Michael and I went up to Trinidad, where we walked the Trinidad Head trail. I realize that I won't be seeing the Pacific from this angle in quite a while, so I made sure I didn't take it for granted. We really had a wonderful time just being there--so much so that we wound up staying for sunset a few hours later.
rocky seascape in Trinidad, CA
water hemlock: even more poisonous than it is beautiful
sunset views of state beach
One of my favorite places to be on the planet is this little falaise au bord du mer. I think really clearly there, where Michael is sitting. I hope that I can find places like this in Japan and France, even though I will be in sprawling metropolis for the next year. So far, Michael and I have actually managed to find some amazingly tranquil places in the Greater Boston Area, so hopefully I shouldn't have too much of a problem. In Japan, with its Buddhist and Shinto shrines and great love of nature, I'm hoping that I can easily find a place I call home just as much as this one. I know that will help me get over the culture shock to come.
michael meditating on a cliff
the golden light of sunset falling on blossoms
purple daisies blushing pink in the sunlight
sun has gone to japan and france for the day
The next day, we headed a little farther up the coast to Orick, CA, where we took a nice hike on the Trillium Falls trail. For those of you who don't know the area very well (or at all), this trail is very near Prairie Creek State Park, a site used frequently for filming the Jurassic Park series. It is primeval forest where the color green is pretty much all you can see for miles.
the footbridge at trillium falls
redwood sorrel on a mossy maple
sitting in a fallen giant collecting my thoughts
old growth redwood forest
Overall, I don't feel much of a need to travel while I'm in Japan or France. I've heard many a tale about the study abroad student who tries to do and see too much, and in doing so, fails to see her host country on anything more than a superficial level. I would rather go for depth than breadth, and so I don't see myself taking more than a couple day trips and maybe one weekend away from Osaka. But when my semester is over, I won't be coming back to the US (hence "around the northern hemisphere in 80 blog posts"), so I'll have about two weeks after my Osaka program before my Paris program starts. During this time, it is my deepest desire to become an ambassador for these trees you see here, and go visit their cousins in Japan. On Yakushima island, one of the southern islands in the Pacific off Kyushu, reside some of the worlds most ancient trees. Some of the cedars there are said to date back nearly 6,000 years. To give you some context, the island was supposedly the artistic inspiration for Hayao Miyasaki's もののけ暇 or Princess Mononoke, so if you can imagine the forested landscapes in that movie, I would be seeing that in real life--- so exciting!!!
a nurse log providing seedbed for ferns
The trees are, funny enough, a large reason why I started taking Japanese. I want to see the giant camphors (like the ones in Miyasaki's となりのととろ or My Neighbor Totoro), the cherry trees (though they won't be in bloom unfortunately while I'm there), and most of all, the fall foliage of the japanese maple. Last year in my French class, I recounted this true story about a time I saw a japanese maple at the Japanese Gardens in Portland, Oregon.
Je me baladais sur l’allée du jardin. Le crissement doux de mes pas sur les galets rêches grisés se répandait dans les couloirs de circulation. Les verts vifs de la nature et les arômes de l’automne me frappaient. Et tout d’un coup, le monde entier ralentis et tait. Lentement, l’écho de mes pas revient aux oreilles. Je lance un coup d’œil à gauche, et ce que je trouve me fait fixer. Tout en bas d’une pente douce au bord de l’allée circule un vivier rempli de carpes koïs. Les poissons flânent en baignant dans le bassin à poissons moussu, et en même temps que je l’approche, les koïs—ces images floues d’orange—s’apaisent, et la surface de l’eau se calme. L’écho de ce sentiment de tranquillité revient aussi, et je l’intériorise. Mes jambes pèsent. La tranquillité sature à mon esprit, et en regardant le jardin, le monde éclaircit. Les couleurs s’animent. Les koïs rougeoient d’un spectre chromatique : rouge feu, mandarine, abricot vivant, corail. Chaque écaille irradie.
A l’autre côté du chemin, un seul érable japonais s’étire les branches, et sa canopée voûtée arque au dessus du sentier. Ses nageoires écartent jusqu’aux extrémités des feuilles pointues. Son esprit coule comme sang dans ses nervures. Le tronc tordu ploie comme la grande arête de dos lorsque le koï fait les méandres au fond du vivier. Les brindilles oscillent comme les barbillons sur la face du poisson ; les feuilles de mêmes tons d’oranges et de rouges scintillent avec de rosée et des perles de brume comme les écailles. Son bois respire et vit.
« Cet arbre est comme un dragon, n’est pas ? » Tout à coup, le monde a accéléré. J’ai sursauté de frayeur. Une vielle dame japonaise s’est approchée à moi. Courbée avec l’âge, elle se soutenait avec une canne à pommeau en bois rouge intense, comme celui d’un cerisier. Ses cheveux de jais avec les tempes grisonnantes tendaient jusqu’à ses hanches fragiles. Même à son âge, avec sa délicatesse, elle doit avoir fait des pas plus doux que les miens, car je n’ai jamais remarqué le son des galets lorsque elle s’est approchée à moi. Je suppose qu’une dame aussi élégante qu’elle ferait des pas avec élégance aussi. Mais grâce à ses yeux doux, je me suis laissée détendre après qu’elle m’a effrayée tellement ; une gentillesse affectueuse émanait de ces yeux étroits. Ses pattes d’oie et ses rides profondes bordait son sourit éclatant, et mettaient en évidence sa sagesse. Elle a levé les yeux en montrant du doigt l’érable rouge dont la beauté m’a paralysée. « Regarde comme les bouts des branches ressemblent aux serres. »
« C’est une idée intéressante. A mon avis, cet arbre rassemble un poisson koï, » Alors j’ai expliqué ce que je venais de penser au sujet de cet arbre.
Enfin, elle m’a regardée dans les yeux gravement, et elle a déclaré « Tu es très mûre pour ton âge, jeune femme. En Japon, on dit que le koï le plus fort nage à contre-courant jusqu’à ce qu’il atteigne la cascade finale, où il voûte dans les brumes et devient un dragon d’eau. Cet exploit n’est que possible avec sa vaillance, sa persévérance, et son ambition de faire. Cet arbre-ci est le dragon qui était, il ya longtemps, un koï commun. Et lorsque tu étais en train de le regarder, j’ai aperçu que tu es comme cet arbre, avec un esprit enflammé en couleur orange feu comme ses feuilles. Tu vas toujours faire honneur à ta famille. »
Anyway, I'm pretty much in love with Japanese maples. But even more than their trees, I love the Japanese people, like the old Japanese woman I described in that story. In light of the recent anniversaries of the Hiroshima and Nagasaki bombings, Michael and I went to a luminaria lighting in honor of the lives lost to nuclear warfare. Michael forgot a jacket, and as soon as it started getting a bit chilly, this young Japanese woman asked if he wanted to use her blanket because he looked cold. かわいいね? The event also honored the older Japanese woman who brought this lantern festival to Arcata thirty years ago. She was also totally adorable.
luminaria lanterns pre-lighting
chinese characters on a lit lantern
lantern illuminating its neighbor
It is hard for me to imagine a time when my community would have banished all persons of Japanese ancestry, but I suppose historically my town was a very different place. The Japanese were "excluded" all over California, but particular attention was paid to the coastlines. A kid who went to my high school, one of the only Japanese in Arcata at the time, was sent to an internment camp in 1942. That just seems so strange to me. In a country that was fighting a war against a man who was ridding his country of an entire race, we send every person of a certain ancestry away. The principle just doesn't add up, but my grandfather used to say that without being there, in the war, and seeing firsthand the crazy fear and panic that Pearl Harbor brought on, it just wouldn't make sense-- but that the fear was there.
lanterns floating in the reservoir
I guess all I can do is be thankful that the world is healing, and that my community helps a little bit in making it a better place. Not only does my town have festivals like this one that celebrate world peace and healing, but everything that goes into this event, I think, is of sound principle. First, the lanterns float on the waters in the last reservoir in an innovative sewage-management system-- a series of oxidation ponds, treatment wetlands, and enhancement marshes, which naturally filters sewage through the use of wildlife. Perfectly sanitary sewage treatment without the harmful effects of industrial sewage treatment?? That is just SO cool! And look how pretty it is!
a father and daughter duo release lanterns to the water
Second, it's an event that brings together families, bringing up a new generation of peace-minded individuals. Third, it uses the healing power of art and words in making the lanterns. Everyone has fun using their own creativity and mind-power to make their own lantern, sending out a prayer on the water. Fourth, people in a rowboat go out on the water, wait for the candles to go out, and bring back the remains of the lanterns. The wooden bases are recycled the next year, and this process ensures that no harmful remnants remain to hurt the wildlife, either. And finally, it's a multi-cultural event that brings together a Japanese tradition and an American community, harvesting inter-cultural interaction and inspiring people like me to go out and experience different cultures in a way that the WWII Arcata couldn't have. 日本に行きましょう！
rowboat silhouetted against the floating lanterns
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