10. Feeling Small

Marcia and I are meandering through Muir woods in Marin country with Nancy and Fred — friends who have flown down from Seattle for a short visit. We are looking up at the California coastal redwoods (Sequoia sempervirens). Specifically, we are looking at the cluster of redwoods in this picture I took. It is a good thing that Nancy teaches Pilates, because looking up at mature redwoods for any length of time will strain your neck. They are simply too tall. 

Trees aren’t supposed to grow this tall. Really. Trees pull their water up from the ground through little tubes in the sapwood (xylem) that encircles the hardwood core. When water evaporates from leaves or needles, negative pressure “lifts” a column of water upward. Alas, at about 350 feet above the ground, the force of gravity on such a long column of fluid is so strong that negative forces can't move water any further upward; the leaves at the top experience drought and shrivel. The tree grows no further. But the tallest redwoods manage to eke out another 20 feet or so, because their needles pull moisture directly out of the coastal fog. They are the tallest living objects on earth; taller than a 35 story building. Our necks, or at least my neck, was not designed to contemplate objects this high. 

Writers walking among these giants all note how insignificant they make us feel, and they do. Mature sequoias are 50,000 times our weight. They have been on this planet for 100 million years longer than modern humans. I walk in their shadow, my steps muffled by the spongy litterfall of needles underfoot and the ferns that freckle the forest floor. 

Based on its circumference, the big redwood in the left half of the picture is about 1,200 years old — much older than my daughter Clara, who is celebrating her birthday today (happy birthday, Clara).  She takes comfort from knowing she is less than 1/30th this tree’s age. (Don’t do the math.)

Come the end of March, Marcia and I will be leaving the redwoods, and our daughter Clara. Our winter rental will draw to its close, we will pack up our clothing, and amble east back to Ann Arbor in Angela, my Audi.

Alliterative allure aside, the thought of driving away from my children and grandchildren fills me with sadness. Something seems wrong about it, unnatural, although I have promises to keep in Michigan. Perhaps you — our readers — can help.

“How?” you ask. 

By suggesting a route and sights we should see during the journey back. We are planning to crowdsource our way home. Your recommendations will become our destiny, so make your suggestions wisely.

Marcia and I have never made a cross-country car trip together, although we both remember transcontinental journeys during our respective childhoods. I recall an interminable trip from Ohio to Los Angeles in the early 60s, sitting in the back of a blue Rambler station wagon with my younger brother Carl, who refused to stay on his side of the seat. This was on account of my poking him periodically when no one was looking, then denying doing so when he complained to our mother. After 40 miles of this, the injustice of it all would get the better of him, and he would slide over to my side of the seat intending to strike me, at which point I would alert my father who could clearly see Carl out of place in the rearview mirror and chastise him for putting the entire family in danger. That is my entire memory of Indiana. 

Marcia and I hope to do better. The most direct route home is via Interstate 80, which takes us from Oakland through Salt Lake City, Cheyenne, Omaha, Des Moines, and Chicago.  Google maps informs me that this trip is 2,358 miles long. I figure that if Marcia and I alternate driving and sleeping, eat in the car, and stop every 200 miles for 15-minute gas and bathroom breaks, we can make it home in 39 hours. 

Marcia has a different vision. She wishes to meander along the “Southern route,” via I-70, and take in Zion and Arches, and also along the “Northern route,” via I-94, visiting Yellowstone and the badlands. The Southern and Northern options are each only a few hundred miles longer than I-80, but exactly how one takes both passages in one trip is a mystery to me. 

We have agreed to give ourselves 10-12 days to make the journey. And we have agreed to leave the choice of a route up to you, our readers.

What should we do? What should we see?

Paul