My Favorite Detour on My Quincy Adventure

A jay takes its pick from the peanuts on Grandma’s deck overlooking Lake Almanor.

Before I leave my Quincy adventure behind, I have one more picture to show you. You’d think the lake would be the first thing I’d look at, with all that blue stretching out to the mountains. But there’s a jay on the railing with a peanut in its beak, and that’s where my eye goes every time.

Whenever I go to Quincy to visit my fairy goddaughters, I like to make a little side trip to Lake Almanor. Their grandma was my college classmate. Her parents built a house right on the lake decades ago, and sitting on that deck with her is one of my favorite parts of going north.

I leave the valley near Chico and head east through hillsides scarred by fire. It’s hard to see how much burned, which is why I was so surprised and delighted this time to see green underbrush coming back. By the time I get to Chester, there are green firs and that bright fall gold you see in aspens and cottonwoods. I think about the firefighters who helped save the town with deep gratitude. Then I come out where I can see the blue of Lake Almanor against the green hills, and I’m glad all over again to be there.

In summer, Grandma and I can sit on the deck with a glass of wine and watch the water skiers and the fishermen. In winter, the lake goes quiet. When she puts peanuts on the railing in the morning, the jays know just where to find them. There’s a whole lake and a mountainside in this photo, and I keep looking at the jay with one peanut in its beak and a whole row still waiting. I’m grateful that going to see my fairy goddaughters gives me a reason to sit awhile with my old friend.

I love going away, and I usually need a few days to recover when I come home. Traveling is exciting and fun, and it can leave me a little wound up. One of my favorite ways to settle back in is to go out my door, past the bird feeder, and sit on my meditation rock.

There’s a lot of life between my door and that rock. The feeder draws squirrels and chipmunks, and every so often I see a fox or a turkey. Once I sit down, I can look north to the mountains, west to the ocean, and east to Silicon Valley. If I look south, there’s my house. And sometimes I just tilt my head back and look up through the trees.

That’s when I let the sun and the peace and the quiet pour over me. I feel connected to the whole universe from that one little rock. I think of it as storing up the light. The things that were weighing on me may still be there when I get up, but I’ve had a little time to be still. I’m grateful I have a place to do that. Surrounded by grace. Grateful.

Later, back on our trail, I spotted a big, shaggy fungus beside a fallen log. I wondered if it might be lion’s mane. Then I thought, Look how big it is! That’s the toe of my boot in the picture. I left it in so you could see what I mean. A neighbor who knows his mushrooms once got very sick from eating some he’d gathered on the mountain. I leave wild mushrooms where I find them, but I sure do take pictures.

I’m glad I went to Quincy, and I’m glad I came home. I got to sit with an old friend by the lake and sit by myself under the trees. And on a trail I’ve walked more times than I can count, I found something that made me stop and take a picture of my boot. I love that there’s still that much to see. Come walk with me.