On each assignment, I search for That Place.
It only has a few requirements.
It must be nearby.
It must bring me closer to nature.
It must allow dogs (I do make an exception to this rule when Rocky doesn’t travel with me.)
It must center me.
Sometimes I’ll be almost through my assignment before I find That Place.
In North Carolina, it was Battleground Park in Greensboro. I so loved walking along the winding paved pathways sheltered beneath the branches of great trees, as I watched bluebirds, woodpeckers, cardinals and the occasional vulture. The best part….I shared this time with my closest friend, Jeanne Curtin.
In South Carolina, it was Lake Conestee. I watched baby herons grow to adulthood, discovered red-shouldered hawk nests, glimpsed a beaver and discovered one of my first tree creatures in this preserve.
In Maine, it was a magical trail in downtown Corinna. It began as a boardwalk at a small dam and wove its way through a marshland rich with touch-me-nots, ducks, butterflies and the occasional hummingbird. It connects with the rail trail, bordered by wetlands on one side and farmland on the other.
In Florida, I never found That Place. There were very few trails nearby that allowed dogs. I considered risking bringing Rocky along in his pouch and throwing out the argument that you can barely consider him a dog.
Today I found That Place here in California. It took some searching, but I knew that it had to be here.
I had tried the Avocado Rim trail. It was disgustingly dirty and really more of a road than a trail.
I had parked at the dam and walked along the river. It was clean, but once again, more of a road than a trail.
I had tried the other side of the river. But the trail petered out into a field of burrs that clung to my socks then worked their way into my shoes. Rocky didn’t like this field any better than me. He insisted on being carried through the burry grass.
Today I headed out intent on settling for a walk along the road across from the dam. As I drove along the Pine Flat road, I passed a sign that said ‘River Access No Camping’. As I rounded the corner, I spotted a Kiosk a few feet beyond the parking area.
Kiosks mean trails!
I made a U-turn, turned into the access point and my oh-too-low-to-the-ground car crept down the partially washed out, steep drive.
The moment I stepped out of my car, I knew I’d found it. This was That Place.
The river drifted lazily around a tiny island crowded with sycamore trees. A few people fished along the river, but not so much to feel crowded. And there, beyond the Kiosk was a trail. Not a road, but an actual trail.
And it was perfect.
Scattered craggy trees with their branches twisting over the trail.
The river’s melody plays alongside me.
Swallows perform their acrobatic aerial dance as they gather their dinner.
Stalks filled with yellow flowers, wild roses, and some tiny flowers that remind me of miniature dragons border my path.
A scrub jays squawks as I pass beneath the branches of its tree.
I scramble up a hill of granite boulders that makes me wish I’d worn my hiking shoes.
Tiny birds, not much bigger than hummingbirds flit about on giant thistles with variegated leaves.
A waterfall of yellow flowers spills down a rocky hill.
A red shouldered hawk soars across the river
I climb to the top of a hill that is solid rock. From here I can see the dam, the rolling golden California hills and the mountains beyond. I realize that I’ve made my way almost to the trail that had petered out into a burry field.
Across the river, crows and vultures perch, waiting on bare branches.
Beyond the rock hill, the trail becomes more difficult to follow. Two picnic tables, one overtaken by tall green grass spur me forward.
A rustle of grass and a glimpse of a ground squirrel scurrying out of site.
Two quails dash into the underbrush. I’ll remember this spot, because I’d love to get a picture of them.
Across the river, a cow ‘moos.’ I looked toward the sound and spot what I believe is a cormorant with a speckled white upper body and brown lower half.
I stand quietly, my eyes closed and listen to the sounds of the river, birds and the solitary cow. The peacefulness of nature centers me.
This is That Place