Katrina in the Diablo foothills

"Nature never gives up on us." ~ Mark Coleman

 

Each of us has a place that's special to our hearts (and many of us have more than one). One of my special places is the foothills of Mt. Diablo, the 3,849-foot peak that graces the skyline in Concord where I live. I've developed a relationship with this place that is mystical, loving, and nurturing.

 

It's among the gently rolling hills and buckeye and oak-lined ravines of this landscape that I've had some of the most intimate experiences with the flora and fauna of Contra Costa County. Three summers ago I encountered a Western screech owl at dusk, a meeting that propelled me onto a transformative and healing path. This past summer I met a tarantula along the trail that helped me heal a lifelong issue with arachnophobia. Several times coyotes have shown themselves, and I often encounter squirrels, quail, woodpeckers, hummingbirds, crows, and hawks. The oaks, laurels, and buckeyes greet me at every turn and there are several trees there I count as friends. I live in this land and it lives in me.

 

On a recent hike up the greening hills, I felt immense gratitude. This land surrounding the sacred mountain has held me through several difficult life transitions in the last three years and it has become a place of refuge and comfort when the world becomes too much. As I climbed the steep hills, gaining a wider view, I reflected on how a year ago I was cooped up in bed recovering from surgery. I thanked my body for its hard healing work.

 

I reached a high point and looked out at the vista. Two falcons soared on thermals. Mt. Diablo peeked out behind the hills ahead of me and the undulating valley rolled out before me. I felt incredibly alive.

 

Skipping down the trail I started to feel the urge to be with a tree. Not any tree would do...I kept walking until I felt drawn to an oak standing right at the side of the trail. I put my arms around its trunk which was slightly further around than my arms would reach. I stood there, hugging that oak for a long time, feeling its deeply grounded and steady energy between my arms. I started to cry, letting the oak and the earth take my pain. Relief washed over me as I allowed my emotions to flow. After a few moments I kissed the tree's rough bark, wiped the tears from my cheeks, and continued down the path.

 

Although at times during the last year it's felt like I've been given up on, I knew in that moment that Mark Coleman's words are true: Nature never gives up on us. She is always there and she is not going anywhere. She is the most stable thing in my life even with her changing moods and despite the way we've altered her. That tree might not always be standing, and an earthquake could open up the land that holds its roots, changing how the land looks, but Nature will always be there. I take immense comfort in that.