Eaton Canyon
8 Jul 2013
I love that living is such a dynamic process. We’re always changing and growing, to the extent that sometimes things about our former selves can be delightfully baffling. Take this, for example: I used to not care very much about nature. As a kid, I was way more into reading than being outside (perhaps this had something to do with my negative sports abilities?). As a teenager, I was into writing angsty diatribes in my journal, daydreaming in libraries, and wandering through museums. In college, oh my heavens, I loved the snow, and it’s probably the only thing that really dragged me away from my computer and my piles of books. I had some kind of nature guilt, I would say. Whenever I did spend time in beautiful places, I was upset that I wasn’t more inspired by them. I felt like I wasn’t enjoying them the way I should, that I couldn’t really enter into them. This strange detachment from the world around me went on until my early years in grad school. I remember going to Point Reyes with seminar reading in my backpack (the memory makes me cringe) and feeling unable to separate the sand blowing in my face and the biting bugs from the scenic views. I remember going to see the pygmy cypresses near Fort Bragg with my brother and wondering why these little trees, so incredibly rare, failed to move me.
As we were wandering through Eaton Canyon this weekend, I was wondering what on earth finally jolted me from that sense of detachment. It was California, I thought, at first. I know of few people who could remain unmoved by the ridiculous bounty of the Bay area’s plant life, its almost obscenely gorgeous natural geographic features. I remember being stunned on my walks to and from school as I saw flowers I had never seen before in my life. And that was part of it, to be sure. But it was also Nabokov who taught me to see. It was Nabokov who taught me the value of knowing the names of things, of holding them close to my heart, of appreciating that most things only grow in certain parts of the world, and so whatever part of the world you found yourself in, you were in for a spectacular treasure hunt. I sat in on a Nabokov course on in my second year, and suddenly I was thinking of foxgloves as shy girls with freckles, perpetually looking down at their feet. I was imagining the pine needles dashed by the rain into the vertical surface of concrete steps as nature’s five o’ clock shadow. I was exulting in the tiniest new sprouts of ivy leaves, shiny as fresh shellac, considering them the newborns of the world of crawling shrubbery. Suddenly, everything was so beautiful. Everything was so unique. Everything was so fleetingly perfect, so secretly majestic, so playfully hidden in plain sight. It was one of the most joyous times in my life. I still count it one of my treasures, one of the building blocks of who I am.
Nabokov and Northern California won me over, and when Eric and I started dating, we did lots of exploring the outdoors together. Neither of us is a serious hiker, but we loved to walk through redwood groves and visit tide pools and learn about all the cacti and rock formations in the desert. Eric is a naturally curious person, and it’s one of the things I love best about him. In the trips that we took together, nature explorations became less of a bonus and more of a main event for me. It was like a whole new world opening up before me.
We saw the Painted Desert and the Petrified Forest, we rode to the top of a snowy peak in Aspen, we strolled along every river and stream we came upon. Moving to Southern California, though, was a bit of a jarring experience at first. I missed the freesia and the jasmine and the redwoods and the almond trees. I couldn’t quite wrap my head around the muted colors of the desert, the lower and squatter types of plants, the flat plains and the dry and craggy mountains. But now I love them. They hold a beauty all their own.
I’ve seen such incredibly improbable succulents here, and more tiny scurrying lizards than I can shake a stick at (not that I would…that wouldn’t be nice). I’ve come to love the sound of sandy gravel crunching under my feet, the sight of one huge agave standing sentinel over a hillside, the scent of wild sage and sweet grass so intoxicating I am convinced I must somehow bottle it up as a perfume. I love it.
So, these are a few of the thoughts that were flying through my head as Eric and I hiked around for a few hours at Eaton Canyon, which is not too far from where we live. It was a happy Saturday excursion. We both wore our hats, and the heat was tempered by a cool canyon breeze. We laughed and smiled and held hands and talked about big things and little things. We pointed out things to each other and said, “Wow.” We felt grateful to be together. We went several miles into the forest, following a lively stream, but we didn’t make it all the way to the waterfall. We’ll have to save it for another day when we get an earlier start, since it was still quite a ways beyond the place where we turned around. (I realize that the sign is misleading–it is not dangerous to go to the waterfall, just to try to climb up to the top of it. Don’t worry, Mom, we would never do that).
Here is my mountain man, having a granola bar break. He says now he understands why the early settlers of Pasadena headed to the canyons in the summer–it’s so much cooler!
All along the way, I was mesmerized by the footprints in the sand. They looked like hieroglyphics to me–so beautiful. I took so many photos of them, and I might make a little photo essay out of them.
This whole experience, and the fact that I’d jump at the chance to explore a natural preserve on a Saturday afternoon, reminds me of a few lines from an e. e. cummings poem that I love so dearly:
(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)
There’s almost nothing I treasure more in this world than my open eyes, my awakened ears. I remember what it was like when they were closed. And now I’ll never take for granted what a gift it is to see, to hear.

Jul 08, 2013 @ 04:10:40
Beautiful shots. Very enjoyable. The sign is perfect. It adds mystery to the whole adventure! I love snow too!
Jul 15, 2013 @ 19:36:26
Thank you! Exploring is the best:)
Jul 08, 2013 @ 04:55:15
I was like that too! No appreciation of nature whatsoever until I was, I don’t know, well in my twenties. I remember on trips with my family my Mum trying to show me beautiful sights and me not even wanting to raise my head from my book, and just not ‘getting it’ even when I did. These days I love the countryside, and beautiful places, and sadly don’ live as near to them as I would like! I can see beauty everywhere though, even in the flowers in my little back yard.
Jul 08, 2013 @ 07:20:28
I love this post!!!! What a beautiful way of entering into a new realm of life. It really made me want to 1. Read more Nabokov and 2. Go outside and look!
Though going outside has been part of my life for a while, I’ve just now learned to settle into my experience without feeling like I’m intensely desiring something I can’t grasp. It’s interesting how we can feel so separated from our surroundings.
Jul 15, 2013 @ 19:39:14
This is so beautifully said (written!). There were so many times in my life when I wondered if I would ever overcome those feelings. Thankfully, it all worked itself out on its own. I would to do some noticing and/or read some Nabokov with you sometime if you ever want to. Also: excited for upcoming adventures! 🙂
Jul 08, 2013 @ 08:38:55
I read the post title as “eaten crayons”….need some new glasses of course. I like outside when the humidity is low, the temps comfortable (50 degrees!) and no bugs!! So you can imagine that all conditions lining up is rare.
As a teenager I would read instead of play with friends 🙂
Jul 15, 2013 @ 19:40:20
Eaten crayons! That would be funny! I know, we are often fighting the temperatures here. It doesn’t get humid, but the dry heat will cook you right up: yuck! Thankfully, this summer has not been bad so far…and fingers crossed that it stays that way!
Jul 08, 2013 @ 10:31:50
I love the hats that you and E are rocking.
Also, we, my friend, are two peas in a pod. I never cared about nature either when I was younger, but then something (not Nabokov for me; this is where our pod splits open) happened. I guess we both learned to let go of that seminar reading and then, as if magically, life–real seeing–started to happen. 🙂
Jul 15, 2013 @ 19:50:10
Aw, thank you! We are seriously dependent on them here, and they help so much with the heat! I totally agree about stepping outside of seminar reading–a whole new life opens up. I think California has a lot to do with it for me, but The Gift (Oh blessed Dar!) really made a difference too;) There is still some Nabokov I haven’t read–notably, Ada. Long distance book club? 🙂
Jul 08, 2013 @ 11:10:55
there is definitely something to be said for nature and a sense of exploration. i find that putting one foot in front of the other is meditative and takes me out of my head, allowing my mind to wander.
Jul 15, 2013 @ 19:56:32
This is beautifully spoken, though I am not at all surprised by that. Thank you:)
Jul 08, 2013 @ 13:27:30
Loved your thoughts 🙂 And if you like Eaton Canyon during the day you need to try one of the full moon moonlight hikes. You use your sense of hearing and smell almost more than sight, it’s a great experience!
Jul 08, 2013 @ 14:50:23
Thank you so much, Caren! 🙂 Wow, a moonlight hike sounds amazing! Thanks for the suggestion:)
Jul 08, 2013 @ 15:01:54
No Cal is more cold, wet, rainforest, and cloudy. Southern Cal is more warm, dry, desert, & sunny. Have y’all hiked up to the Mt Wilson Observatories?
Always be prepared for whatever whenever you hike up into the mountains.
Jul 15, 2013 @ 19:57:23
No, we haven’t been up there yet, but I definitely think we would drive! It’s a looooong way up to the top. Way too long for me!
Jul 08, 2013 @ 18:46:58
This is a breathtakingly beautiful post. I too did not have as much of an appreciation of the outdoors when I was younger, but I do now. I love to admire the naturally occurring color schemes and textures, and welcome the progression of the day. Each one is a little miracle. Glad you are soaking it all up! Thank you, Vladimir!
Jul 15, 2013 @ 19:57:57
Thank you indeed! I love seeing the way you see and reflect on your blog. Makes you feel so much closer, and that is the best:)