Sierras

A piece I wrote when we moved out of our house to go to Canada in 2009.  Seems more poignant to me now that we are moving to Thailand and probably won’t be back for three years.

I'm not a guy who likes particularly cold weather. Summer is my preferred season. Nineties are nice. But there is something about being in the mountains in the early spring, when the snow still covers the higher peaks (and may even be falling as you watch). To take this in from Yosemite Valley or some other place between 4000 and 6000 feet elevation is really quite breathtaking.
In the morning the cool, heavy air descends from these high places, chilling the bones of those in the valleys. No, I don't really care to spend the night in these places, unless I'm in sturdy cabin with a fireplace. But I do enjoy driving up from the lowlands to these mountain valleys to begin a hike in the quiet stillness that is often present in these conditions.
I don't see many people on the trail if I start out early. Most people are loathe to leave the warmth of their beds. The hardest part is first leaving the car to put on my boots. And I don't want to overdress because I know I will quickly warm as I ascend the slopes around me.
Maybe my journey will bring me to some fresh snow and I get the honor to make the first human imprints into the soft, white carpet.
As I leave California the thought that I will be leaving this almost brings tears to my eyes. I will miss my Sierras. I will miss seeing them from my Kitchen when the atmosphere permits. I will miss the comfort of location they give me (they're always to the northeast of wherever I find myself in the San Joaquin Valley).
I will miss treading on their slopes. I will miss the cascades of water that carve out majestic canyons from the massive granitic batholiths.
I will miss the giant veins of marble that form structure of the caverns.
I will miss the marmots and the deer.
I will miss the overpowering fragrance of the blooming bear clover that seems to stay in my truck for weeks after I pass through it.
I will miss the red fir forests with the openness beneath their canopy. I will miss the melodic chants of the hermit thrush and the plaintive call of the chickadee. I will miss the montane lakes and the granite polished by the glaciers to a high gloss.
I will miss the grandeur of God's glory that overpowers me when I stand on a rocky, treeless peak.

I will miss the cuddly bears that effortlessly shred large logs with their claws in search of food.
I will miss the beauty of the poison oak plants and black oaks and willows when they put on their fall clothing.
I will miss the silvery trout swimming the cool mountain water--pleasing both to the eye and to the palette.
I will miss the meadows with their squishy soils. I will miss the wildflowers with their cacophony of color in the spring and summer.
I will miss the ancient trees that were alive when Jesus walked the earth.
How God ever contrived to create this large ball of rock and water whose restless skin breaks and bends and molds to form such majestic mountains is a mystery to me.
Did God know that the coat of ice and snow could carve such majestic monuments from the slabs of granite? Did He design it for us, so that our eyes could be overwhelmed with the view of it? Did God design the clothing of the mountains-always seasonably and fashionably dressed?

Oh sweet Sierras, I will miss you.
I will miss your beautiful countenance in the morning and evening light.
I will miss touching my skin to yours, the intimate contact of my feet upon your side.
You stand as a firm foundation--a symbol of God's stability and the security God provides.
You have been a source of God's comfort and solace when my soul was troubled