For our honeymoon, my husband and I drove south along Pacific Coast Highway 101 from Manzanita, Oregon, where we were married, to Sacramento, California. On our way we drove through the various Redwoods national and state parks. Sadly, our hiking was limited due to time and my third-trimester-sized stomach. Had we been able, we would have camped out.
The Redwoods are beautiful in a way only old forests can be. There is a deep quiet under the trees that I have loved since I was a little girl. The moss mutes your footfalls and the sounds of the wind are slight and reach high above the trees.
The Redwoods carved out a place in my already overfull heart. The smell of stifled air and dust are of the forests natural industries. Some of the trees have sat in this forest for thousands of years. Thousands. A word that no longer applies to trees, but in this place it does. Most of the trees are tall and narrow. New trees amongst the few remaining giants of old.
It is hard to describe a forest while sitting in an air-conditioned living room 2,600 miles east of it, so I shall end this little ramble. I only wish I had written it sooner. But the smells are there in my head forever.