Nature's Harmony

From Sequoia to Zion, the rhythm of the Universe beats on

At the base of a Giant Sequoia, I am tiny. At the foot of the Sierra Nevadas, it is the same: I am likewise infinitesimal. The sky in Death Valley is so vast, the varied terrain stretching out well beyond where one’s imagination can go. The sand dunes are ever-changing with the high winds, which knock out the power routinely (as they did when we stopped for a drink at the historic Inn at Death Valley). In Zion, the dark clouds descend and a heavy rain pours down, a bolt of lightning flashes just ahead, and then the temperature drops suddenly by 10 degrees and our windshield is covered in icy pellets.

Top left to right: the view of the Sierra Nevadas from Sequoia National Park; the Giant Sequoia grove in the snow; the many mountain ranges of Death Valley. Bottom left to right: The Mesquite Flat sand dunes of Death Valley; the view from the Inn at Death Valley sans electricity out to the palms in the high winds; the towering cliffs of Zion; clouds descending on us atop the Zion Canyon Overlook Trail.

From California, through Nevada, dipping into Arizona, then on to Utah, nature is awe-inspiring despite not always being so harmonious. There is always a rhythm though, one that we can only tune in to if the noise of our minds can just get quiet, if we can rest upon the grandiosity of the universe and put in perspective somehow the challenges of everyday life.

I met up with my son, Oscar, in Los Angeles, where he is in school for graphic design. We have traversed this beautiful country three times together, navigating through mountain passes and miles and miles of plains, through tornado warnings and clear blue skies. We are now making our way together to Chicago.

I didn’t look for music in Los Angeles. I know I would have found it if I had, in a variety of venues. But coming in from small towns, I was in no mood to navigate the big city though, and just dined al fresco on far too much pizza with my son and my niece.

We got in the car the next day, after breakfast. We sat there a few minutes to try to figure our route. I’d thought to head to Sedona and Santa Fe, but Oscar has been dying to get back to Sequoia National Park, the last place we visited before dropping him off at CalArts a few years back. The tall trees called to him and so we went that way, crossing our fingers that the Winter Storm Warning flashing across the map would not affect our travels.

We hadn’t remembered the raging Kaweah River that we wound around into the town of Three Rivers, probably because we’d been there in summer, not Spring just as the mountain snows are melting. We went straight up the windy road into Seqouia, with just a few hours to spare before sundown, taking in the incredible 360 vistas at turnouts along the way.

We took a little snowy hike into a massive Sequoia grove, marveling at their splendor, and Oscar even hiked out to walk inside one. With few tourists this time of year, we were able to park close to World’s Largest Sequoia, General Sherman, which Osc ran to for a hug.

The quiet of the mountains in the snow, the gurgle of the waters, the wind through the trees…there is an incredible harmony in all that.

Down and down and down along with the setting sun, we dined by the river, revisiting the ducks that live just below The Gateway Restaurant. In the morning, we made our way to the Sequoia Coffee I’d spotted, and was not disappointed. The gentleman who worked there and I bonded instantly, and when I mentioned something about staying out late cause I was into music he asked if we were staying til Sunday.

“We have a drum circle, come!” he said. Every Sunday at sundown in Three Rivers, they gather to drum. We shared the joys of letting everything else go except the beats that emerge from the drums under your hands, and I lamented that I would miss this one, but vowed to come back. There is also a “Jazz Affair” event that happens soon, he said. The small jazz community from the area gathers and jams for days. He is from nearby Woodlake but has been playing in the Three Rivers drum circle at the Court Gallery in town for 22 years. Wow! He told me that nearby Visalia—one of the fastest-growing cities in America—is the place to go for regular music events.

We said our goodbyes to our new friend, vowing to come back and drum, and took off toward Death Valley. We came in from a different direction than the last time we’d been there years back on another road trip, and the mountain ranges seemed to extend on forever before we saw any of the campgrounds or more populated tourist areas. I hadn’t realized that Death Valley is one of the largest parks in the country. Just behind Alaska’s vast national parks in size, it totals 3.4 million acres. Gulp.

We made it to the Mesquite Flats sand dunes and were able to traverse them a bit despite the hot sun (minor compared to how hot it gets in summer, but still a shock) and the high winds. It would be a lovely spot for a sound bath if only sand wouldn’t make its way into every inch of every instrument…The landscape is surreal and mesmerizing.

We’d decided to spend the night in a town I’d never heard of just outside Vegas (again, not up for navigating the scene of the Big City). Boulder City, Nevada, home to the Hoover Dam (former Boulder Dam), is a historic town built in 1931 by the federal government to house the workers building the Dam. The model community, intended to manifest the optimism of the country’s hope for recovery from the effects of the Great Depression, was designed by Dutch-born urban architect Saco Rienk de Boer. With a lovely park and varied housing (on top of the hill overlooking Lake Mead for the top brass of course), the town back then “severely regulated” the type of stores allowed, “screening potential business owners for character and financial viability.”

Maybe it is because of this great foresight of planning that the town felt as great as it did. As we searched for a spot for dinner and potentially music, we were impressed with the variety of options for Saturday night in the small town. We decided on the Boulder Dam Brewing Co., which was featuring the bluegrass band The Hollerbodies (awesome) and then walked down the bustling street to find warm doors-open welcomes into other hoppin’ venues that featured a local singer/songwriter and good-times karaoke. The vibe was super friendly and people mingled about in the way it occurred to me they should in all towns, music pouring out from so many places, a mini-much-more-manageable New Orleans. Planning for community is, obviously, crucial, and something that doesn’t seem to happen as much as it should.

We woke to have breakfast with a good friend of mine from high school who lives in Vegas at The Coffee Cup Cafe, then hit the road, taking a gander at the vast Lake Mead, but deciding to skip the line of cars waiting to see the Hoover Dam. We were headed to Zion National Park.

We hit some unexpected harsh weather, so waited it out in a brewery before driving through the park and climbing up and around the Canyon Overlook Trail. Hikers well behind us, around the narrow curve a ways back, yelled out to try to hear their voices reverberate off the canyon. My son answered with a long loud whistle. There is music everywhere.

We are resting our heads in nearby Kanab, host of the annual Western Legends Heritage & Music Festival for the last 25 years, a “boot shakin’ country concert” and rodeo that this years falls on August 22-24.

Onward ho, next stop: Capitol Reef National Park. Will continue to search for harmony.

In peace,

Steph