Sequoia National Park

As I said in the Tulare Post, mom's cousin Tom Greisbach was nice enough to take a day off work and drive us up to Sequoia National Park in the Sierra Nevada Mountains. Tom picked us up at Mike Lampe's at noon on Wednesday May 28th, and told stories about his side of the family the whole way there. I discovered how extraordinary my great-grandparents were - with Grandpa Lampe starting the Lumber company and grandma keeping the books but still finding the time to teach young black girls in a time when that was mostly unheard of. A few of her children and grandchildren have run into former pupils who still sing grandma's praises, saying if not for her they would never have gone through college. I had no idea about all this rich family history out west, and am glad to have had the chance to learn all about it.

After stopping at Fr. Johnny's retreat center, we continued through the town of Three Rivers at the base of the mountains, where supposedly some movie stars have secluded vacation homes, and gradually made our way up the winding road to Sequoia.
It was beautiful. The higher peaks were covered in snow, and Tom explained the different seasons of the different elevations. It could be late spring at the bottom of the mountains, but winter and early spring the higher up you get. The vegetation changes depending on the elevation and there are many different micro-climates, each supporting an array of different species. We drove up and up, looking out the window at green, jagged mountains. The first stop was Hospital Rock, an Indian pictograph site in which Indians nursed a white explorer back to health. The red ink figures are still fully visible on the side of the huge boulder, which had come to rest thousands of years ago.


We continued the ascent until great Morrow Rock came into view above us, with clouds fragmenting upon contact and drifting over the top. We elected to come back to the rock later in hopes of the fog clearing for a better view. Soon we entered the Giant Forest, which is the exact elevation and climate for monstrous redwood trees.
Sequoia is home to the largest trees in the world and I couldn't believe the size of the small ones! Most of the trunks are charred and split at the base of the trunk, evidence of the trees having survived various forest fires over thousands of years. The spongy bark can be two-three feet thick and is fire-retardant, which explains why these giants are still standing. We parked and walked the trail to General Sherman, the largest tree and living entity on the planet. There are taller trees, but nothing rivals Sherman in mass. Neither words nor pictures can describe the magnificent presence of Sherman. The size and beauty of these leviathans must be experienced in person. Sherman is over 2200 years old, and over 100 feet in circumference. It is 36.5 feet in diameter and 180 feet tall. The largest Branch is 6.8 feet in diameter. We took pictures in front of Sherman, marveled at him, and piled back in the truck to go climb Morrow Rock.

As we climbed the rock stairway, we felt the clouds rushing through us. It was cold and misty, yet soothing as I breathed in the moist, mountain air. Every so often, there would be a break in the clouds and we could see the valley and road on which we came up. It was too foggy to see the 14,000 ft. high peaks across the way, but it was still incredible to stand out on the cliff and peer over the edge. The final stop in Sequoia was Crescent Meadow, which John Muir called "the gem of the Sierras." Sequoia is full of John Muir quotes and stories. The naturalist and writer once climbed to the top of a tall tree in a thunderstorm to revel in the natural beauty of the wilderness around him. Madness - I had found a new hero. Anyway, the meadow marks a break in the forest roughly the size of a football field, in which lush, emerald grasses grow out of saturated swampland. Across the middle lies a giant fallen redwood, where my great-grandfather had his picture taken decades earlier. Tom took my picture at the same spot so we could send it to Grandma Griesbach in Wisconsin. The afternoon sunlight struck the meadow producing electric shades and colors.
Tom said the Sierras were called the "range of light." I fully grasped what he was talking about. We walked around the glowing, heavenly meadow and paused at a trout stream where Tom used to fish. Small speckled trout still fought against the current under the small bridge. Blair vowed he could catch one with his bare hands, but Tom and I were too hungry to wait around for such a futile exercise.

Starving, we began the long descent through the park, stopping frequently to examine beautiful dogwood flowers and rare, red snow flowers. Tom was close to entering forestry school some time ago, so he was able to tell us the names of every plant species we encountered. We stopped to photograph a black bear, a mangy coyote, and a half- dozen mule deer. Tom took us out for a delicious, fancy dinner at the Gateway restaurant in Three Rivers. There was outside seating on a deck that was perched over one of the three rivers, and I ate sautéed scallops as it rushed below us. It was so nice of Tom to take a day off and show us the beautiful park where he spent so much time growing up. When he explained things, his face would light up with joy -making it easy to tell how much he truly loves this place. His kindness and generosity will never be forgotten.