I took this photo back in December-- December 18th to be exact-- on a trip up to Armstrong Redwoods. I went that day to return my docent kit. It was raining. I could barely walk, leaning heavily on my walker as I went the short distance from the handicapped parking at the volunteer building to the front door of that building. But the pain in my knee and ankle were dwarfed by the pain I felt leaving Stewards of the Coast and Redwoods. On the drive back to the entrance of the park, I stopped and took this photo, looking down the road at the redwoods in the mist. I wish I'd taken it with my camera (which I didn't have with me) instead of on Instagram. Even now, it evokes a feeling of great longing. That longing is sometimes beautiful, but also painful.
I tried to close the door on that. Yesterday, however, a lot of that was awakened again. I'd had pangs over the recent tides (I want to go tide pooling again) and over wildflower hikes coming up at Jack London. I've been walking more, and as I start to heal a little, it's sometimes tempting to try for the more difficult stuff.
I did go to the steelhead festival yesterday. I was on my feet (albeit with the walker) for about two and a half hours, pretty much always in motion. I was pretty much OK with that. Sure, there was some discomfort in the knee, and I did need pain medication overnight. But for me the biggest problem was that I was exhausted that evening, and fell asleep at about 8pm. Having so much pain and so little mobility for months has set me back quite a bit. I suppose it doesn't help that I'm also on a radical diet in order to lose weight so I can have knee surgery, should the orthopedist agree. (so far I'm about 34 lbs down from the day I took that photo) I know I can't do everything I want to do on this farewell tour.
Yesterday, driving home, I was thinking about life in Santa Fe, and how different the environment is. An individual I game with online told me that I should be aware that there is such a color as green. And yes, there is very little of the vibrant green (I've often referred to it as "painfully green") in Santa Fe, but what also struck me was the difference in the height of trees. As I drove down the street I drive down several times a week, I noticed the difference in size between the trees and the cars driving by them. It struck me for the first time that they were redwoods, and that I'd grown so used to seeing the huge trees that, except in an actual forest of them, I had lost that sense of awe at their size. When I move to NM, it'll be mostly scrub, except in the mountains where we do have a lot of pine, but nothing that will reach nearly the size of the coastal redwoods.
When I lived in Santa Fe, as much as I loved NM and couldn't get enough of the state, I did miss the coast. I missed the tidepools and the whale watching, and I missed my "happy place": Cabrillo Marine Aquarium. I still miss the CMA, being too far away to visit up here north of the Bay, although it's a lot closer now than it will be in New Mexico.
Oddly, this morning, I think the thing I'll miss most in Santa Fe is the morning fog we have here, which makes for some beautiful scenes. Of course that same fog is the moisture that brings more arthritic pain, but when it's wafting through the trees over the creek, or rolling in a fast moving cloud over the ocean toward the bluffs, it's hard to remember that, and just get swept up in the beauty.
Times like this make me second guess my choices, which seem to be an avalanche heading toward me at breakneck speed. At the same time, I long for the high desert, the college at Santa Fe, my old apartment, and, oddly, snow in winter. They're having a blizzard in Santa Fe today. I can see myself in my apartment with a cup of hot cocoa watching the flakes coat the ground in white. I look out the window of my current apartment, and see the fog drain the color from the buildings, with the trees standing in the background, huge but less distinct shadows in the fog.
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