Back to Oak Glen

 I've been meaning to share a post about going back to Oak Glen to hike, but life has gotten in the way a bit. There were friends who needed help and dogs that needed training and some other pieces of writing to work on. This will be the first of two pictorials. Because two weeks ago I hiked in Oak Glen but a week later I hiked in Whitewater again. I have nothing profound to say about these hikes. I just feel so blessed to have been outside in Nature, with all its wonder.

This hike began with a small miracle. I started down the trail at the Oak Glen Preserve, which is maintained by the Wildlands Conservancy, and I'd only gone as far as the public restroom before I was stopped in my tracks. There before my eyes was my nephew, Kevin. I hadn't seen him in many, many months, not since he'd brought his young sons to my senior community to feed the ducks in our pond. Before that, during the height of the pandemic, I hadn't seen him in over a year. And there he was, standing outside the restroom, waiting for a friend to emerge. We had a hug and a quick catch-up and another hug, and if you know the good science around hugging, you'll understand how happy I was to start my hike on a high of oxytocin, serotonin, and dopamine.

Kevin went off to hike with his friend, and I headed down the "boardwalk" trail looking for blackberries. And lordy, did I find them.

 Ripe, juicy, sweet, delicious blackberries, growing alongside the trail. Okay, you're really not supposed to pick them. But...heck, are they gonna begrudge me two or three (or a dozen) ripe blackberries? Along that path, I encountered two women who were also sampling. I asked if they were finding any ripe (as I hadn't yet), and they gave me the advice to pick from the top (which was spot on). They also engaged me in conversation about when blackberries are in season in Connecticut (July, as compared with late August in California), and we went on to exchange stories about blackberry pie and other delights, standing in the warm morning sun and waxing nostalgic about our childhoods. Then they moved on, and so did I, following the boardwalk trail down into the shady canyon.

 Usually on this trail I see something fun--quail, deer, bear tracks (or scat). On this day, though, the family directly ahead of me on the trail was traveling in a large pack (hooray for parents who take their young children hiking!) and also had their dog with them--a large male Doberman Pinscher--so I knew I wouldn't be seeing much wildlife. Still, I snacked on blackberries, took photos, enjoyed the aroma of fresh pine, and rejoiced in my ability to amble cheerfully along.

Of course the ambling stopped when I had descended to the bottom of the canyon and had to walk back out again. To complete the loop, back up to the picnic area and across to the parking lot, it is necessary to ascend these stairs:

That's just a small portion of the trail. It continues upward at that incline for a third of a mile. If you have compromised lungs, I suggest frequent stops. Okay, I don't know why I even wrote that; you don't need me to tell you to stop because you'll stop on your own when you can no longer breathe. (If you don't have compromised lungs, you may not fully understand. But yeah, you can have all the leg strength in the world, but no air means no up. Or at least a very slow ascent.)

I did finally reach the top and, of course, did a celebratory jog in place, Rocky style--not really, but I wanted to. I just didn't have any air left. The happy thing is, every time I've done this hike in recent years, I've done it in less time. Not that I'm hurrying--I'm still sauntering and ambling--but I am so much stronger now than I was five years ago when I first hiked this loop. Yay me! And next time I'll go on a weekday when there are few people. Maybe I'll actually see a bear!