and banishing all thoughts of the economy and politics from my head as I toured the lake and the surrounding alpine wonders along California Highway 4, ending the trip with a visit to Calaveras Big Trees State Park. There among the groves of thousand year old Redwoods and Giant Sequoias, you get a perspective on life that diminishes the importance of all these silly human endeavors. It's just you, your companion, your camera, and the human eye and soul behind it. I walked up to a giant redwood, 25 feet wide at the base and whispered a silent prayer with my hand on its furry bark: "Father of the forest--you do not even know you are here, nor do you hear me or know that I am here. But I know for the both of us, and that makes all the difference."
I had that soft, langorous feeling in the groves, with an "end of summer song" running a chorus of feeling in my mind. When that tree sprouted up from a fallen seed, the tourist-filled city of South Lake Tahoe did not exist. Columbus would not even discover this continent for another 400 years! The thought that the great cities like San Francisco and LA are but recent newcomers on the scene compared to the life of that tree was both humbling and consoling. Life has roots as big and burly as that tree, extending back millenia, like the life of that tree, and we are but passing visitors in the park. While the first humans to walk under these groves sought wood for their fires and game for their food, the people on the trail today were all busy just taking in the light, delighted as they posed beneath the towering trees and snapped one digital picture after another.
I could not help but wonder who would wander by in another 300 years, and lay their hand upon the bark of that same old tree, standing proud and tall in the silent mountain grove. Would there be any freeways left to deliver the tourists? Would there be any trees left to greet them if they came? Would we be here with our bustling cities and urgent work? Then I let the thought go and just breathed in the clean mountain air, the smell of the forest, and the thought that it was good, indeed, to be alive. The world is so enormous, and I am so very small. I have lived in California for over 40 years, but had never seen any of these places before. How like my digital camera is my mind and life, I thought, just getting a few brief snapshots of it all and moving on. But life is that movement, and seeing is the wonder of it all. And something about the brevity and urgency of taking in the experience makes it special, unlike that old tree standing for a thousand years in the silence of the forest. This might be my one and only visit to this place. I might never return.
And that's life in an acorn, isn't it? I hope you took some time to live and see this weekend as well.
