We had been putting off The Kenyan Devore Trail. It always seems like a little too far to
drive, a little too far to walk. We
always have so much to do and somewhere we have to be later. Today we were all in. We had made the necessary adjustments to our
day and our psyche. This trail is our
old friend, after all. It was a friend
we hadn’t seen in a long time. And not
because we had some sort of falling out and now were getting back together in
any kind of uncomfortable situation or some attempt to put aside any bad
feelings. It was a friend we had been
separated from due to conditions out of our control and now the time was right
to meet again with an optimistic embrace.
The trail is steep but gentle. It offers quite a bit of shade and so if the
day is sunny, you feel a little comforted and even somewhat nestled beneath the
canopy of the quiet, cool oak and maple.
We are encouraged by every startled blue jay and invigorated by the
lifting of the mourning doves as we turn each bend. I look forward to it not least of all because
there is no one else out there.
Where the earth had been scorched it was now covered with
new growth. Lush with the Turricula
Parry (poodle-dog bush), baby blue eyes and yellow-orange poppies. The Turricula Parry, especially, thrived
after the fire, celebrating the full sun where there was once a dense
canopy. It’s a poison plant I am all too
familiar with but which I have come to admire for its patience and beauty. It stands tall and sways gently as it puts
forth a slightly acidic yet earthy scent.
Some find the scent less than appealing but I am drawn to it and it was
this scent that had me scooping up bundles of it when I first encountered it
last year. I delighted myself in finding
a field of it and stepping right in as if wading through a snowdrift. I plucked the flowers and stems. I held the sticky leaves to my nose. I devoured its scent. I stuffed my backpack with it and pledged to
plant it at home! Then the itching
began. My lungs tightened. I coughed. I scratched. My eyes watered. I was certain I had some kind of dreadful
condition which would soon render me lifeless!
Anyway… when it comes to the poodle-bush… look but don’t touch.
The baby pine trees were sublime. Little darlings perfectly perched, each
staking their claim in this new land of opportunity. I imagine coming back each year to see the
progress and I make a note to check with Chris on the growth of a pine tree. It is particularly striking to see these new
pines surrounded by the blackened spires of their predecessors. The elegance of each tree in death standing as
a token of remembrance. The emerging
trees beneath a message of the unexpected possibilities in life.
I felt myself tire as we urged each other on in the last
miles. I dug deep to lift my feet, one
in front of the other. Wincing I
admitted to Sharon that I was sure I had developed blisters on the back of each
heel. She said we should stop and doctor
them up but I foolishly dismissed the good advice. I was sure if I stopped it would be too
difficult to start again. What happened
with my sure-fire double-sock strategy?
I would later discover each sock worn so thin I may as well not have
worn socks at all. I maintain, in my
defense, that I cannot account for what happens at 5:00am on Sunday morning
when I’m dressing in the dark.
