Coming Back

It beckons, doesn't it? An oak leaf strewn trail in early autumn, shaded from the still-warm sun by overhanging branches. The only sounds heard that of a scolding jay and an equally annoyed woodpecker.

As I step onto this trail in mid-morning, I immediately smell apple pie baking at the adjacent apple farm, and my stomach rumbles. I have an apple and a way-too-healthy protein bar (made from a paste of dates, raisins, bananas, cashews, etc) in my backpack, but dang. Who wouldn't want a huge slice of apple pie and a cup of coffee on this glorious morning? And what better place to get both than in Oak Glen, California? Thank you, Universe, that such blessings exist, such opportunities are available. But today I am hiking. And off I go.

Here's the thing about that sign: Ever come across road signs that say, "Flagman ahead. Prepare to stop" but then you keep driving and see no one for like two miles? Yeah, so, this is like that. The truth is, the trail winds down a very pleasant downhill path. Very pleasant. Very...downhill. So it's easy to keep going, keep wondering what you'll see as you round the next bend. The "steep" part is in the last third of the loop, at which point you reach a set of steps carved into a steep hill and it's just up and up and up for a quarter of a mile. For those of us with holey lungs (and I mean that most literally--hole-y), much panting is required.

Dear Cousin (because I know you're reading this, looking at this sign, wondering if I'm safe, if I'm crazy), I will admit to pausing for a few minutes before continuing down the trail. Now, I've been down this same trail a time or two or three--but this time was the first time walking the entire trail without my son or my friends or my dog. (No, Thomas wasn't with me, sad to say.) So I stopped to ponder my fate, reflect upon my life, my odds of survival, my need to still take a few risks at this age (66, if you're keeping track), how I might defend myself (hiking stick)--or call for help (cell phone, yep, still got reception). As all this was zinging through my mind, I heard another hiker on the trail, coming from the opposite direction, talking loudly. I saw why when she came into view, saw me with my mask on and paused her conversation to pull hers up. I thanked her, at which point the beautiful gray and white pit bull she had on a leash lunged across the trail at me, wagging his tail furiously, dancing from foot to foot, telling me excitedly "We're doing walks! We're doing walks! I smelled stuff everywhere! I peed everywhere! We're doing good walks!!!!" I petted his head and he slobbered all over my hand, which I accepted as a Holy Dog Anointed Blessing, and I moved on down the trail in the direction they had come up. I mean, let's face it; had there been a mountain lion around, it would have slunk off when Loud Lady and Big Dog showed up.

I assume this was true for the bear, too. Oh, there was definitely a bear. I followed his fresh (as in, still glistening) piles of scat down the trail, sighting four in a half-mile stretch (and yes, each one appearing more fresh as I went). What does a bear's poop look like if said bear is lucky enough to live near all the apple farms of Oak Glen? Why, it's sort of its own type of, er, apple pie:

At this point in the trail, I stopped again. In the movies, this is where the mountain lion would be lurking, hanging off that tree trunk bent over the trail. In real life, of course, mountain lions behave like cats, hiding in tall grass and thick brush, blending in--until they pounce with incredible speed and force (unless you have a large dog with you and you're making a lot of noise, which I didn't and I wasn't, so I started singing instead).

When you reach the top of the trail, this is what you see now: Ashes. The hills above Oak Glen, all the way around the town, from Cherry Valley to Yucaipa, are burned down to rubble from the El Dorado fire, which is still burning this morning and only 68% contained. How firefighters kept that fire from destroying the entire town, I have no idea. I just know that they're amazing.

The trail tops out at Oak Knoll picnic area and, lest you think you've survived the trail unscathed, best mind your feet all the way across to the parking lot; rattlesnakes live here. The last time I walked through it, my son and I spotted a baby rattler (gasp!) coiled around a grassy tuft, with people sitting a few yards away, enjoying a picnic, kids running everywhere. We warned them and everyone else around, and a brave soul used a very long stick to encourage the baby snake to take a nap somewhere else.

This is how I celebrated upon returning to my car: Apple cider mini-donuts and a cup of coffee. O, how joyous!

Just what was I celebrating? Being able to walk again. I have been struggling for many weeks with another bout of sciatica, unable to do the most basic chores around the house, unable to garden, just barely getting a short walk in with Thomas before needing to lie down on the living room floor and stretch my back. Slowly in the last two weeks, I've felt better. I was able to walk a bit farther every day. This was my first real hike in a long time, and I felt great. Thanks, Universe. I needed that.