I just got back from a rather short walk up the ridge, and the acorns are falling now. Black shiny nuggets with golden cups, are the ripe fruit of the Canyon Live Oak, native and prolific on this wild Northern California mountain landscape. I find the young trees shrub-like with serrated leaves, and observe them transition into smoother edged leaves, sometimes having both leaf shapes on the same branch, but to eventually become the mature oak with mostly smooth foliage. The photo shows both types from the same young tree, and how lucky was I to spot a fully developed acorn still attached to the limb!
What I love most about this oak is the black acorns that absolutely litter the pathway as I meander along the ridge, beckoning Autumn, and cooler temperatures, and rain. Sigh. Right now we’re having heat wave after heatwave , scorching temperatures so typical of Northern California. One thing is for sure, there are only three more weeks of summer now before the Autumnal equinox, and my inner compass faces Autumn as my only vision, and to think of rain now is to think of a returning oasis, an all consuming and fervent wish.
Not only do the acorns fall, but I find my tears fall too, as Emma, who is now twelve, does not wish to walk with me up the ridge now, but to nap at home while I try to find the incentive to trek out on my own. Admittedly, it is not easy, nor is it very often, and I have found myself in dire need of a change of heart for this Autumn, this acorn fall, leaf fall, tear fall.
I must try to be unafraid of the elements out on my own, and capture the wildlife in spirit to bring back to my Emma.
I so admire the man who found personal transformation and a sense of home deep in the wilderness of the High Sierra Nevada mountains, and fought to bring his experience of the territory into the lives of the general masses with his writing and activism. The masses who from a distance were readily destroying virgin wilderness with logging, mining, dam-building, and all manners of disregard in the turn of the last century. That man is John Muir, said to be the Father of Modern Environmentalism. That man is the man who made his home along the very lakes in the Sierra Nevada which I have camped, and who divided himself limb to limb to bring the High Sierra to the world, in attempt to protect it, its wildlife, the giant old-growth sequoias, and perfect beauty of the high mountain wilderness.
John Muir , born April 21, 1838 – died December 24, 1914, was a Scottish-American naturalist & author, environmental philosopher and early advocate of preservation of wilderness in the United States. His letters, essays, and books telling of his adventures in nature, especially in the Sierra Nevada of California, have been read by millions. His activism helped to preserve the Yosemite Valley, Sequoia National Park, and other wilderness areas. The Sierra Club, which he founded, is a prominent American conservation organization. The 211-mile (340 km) John Muir Trail, a hiking trail in the Sierra Nevada was named in his honor. read more ….
Yosemite Valley, by Carleton Watkins, John Muir’s friend and photographer.
In case you didn’t know, I am an experienced hiker of John Muir territory, although it’s been a time since I’ve returned there. As a bit of proof, take photos below backpacking eight days along John Muir’s High Route, culminating on the peak of Mount Whitney in August of 2001.
Above photo is of our group, Jeff directly behind me, all of us tired but totally and completely gratified.
And that’s me at the Mount Whitney plaque , quite exhausted and glacier-burnt in the face, from the epic trip but also from the push up from Guitar Lake that morning. Mount Whitney was for that eight-day trek the end of the line, and of the John Muir High Country Route. I nearly am dumb-struck just to take in the scope of the majestic granite mountain, and to realize that I actually was at the top of it!
I could go on indefinitely about John Muir’s High Country, but let me not ramble too much on side-trails and back-story, and let me bring attention to this noble creature…
Wild mountain sheep! In fact, the very wild sheep ( subspecies of ovis montana ) which inhabit the High Sierra and who’s tufts of downy wool Muir found and mused him to write a pithy chapter entitled “Wild Wool” from his publication Steep Trails.
“…pure wildness is the one great want, both of men and of sheep.”
” Give to Nature every cultured apple — codling, pippin, russet — and every sheep so laboriously compounded — muffled Southdowns, hairy Cotswolds, wrinkled Merinos — and she would throw the one to her caterpillars, the other to her wolves.”
“…and our wild sheep, wading in snow, roaming through bushes, and leaping among jagged storm-beaten cliffs, wears a dress so exquisitely adapted to its mountain life that it is always found as unruffled and stainless as a bird.”
excerpts from “Wild Wool” by John Muir
Visit Sierra Club archives to read“ Wild Wool “from John Muir’s “Steep Trails”, 1918
This is part one of a two-part post about John Muir, the High Sierra, and a new design which has come out of it. ( Stay tuned for Part Two forthcoming !) In the meantime, I hope you really do read Wild Wool and acquaint yourself with some of John Muir’s writing of High Sierra Wilderness, and of the wild sheep.
Early this morning I walked to my secret hidden knitting spot which from a neighboring high mountain vineyard overlooks a landscape of beautiful mountain ridges. I caught the sun illuminating the gold on vines, and maple trees, a lovely sight which always takes my breath away. Oh look! Hot air balloons making their way from the valley floor up the side of the mountain!
This morning, I managed to get a shrouded view of the majestic Mt Diablo in the background. Can you see it there, in the foggy atmosphere?
This one is from yesterday morning, with the rather strikingly deco-esque water tank. . .
The forested paths seem to sparkle now with golden leaves falling from the trees to the ground, I just love to knit while wandering over these paths which meander through the rustic forest.
The chill of Autumn has begun to take hold. We’ve had some rain with more on the way, and the landscape is now turning shades of gold-to-crimson… and with shy sprouts of grasses coming up! These weeks have been busy for me, as I’ve managed to make a string of six new patterns in a relatively short space~~ Altitude Cowls and Mitts (the last being the Twist Mitts)
Its time for walks shuffling through rustling leaves, fires in the wood-stove, and the kettle whistling as mugs are filled and sipped throughout the day ((my new favorite is fresh ginger tea!)) . . . and of course knitting till the cows come home for holiday gifts. Being already past mid-November there are only a short five weeks left to this year, but I am working steady on the designing as well as keeping a firm hold on the homestead.
Hoping lots of merriment to you this coming Thanksgiving Holiday!
A little pocketful of acorns I gathered on my walk this morning. The black ones are from the Canyon Live Oak, and the smaller light tan one is from the black oak. Anyway, the oak leaves from around here have hardly begun to change color & drop, and the Black Oaks won’t be completely bare until late December.
Still a bit of an Indian Summer here, with very warm temperatures, and just waiting for that first rapturous rain, to herald in true Autumn. More shots of changing landscape in days forthcoming, perhaps of the oak trees their Autumn turning… but for now I’m becoming transfixed & transformed on my walks, kicking through the leaves and acorns, enjoying myself completely!
We’ve continued our walks nearly everyday this Autumn.
Out in the freshly rained-on moss, and romping around and smelling things.
( Emma tends to like to stick her whole head into tree caves…)
The really remarkable thing is, that while we were walking in the woods, I was knitting the very colors of the moss on oak bark, and it took me by surprise how much I reflect the colors of my surroundings.
Presently knitting the sweater for this hat , in the colorway ‘moss on oak’…
Knitting in nature is one of the things I love to do most of all.