Redwood Country

Back from a weekend at one of the old family camps (established 1914) in the coastal range under the redwoods with wood cabins, bunkbeds, a climbing wall, zip line, tie-dye sessions and a centralized dining hall. I could almost smell the Manzanita I associate with these parts of California, but not quite. Oddly, I lost my sense of smell several years ago.

But as I watched my grandchildren climb, zip, swim, play sports, clamber atop massive redwood stumps, and generally swarm the surroundings, I was remembering my own childhood in various campgrounds in Michigan six and seven decades ago.

It is so much drier out here, compared to the lakes and streams that crisscross the Upper Midwest, and the trees are so much taller and wider in girth here. But the children and their antics are the same through space and time.

There is always a sense of adventure and an ineffable air of wildness to urban and suburban kids when they get out into nature. It’s as if a set of instincts kick in, telling them to be on the lookout for predators, real or imagined, as well as edible plants, sticks that be used either for weapons or to roast marshmallows, and an eagerness to hear scary stories. 

By my current age, camp is more about observing than participating in these activities, but also spinning tales if asked. There was the time my friend and I found a dead man floating in a lagoon, for example, and occasional interactions with bears, skunks or large, coiled snakes. Also a lot of wild blueberries, blackberries and strawberries.

But I tend not to favor the scarier stories for little children, who already have overactive imaginations and who know all to well that they are, well, small. And therefore vulnerable. Anyway the main danger in the woods is always other people — hunters who get trigger-happy, campfire enthusiasts who don’t douse the flames and coals sufficiently, and other mischief-makers.

That’s why the rest of the animal kingdom, if they know what’s best for them, give the likes of us a wide berth.

These were among my thoughts as I dozed off in the shade of the redwoods, hearing an unseen small plane fly lazily overhead, and still not able to smell the Manzanitas. 

Who needs the news? Life is good.