The rain gently tapped on the glass as we pulled into Potwisha Campground. This would be home for the next few nights. I hopped out of the van, eager to explore the surroundings. The cool, damp air kissed my cheeks as the earthy smell of the trees filled my senses. The branches of a nearby oak tree provided a natural umbrella, shielding us from the rain that was falling ever so gently. A narrow, winding path led us down to a nearby river, where large granite boulders were artfully scattered across the riverbed. The gentle rush of the water created a symphony of soothing sounds.
These magnificent boulders were formed when molten rock cooled far beneath the surface of the Earth more than 85 million years ago. As we headed back to camp, the sun made its descent behind the mountains. The rain had eased, so we kindled a fire, held hands, and talked under the stars before calling it a night.
The following day, we headed up Generals Highway toward Kings Canyon, with a gentle mist of rain still in the air. The pitter-pat of each raindrop as it made contact with the trees eased the pace of my heartbeat. As we continued our ascent, a gentle fog filled the air. Wildflowers lined the streets, boasting vibrant blues, yellows, and whites. But for me, there was one particular shrub that caught my eye: the Cercis occidentalis. This small tree emerges every spring, bursting with the most radiant magenta flowers. Its green, heart-shaped leaves will emerge as the flowers begin to fade.
A family of deer indulged in the vibrant flowers as they enjoyed a late morning snack. We continued our drive up the mountain, and the rain slowly turned into snow. The scenery changed with every turn. Waterfalls flowed, their banks lined with snow. The bright, vibrant colors of the flowers were now blanketed with delicate white powder. The air began to thicken, and visibility became scarce. Just as we thought we might need to pull over, the sun made a magnificent break in the clouds. There, before us, reaching to heaven, stood the most majestic giant sequoia tree.
We pulled off the road, grabbed our coats, and briskly walked with excitement toward the towering beauty. As we stood at the base, we grasped the true magnitude of its size. The snow was glistening off its trunk, creating a halo effect that illuminated the rich color of the bark. With each crunch of the snow beneath our feet, we brought ourselves closer. As I reached out my hand to connect with this old soul, I couldn’t help but think of the stories it could tell if only it could talk.
As my hand reached out, desperate to connect with this marvel, I was met with the dampness of the bark, which had a spongy-like texture and was full of its own unique character. My fingers ran in and out of each deep crevice, a reminder of a long life lived. To think these trees dated back 200 years to the Jurassic period was astonishing.
As we made our way back to the van, the snow began to ease. Our path home led us by a beautiful stream. The temperature rose as we descended the mountain, and the snow began to melt. Western bluebirds chirped as they flew from limb to limb, catching a cool birdbath in between.
Arriving at camp, we pulled up a chair, grabbed a cozy blanket, and reminisced about our beautiful winter wonderland day spent among the magnificent sequoia trees.
