I start northwest towards the redwoods and Humboldt State Park, heart already aching in anticipation of wonder… Until I get this land is your land, this land is my land…to the redwood forest and Gulf Stream waters- stuck in my head on repeat. After that I want to skip the whole damn forest before the song drives my insane. It was the same thing with home, home on the range, all the way through South Dakota.

Thank goodness for my Bluetooth speaker. I can get a healthy daily dose of Nahko and Medicine for the People or a little Rhianna. Otherwise it’s only garbled Spanish or the soulful choirs of the Lord’s flock warbling through my speakers across the choppy mountain reception. Now don’t get me wrong, I love gospel and inspirational music as much as the next gal, but when it’s the only thing that can breach the radio waves in these remote parts my heart longs for a little ACDC.

Except for Utah, even the Lord’s good word can’t breach Mormon rhetoric across every station. It’s all fire and brimstone and eternal damnation unless you are in on the whole “The world is only four hundred years old,” bit. Just turn the radio off if you go there.

Driving alone is so very peaceful. As I make my way towards NorCal, I weave through mountain and flatland terrain. Beneath forests and past small towns, like little rough gems hidden in this sunshine state. As I drive through one such town, my van edges round the wide, gentle curve of the prettiest lake I’ve ever seen, and this coming from a girl spoiled by all the beautiful bodies of water scattered throughout the Midwest and Northern Wisconsin.

I can’t recall its name, but that’s just as well as I may want to keep this memory for myself. A treasure to remember all my own. The sun beams down and breaks into a million shards of diamonds that ripple across the surface of the aqua blue water. It looks almost tropical. I could stop here and go no further, for its beauty and tranquility alone, but keep moving on I must.

Hours and hours drift by and the trees start to thicken around me, closing in the shade and shadows. I’m surprised my GPS still works, as I enter the thick of Humboldt State Park. I turn off the electronics because the destination is…all around me. And apparently smartphones can’t find campgrounds. Looks like I’m navigating old school. I drive through the towering community of ancient trees, back and back again on narrow roads that often nearly meet the massive base of a thirteen of fourteen foot behemoth tree trunk.

As breathtaking as it is, I’m lost and sick of driving. I want to put rough feet to soft pine beds and run my hands against cool, cracked bark. I finally give up on the elusive backcountry camping and settle for the main sites, heavy with foot traffic, rather than continue these aimless circles.

Grab a cellophane wrapped bundle of wood, meet and greet young camp host and pay up. I can see glimpses of the sun burning bright through slits in the trees above, but with dusk setting the thick foliage shuts out most light and the cools the air. The silence reminds me of the Badlands, except there is life behind it. The birds and bees seem as if they’d not interrupt the tranquility, as if they too wanted to listen to the slow creak of the ancient ones swaying in the dying light.  Whereas the utter lack of noise in the Badlands is other worldly, aside from the wind that howls across the rough land.

Some of these trees were 2,000 years old. That’s sixty human generations. As in biblical times. A little piece of God’s creation that for once, has been left much untouched and has withstood man, beast and natural disaster alike.

Toss up camp and get a fire roaring with a little trial and error. I am not the fire whisperer Michael had been, nor the cook, but I had an egg and hot dog scrambler going after a little while. Hot food, rumbly belly, cold beer and warmth from the crackling coals within the fire. This is the life. Mind full and mindful, too heavy and heady to process much anything else today. Damper down the dying fire, zip up and in, lights out and snoozing soundly in minutes.

Up and at em’ early morning, tear down camp and off to hike under the towering homes of birds and beasts. Lace up my boots and tall mismatched socks. Ever the trend setter. Grab my hiking stick, which had made it here all the way from the Black Hills, and move out. Traipse over soft bed of bouncy pine needles and navigate the trail to the river.

Break out of the forest to the sound of light trickling water and the sun’s brilliance once again. It takes a few moments for my eyes to adjust after the dimness of the woods. Walk to the water’s edge. Sit down, cross legged like the old ones. Breathe, meditate…or try to at least, meditating is hard. Trying to ease the ebb and flow of one’s consciousness. Not that I was overly succeeding, but all efforts are lost when a large chocolate lab breaks out of the tree line and splashes into the water near my feet. Smile, give him a good pet, brush the dust off my denim shorts and carry on.

“May the Past be the sound of your feet upon the ground, carry on, carry on, carry on.”

Hike out of the forest and jump in Delilah at the visitor’s center. Hallelujah I get the inter-web out here. Sit in the cab and catch up on the news, the real world and then line a few pages with ink musings and I’m off again. Okay fine I checked my Facebook too…nothing is sacred anymore.

I’m finally in California and headed down the coast. I’ve wanted this since I was ten. Talk about delayed gratification, but it’s all worth it in these moments. I am grateful and humbled. Time to work my way down the coast towards San Fran and beyond. Until we meet again.

“This land was made for you and me.”