It’s a usual foggy morning in early March in Marin County, a peaceful province of just over 200,000 residents nestled among rolling grass green hills north of the Golden Gate. Although the fog fails to wake my sleepy self, I push back piles of warm blankets, roll out of my twin sized bed, and muster up enough effort to strap on my no-longer-sunshine-orange-mud-caked tennis shoes for what feels like an early morning hike (mind you, it is really 10 am). With the sound of a horn loud enough to wake the entirety of my sleepy Maple Hill Drive neighborhood and the wafting smell of fresh morning coffee, I am out the door and off to meet my early riser and far too athletic boyfriend Dominic, who insists the day is wasted waking up anytime after 8 am. As I force down a slice of buttered whole wheat toast to gain some much needed energy, our oh-so-Marin County Prius drives us through the characteristic green sprawl to the zooming 101 freeway.
Heading south toward the clear, blue waters of the San Francisco Bay, the all-too-familiar four-lane expressway weaves together eleven sprawling cities quietly situated in the palms of sloping grassy hills. We cruise down the Stinson Beach exit over the Richardson Bay overpass, and I complain about my out of shape state and the chill in the air. We turn right at the fork in the road neighboring the ever-popular Dipsea café, home to the best omelet in perhaps the nation, and meander past quiet roadside farm stands and quaint single family home neighborhoods until the paved road swaps itself for earthen pathway. As though stepping into a room dense with thick fog you can barely see through, we pull into the familiar dusty parking lot next to a small horse stable and dozens of other cars out to enjoy the fresh air and nature of Tennessee Valley, our hike’s destination and just one of the many prominent trailheads of the Golden Gate National Recreational Area.
Extending my sleepy muscles, I brace myself for the thrilling chill of the fog and step out into the refreshing breeze, immediately awakened by the moist droplets settling on my face and rejuvenated by the intoxicating smell of nature: moist dirt, nearby salty sea water, and chalky dust. My worries fall off my shoulder with each step on the tranquil earth as we embark on the three mile journey we have done too many times to count, yet each time welcomes a new adventure and gracious interaction with nature, like finally reuniting with an old friend you haven’t seen in a while.
In my twenty years living in Marin, Ihave yet to encounter any resident who does not jump at the opportunity to take full advantage of our surrounding natural landscapes, such as the Marin Headlands and its abundant trails, beaches, and peaceful treasures, each so innate to defining this county’s place. Playing such an important role to both the ecosystem and its residents, be it human or animal, it is troubling to imagine Marin stripped of its natural personality as climate change realities spread rapidly around the globe. An overwhelming amount of climate and natural resource-related data collected by well-respected scientific institutions declare hard to ignore connections between over abundant human consumption of natural resources, such as fossil fuels, and the frightening depletion of our Earth. While our human society craves more power and repeats the deadly mantra “Bigger is better,” our planet’s temperature unnaturally rises as we burn more and more fossil fuels, adding seven billion tons of carbon to the atmosphere. At the same time, deforestation, or clear cutting entire forests, inhibits the lungs of the planet to suck the dangerous levels of carbon out of the air and transform it into oxygen; consequently, this circular system of human greed and irresponsibility alters the diversity and success of our natural ecosystems, from the spooky Cypress trees to the Elephant Seal on the coast, and even our human friends and family. With a frighteningly unsure future steaming full speed ahead, what happens when home is stripped of its natural identity?
Although we cannot predict what the looming future holds in its firm grip, the past lingers waiting to be rediscovered, thick with layers of knowledge and personalities anxious to be peeled back like a red onion. Dating back to 1770, the Marin Headlands represented home to the Native American Coastal Miwok tribe, a collection of about 2,000 people now marked as the first human interaction with nature in Marin. The hunting and gathering Coastal Miwok tribe lived in peace with their sublime natural surroundings, forming villages on the rocky slopes and plateaus of the Headland’s historic geological formation towering over the deep blue Pacific Ocean. With a spiritual mythology grounded in a belief of animal and human spirits, the Coastal Miwok respected the power of native animals, welcoming the coyote as both family, ancestor and creator god, in addition to the awesome power of the natural habitat, believing the Earth was sparked with a small chunk of land shaped out of the endless Pacific Ocean.
The Coastal Miwok were dead on in their immediate respect and appreciation for the sea-cliffed headlands they called home. The Marin Headlands sits delicately on the boundary between two of the Earth’s great tectonic plates, the North American and Pacific plates. Perhaps the best known feature of California and responsible for vibrating the ground every so often, the San Andreas Fault Zone forms a boundary known as a transform fault, where the North American and Pacific plates slide past each other. Moving an average of one inch per year, the San Andreas Fault lays claim to creating the rugged terrain picture perfectly framing the Golden Gate’s infamous entrance to the San Francisco Bay. Today the Marin Headlands rocky landscape consists of multiple layers of oceanic sequence, from basaltic crust covered by overlying sandstone, evidence of an amazing geological location nearly ten million years in the making.
More recently, after colonization and industrialization shaped the blossoming city of San Francisco in the 1800s (for better or for worse), the Headlands became a key location for military settlements and fortifications to deter hostile ships from entering the prized port of the San Francisco Bay. During World War II, several more military installations built on Hawk Hill, the earthen center point for the Marin Headlands skyline and home to the largest known flight of raptors in the Western states, fortified San Francisco from aerial bombardment and high caliber guns. Today all previous military sites have returned to civilian use, although the Headlands will never again be recognizable to the Coastal Miwok tribe of the untouched past. Stone bunkers and batteries once housing cold steel weapons and scarred soldiers now mix and mingle not only with the people, but also with the now preserved open space, reverting back to a state of nature. Moss crawls up and over rusted metal window frames while red-tailed hawks construct nests in sheltered corners. Northern Californian wildflowers and bright orange poppies sprout up toward the midday sun between cliffs like cracks in old pavement. However, these stone bunkers are anything but decrepit and stark; in addition to a welcomed attack by native Coyote brush and silvery lupine buds, every shade of the rainbow of graffiti colors and doodles, from neon green words of a poem to fiery red, orange, and yellow abstract triangles and squares, revive crumbling cement walls. The bunkers are a sign of resident visitation and a new generation of Headlands meanders. In a completely different response than the religious tradition of the Miwok hundreds of years ago, a new generation instinctually understands the spiritual feeling of the Marin Headlands, whether just hiking up to take in the view of the Bay, or to see the built environment and nature all tangled up together.
Extending my sleepy muscles, I brace myself for the thrilling chill of the fog and step out into the refreshing breeze, immediately awakened by the moist droplets settling on my face and rejuvenated by the intoxicating smell of nature: moist dirt, nearby salty sea water, and chalky dust. My worries fall off my shoulder with each step on the tranquil earth as we embark on the three mile journey we have done too many times to count, yet each time welcomes a new adventure and gracious interaction with nature, like finally reuniting with an old friend you haven’t seen in a while.
In my twenty years living in Marin, Ihave yet to encounter any resident who does not jump at the opportunity to take full advantage of our surrounding natural landscapes, such as the Marin Headlands and its abundant trails, beaches, and peaceful treasures, each so innate to defining this county’s place. Playing such an important role to both the ecosystem and its residents, be it human or animal, it is troubling to imagine Marin stripped of its natural personality as climate change realities spread rapidly around the globe. An overwhelming amount of climate and natural resource-related data collected by well-respected scientific institutions declare hard to ignore connections between over abundant human consumption of natural resources, such as fossil fuels, and the frightening depletion of our Earth. While our human society craves more power and repeats the deadly mantra “Bigger is better,” our planet’s temperature unnaturally rises as we burn more and more fossil fuels, adding seven billion tons of carbon to the atmosphere. At the same time, deforestation, or clear cutting entire forests, inhibits the lungs of the planet to suck the dangerous levels of carbon out of the air and transform it into oxygen; consequently, this circular system of human greed and irresponsibility alters the diversity and success of our natural ecosystems, from the spooky Cypress trees to the Elephant Seal on the coast, and even our human friends and family. With a frighteningly unsure future steaming full speed ahead, what happens when home is stripped of its natural identity?
Although we cannot predict what the looming future holds in its firm grip, the past lingers waiting to be rediscovered, thick with layers of knowledge and personalities anxious to be peeled back like a red onion. Dating back to 1770, the Marin Headlands represented home to the Native American Coastal Miwok tribe, a collection of about 2,000 people now marked as the first human interaction with nature in Marin. The hunting and gathering Coastal Miwok tribe lived in peace with their sublime natural surroundings, forming villages on the rocky slopes and plateaus of the Headland’s historic geological formation towering over the deep blue Pacific Ocean. With a spiritual mythology grounded in a belief of animal and human spirits, the Coastal Miwok respected the power of native animals, welcoming the coyote as both family, ancestor and creator god, in addition to the awesome power of the natural habitat, believing the Earth was sparked with a small chunk of land shaped out of the endless Pacific Ocean.
The Coastal Miwok were dead on in their immediate respect and appreciation for the sea-cliffed headlands they called home. The Marin Headlands sits delicately on the boundary between two of the Earth’s great tectonic plates, the North American and Pacific plates. Perhaps the best known feature of California and responsible for vibrating the ground every so often, the San Andreas Fault Zone forms a boundary known as a transform fault, where the North American and Pacific plates slide past each other. Moving an average of one inch per year, the San Andreas Fault lays claim to creating the rugged terrain picture perfectly framing the Golden Gate’s infamous entrance to the San Francisco Bay. Today the Marin Headlands rocky landscape consists of multiple layers of oceanic sequence, from basaltic crust covered by overlying sandstone, evidence of an amazing geological location nearly ten million years in the making.
More recently, after colonization and industrialization shaped the blossoming city of San Francisco in the 1800s (for better or for worse), the Headlands became a key location for military settlements and fortifications to deter hostile ships from entering the prized port of the San Francisco Bay. During World War II, several more military installations built on Hawk Hill, the earthen center point for the Marin Headlands skyline and home to the largest known flight of raptors in the Western states, fortified San Francisco from aerial bombardment and high caliber guns. Today all previous military sites have returned to civilian use, although the Headlands will never again be recognizable to the Coastal Miwok tribe of the untouched past. Stone bunkers and batteries once housing cold steel weapons and scarred soldiers now mix and mingle not only with the people, but also with the now preserved open space, reverting back to a state of nature. Moss crawls up and over rusted metal window frames while red-tailed hawks construct nests in sheltered corners. Northern Californian wildflowers and bright orange poppies sprout up toward the midday sun between cliffs like cracks in old pavement. However, these stone bunkers are anything but decrepit and stark; in addition to a welcomed attack by native Coyote brush and silvery lupine buds, every shade of the rainbow of graffiti colors and doodles, from neon green words of a poem to fiery red, orange, and yellow abstract triangles and squares, revive crumbling cement walls. The bunkers are a sign of resident visitation and a new generation of Headlands meanders. In a completely different response than the religious tradition of the Miwok hundreds of years ago, a new generation instinctually understands the spiritual feeling of the Marin Headlands, whether just hiking up to take in the view of the Bay, or to see the built environment and nature all tangled up together.
On the western side of the Marin Headlands natural reserve facing the salty Pacific Ocean coast, Dominic and I continue along the Tennessee Valley trail of our hike (somehow when I was not looking, it transformed into a full fledged adventure run) cutting through the natural gorge in the rocky topography. Zipping past the wooden sign marking just one more mile until the end of the trail, I forget all about the shortness of my breath or the tightness in my bare legs and become fully rejuvenated by the patchy fog we weave in and out of. Like a 2nd grade school girl running wildly and carefree through the playground, I dip and dodge over babbling brooks running delicately across the moist dirt path and run circles around the native sage scrub poking its twig arms up past my legs toward the fog drenched sun.
A rabbit rustles and hops quickly by in the tall green brush neighboring our path; I, of course, tug on Dominic’s sleeve, startling him aware of every little wildlife occurrence I spot with my eyes wide open like the red-tailed hawk that swirls above. A pair of deer halts as our muddy tennis shoes crunch into the graveled dirt path, then quickly prance off through a salad bar of chartreuse California sage and endless Bay Laurel and Wallflower blossoms gently swaying in the wind. Perhaps I am not hunting for a delicious lunch like the red-tailed hawk or the strong mountain lion prowling in the mountains above us, but rather for a quick glimpse of the other communities sharing their home here in Marin County. I hope to catch the eye of a squirrel dashing across the dirt for a mid morning snack, or a red and turquoise coast garter snake slithering through the Coyote brush after a yellow banana slug moving at a snail’s pace. I smell the salty musk of ocean spray begin to fill the damp air as warm sweat beads build on my moist forehead. My heart beats steadily while the chill in the fog burns into my chest with each burst of oxygen I quickly inhale, the same oxygen I share with my fellow members of this ecosystem: the jack rabbit and deer, the garter snake and the blowing Bay Laurel.
It is here in Marin County’s landscape, from the rocky formations of the Marin Headlands to the undulating hills of my backyard in Lucas Valley, where I have grown up with nature as not just the backdrop to typical childhood memories, like the day my two front teeth were kicked out in 1st grade, but rather nature as an added motherly figure to my own personal growth and development. I learned to appreciate the peace of mind and joy greater than happiness that can only be brought on by the simple combination of fresh air, interaction and exercise, and the beauty of Marin’s pastoral green hills and sandy beach inlets. Now supposedly “grown” up and in college, I am strikingly aware of the unique experience I have had with nature and its impact on my call to protect the natural home I grew up in. As our global society drowns in the realities of climate change and the lethal impacts of our dangerously irresponsible treatment of the one Earth we have been given, I often feel struck and paralyzed with fear for the future of the treasured ecosystem I call home. I am saddened for the children who will not be raised in the arms of Marin’s hills and valleys like I have, or even for anyone who does not understand the importance of our interconnectedness with nature and all those things that only our Earth can give us, be it the freedom (and Vitamin D) of a sunny day in May or the freshwater that trickles down the womanly figure of Mt. Tamalpais.
All of a sudden, while my mind busily soars through the redwood trees and searches for the next wild animal, Dom and I shoot around the corner down the now sandy and beach worn path to our hike’s destination. With the midday sun finally peeking through as the fog burns away, Tennessee Valley beach sits proudly between two sky scraping cliffs, rocky but every so often graced by sprouting greenery and golden poppies. I race Dominic past a pile of drift wood and group of school children out on a field trip to the breaking waves’ edge, and we splash our sweaty faces with the cool, salty water of the Pacific Ocean. With adrenaline pumping through by body, I relax and lie down on the soggy sand and gaze up at the fast moving fog as it crosses inland toward the hilly trail we just conquered. I think back to the Miwok tribe who first populated this pebbly beach inlet and picture their spiritual gatherings, and then look up to the bunker tagged in bright hues of orange, pink, and blue, and imagine military men perched on the edge of the steel gray rock face, peering out at the horizon that seems to go out forever into the vast Pacific Ocean.
Finally, I pull my mind back into the moment and in one sudden strike of realization, it hits me. Perhaps this is the moment I am to treasure throughout these times of environmental hardship and the hovering unknown future. Perhaps this connectedness with my place, with the animals I meet along my path, and the wild plants surrounding me define this joy I feel right in this moment. This understanding and relationship with nature has forever changed me for the better, and it is my job to share this with others before it is too late.
No comments:
Post a Comment