Small potatoes.
Humbled.
Some of the words that tumbled through my brain as I saw the eastern side of the
Boy, did I feel small and insignificant – but very alive and very strong by the time I headed back home.
Heading north on Highway 395, the granite monoliths appear
out of nowhere: you’re whizzing along
the highway, lulled by gently sloping hills murmuring up from the desert floor,
and then !BAM! You get your first glimpse
of the geologic drama that characterizes the southeastern portion of this
mountain range. Behind those soft hills
(which are deceptively high themselves), the snow-capped granite muscles its way
upward and demands attention.
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| The eastern side of the beautiful Sierras, as seen from the Alabama Hills outside of Lone Pine. |
I’ve never seen anything as dramatic as those
mountains. And what a thrill it was to
live at their feet for a week!
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| Happy girl: hiking boots and desert rocks - with the added bonus of the Sierras! |
Day trips were taken up into the high country on relentlessly switchbacking roads, ascending from desert sagebrush to nine and ten thousand feet above mortal level. Tall pine trees, snow blanketing the ground, cold streams befringed with ice, and always those mountains – heaven-kissing minarets and peaks that epitomize stability and permanence.
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| Lucky those who begin an adventure here! |
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| Whitney Portal. |
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| Glacier Lodge. |
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| Dusk at Onion Valley. |
Living among the mountains are pockets of agelessness: stands of ancient bristlecone pine trees. Some approaching 5,000 years old – yep,
that’d be FIVE THOUSAND years old – they resolutely hold fast to rocky slopes
and dominate the evanescence of Nature.
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| "The waving of a pine tree on the top of a mountain, a magic wand in Nature's hand” – John Muir |
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| Gnarled artistry. |
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| Still very much alive. |
For me, a hike through the bristlecones became a sacred
encounter. I could feel the life energy
emanating from these dendritic elders that had survived centuries of fire,
drought, and the harshest of weather – and were still thriving. Constantly, I was touching their branches and
roots, sitting amid their woody folds, absorbing their longevity.
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| Ancient protective arms. |
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| Nurturing roots. |
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| Hangin' with my new longevity peeps. |
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| Gentle elder. (The tree, not me.....) |
Even the rocky trail itself emitted a valuable energy: bristlecone pines flourish in dolomite, a
highly alkaline type of limestone.
Cancer cells thrive in acidic, oxygen-depleted environments. To counteract O2 depletion, the body’s pH
balance needs to swing to the alkaline side of the scale.
Dolomite = alkaline = O2 = bad habitat for
pesky cancer cells.
I know it sounds like New Age mumbo jumbo, but I’m a huge
believer in the powers of Nature and visualization.
There is a vital energy in the natural world that feeds the
soul. When I left the bristlecone forest
to begin the drive back down the mountain towards camp, I knew for certain that
those trees had whispered to my spirit some of the secrets to their long life.
And for someone with this cancer thing, I’m a grateful
recipient for all the longevity juju I can get.
