You Sometimes Get What You Want

My grandmother subscribed to National Geographic Magazine. As a girl from South Jersey whose greatest geographical adventure was a day trip to the shore each year, I poured over the magazine's photos and imagined myself in far off places. We had earthworms in NJ, but nothing as exotic as the banana slug from California. It was big...and yellow. We had willow and mimosa and spruce and pine, oak, cedar, and even a "Tree of Heaven" in NJ, but nothing to compare to the giant Redwoods of California. They were big enough to drive a car through. Yes, you heard me right - big enough to drive a car through. My uncle lived in California and worked as a mechanic for an airline. As such he was able to procure free tickets for his mother, my grandmother, to fly out of Philadelphia to visit him in that far off state. She went, and brought back crystal sugar candy and tales of rides on streetcars. We put string in sugar solution in a jar on the windowsill and hoped to make our own crystal sugar candy, but were only able to muster the fragilest of crystals compared to the California variety. One thing led to another and a good many years later, I found myself on a road trip with my husband and dog, moving from Seattle to Atlanta. We had to pick a route: overland by way of Old Faithful or down the coast, through the Redwoods. National Geographic had also featured geysers, but I had heard the call of the giant trees. So down the coast we went. We walked a vast stretch of beach in one town in Oregon, where families enjoyed spring break on the sand under a grey sky, in hats, jackets and an occasional umbrella. We spent the night in a little motel on a rocky seaside which posted warnings of "sneaker waves" which would just rise up and snatch you when you weren't looking if you weren't careful. We stopped so many times along highway 5 so I could run into the surf and touch a large rock formation that was beautiful, that we had to stop stopping if we were ever to get to California. We paused at an overlook, to peer down at the sea lions, and listen to them barking. My dog said, "What?! What was that?! We stopped for gas and a drive to the national park sand dunes. While my dog romped about on the beach with a beagle, I watched the beagle's family sandboarding. Finally, the Dad asked me if I'd like to try, and I did. We picnicked on a beach with rounded rocks by a jetty. I took a rock home with me. It still tastes salty. And that was Oregon. Our first night in California we stayed in a dog friendly hotel with flamboyantly colored decor and a broken mini-fridge. They replaced the fridge that evening. We definitely needed a place for our leftovers and road snacks. The next day we drove on through Sunny California. We drove past signs confirming we were going through the Redwood Forest. There were evergreens on the right of us and evergreens on the left of us, but no signs of the giants. We stopped for dinner at a lonely diner, at a lonely spot, on a lonely road. The proprietor showed no cognizance of being in The Land of the Giant Redwoods. Greeter, waiter, cook, baker, and scrubber-upper, he dutifully served us a supper. But was he even happy that he lived in California? We drove on to a little seaside town perched on the side of a cliff. My son had been there on his motorcycle and said we had to see it. It was worth it. The sun was now setting and we had to find a place to sleep with a dog. There was no room at the inn at the picturesque town. We consulted our phones - no need for maps or paper for us modern travelers - and decided to try a place with camping and little cabins under the canopy of the Redwood Forest, located not far down a little side road. We drove up to the A-frame office where the vacancy light glowed. Yes, they had a room, allowed dogs of a certain size, but it cost twice the amount we were accustomed to spend. Well, it was a two bedroom cabin with a kitchenette. Let's splurge and let's sleep. We found our cabin through the darkly lit campground road and parked in the designated rutted and muddy spot. We walked the dog in the shadows, in case anyone might challenge the weight limit. We carried our luggage inside and set about settling in. Mini-fridge was working. There was a back door in the kitchen. I went to investigate. I began to laugh and laugh and my husband followed me outside wondering, What on earth? and there I was attempting to wrap my arms around a giant redwood tree growing right through the middle of the deck. I was in California. That night we studied the tourist guides and made a plan to visit the Redwood National Forest. And the next day, after sleeping under a majestic creation, we did.