Embracing, so to speak, the term ‘Tree Hugger’, I could ramble on infinitum about my rambles in the woods. We had a ‘Great Big Family Road Trip’ once, that took us to northern California, where we camped in a place called Jedediah Smith. If I close my eyes, I can still smell the scents, feel the the cushiony forest floor beneath my feet, see the majestic redwoods keeping watch throughout the day and night.


After that memorable trip we were drawn to repeatedly experience the majesty of the redwoods, and explored every redwood and sequoia grove on offer, visiting California’s national parks: Sequoia, Kings Canyon and multiple visits to Yosemite. I thought maybe, after 417 photographs taken of the silent giants, that I’d maxed out on taking photos. But I kept on seeing one more feature, interesting burnt bark formation, knobbly bump, and yet another massive fallen beauty. Once I even climbed up on one of the more accessible prone dead guys, apologizing for taking liberties and offering up the feeble excuse that I just needed to get a better perspective. Woulda served me right if it had thwacked me and sent me into oblivion.


Oh, did someone mention bears? Mike and I had a great chance to take some close up photos of a mother bear and her two cubs, but no. We’d been walking and gazing at these marvelous trees, and stumbled upon the happy trio happily munching breakfast. Happy to be cowards, we tiptoed a safe distance away: rather be tree-huggers than bear-huggees.


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