Something will have gone out of us as a people if we ever let the remaining wilderness be destroyed; if we permit the last virgin forests to be turned into comic books and plastic cigarette cases; if we drive the few remaining members of the wild species into zoos or to extinction; if we pollute the last clean air and dirty the last clean streams and push our paved roads through the last of the silence, so that never again will Americans be free in their own country from the noise, the exhausts, the stinks of human and automotive waste.
Wallace Stegner, The Wilderness Letter, written to the Outdoor Recreation Resources Review Commission, 1962 and subsequently in “The Sound of Mountain Water” (1969)
Ecuador was the first country to officially recognize the rights of nature in 2008. Rather than treating nature as property, Ecuador recognized that nature has constitutional rights and has the “right to exist, persist, maintain and regenerate its vital cycles.” “Rights of nature” means that ecosystems and natural communities are not merely property that can be owned, but are entities that have an independent right to exist and flourish.” In November 2010, the city of Pittsburgh in western Pennsylvania became the first major municipality in the United States to recognize rights for nature.
Priscilla Woolworth, 2019
Will California follow the example of Ecuador and Pittsburgh? Go North towards Antelope Valley and the super bloom of orange poppies are prevalent as far as the eyes could see.
Drive South to Anza-Borrego or east towards Joshua National Tree and the wildflowers of different colors are in full bloom.
A drive towards southeastern San Luis Obispo and Carrizo Plain’s 246,812 acres of national monument promises a spectacular extravaganza of wildflowers in bloom, known as California goldfield flowers. Others describe these wildflowers as yellow daisies, tiny violets, and lavenders.
“In the foothills, golden brush shrubs begin to bloom, gleaming with bright yellow petals. The supple purple of the bush lupines will bless the scenery along with pale yellows of the loco weed. Depending on the year, poppies will litter the landscape with plump orange petals,” according to the Bureau of Land Management in 2016.
Nurturing respect for mother nature’s wildflowers
“Mama, are we going home now?”
“No, we are going on an adventure,” Mom responds, as she grips the steering wheel and describes where we are headed.
It is where the clouds awaken your spirit, made weary by streets with large potholes, untrimmed trees and uncollected trash in LA City. It is where colors of hot pink, purple, yellow, orange are in the hills. It is as if Monet painted the hillsides with these colors, almost an artist’s palette.
Princess, a pseudonym for my four-year-old granddaughter, calls them out: “yellow, purple, orange, and rainbow.”
“But there are no rainbow hills,” I said.
“I color them on paper, Grandma,” she said.
It is where we went on unpaved roads, “off roading,” surrounded by vibrant yellow daisies on both sides of the road. It is where the birds are tweeting so loud that my granddaughter pointed north, “You hear them over there.” It is where you see patches on the mountain, from 30 miles away, carpeted by wildflowers that you get so excited at seeing the possibilities of thousands of blooms.
In one section, my daughter C saw a small rabbit and said, “Princess, there goes a bunny.”
“It is almost Easter, I would greet the bunny ‘Gung Hai Fat Choy,’” Princess answered.
“Princess, that means Happy New Year,” Mom explained.
“But, the bunny does not know that,” Princess said, with her celebrated wit.
We all could not stop laughing.
“Stop laughing,” she said. Even at 4 years old, she has boundaries.
“Sweetheart, when grandma laughs, she likes what you are saying. She is not laughing at you. She is not making fun of you,” Mom explained.
I almost choked to the point of an asthma attack, holding back my laughter, my joy really!
Purple, orange, yellow carpeted hills
My favorite daughter C enthusiastically points to the hills, as if Monet painted them, not with pastel shades, but vibrant yellows, purples and oranges.
The season had just started. What happens then when the orange mini flowers grow more in two weeks or so? I imagine these poppies would bloom, much like Lake Elsinore’s Walker Ranch’s super bloom early March. You feel closer to the Creator and overcome by gratitude for what He created. I could not contain my delight, and the blooms seemed enough, keeping me inspired for days. Lunch was half-eaten, as I felt satisfied, not needing more.
I imagine the Ryan Cayabyab Singers (RCS) singing, “The Hills Are Alive,” like Julie Andrews did, but with RCS’ signature dance moves, complete with a wheeled-in Steinway piano. I continue to imagine Maestro Ryan Cayabyab, the Philippines’ National Artist on Music, playing with gusto all the pieces he wants to, absent an audience. I imagine the music he would play would be out of the 12 musicals he has created, the last one, from, Larawan, based on Nick Joaquin’s plays, which got the best musical score award at the Metro Manila Film Festival 2017.
Joy from flowers
“Mama, I am very very happy here. Great flowers to bring me here. I like seeing all the colors.”
“Mama, I do not want to leave, I like it here.” She perhaps has her agenda: to look for ladybugs, as we just pointed to a giant one.
“Don’t step on the wildflowers. They will say, ‘Ouch, it hurts, stop,’” she said.
We got off our vehicle to walk up the trails. She ran so fast to the top of the trail, then ran down to get me and took my hand: “Here Grandma, let me help you.”
As we got up the trail, I thanked her.
When we got home to eat dinner, she laid out the spoons for us and handed us a pint of ice cream, but withheld the last one, which she likes.
Her mom reminded her to share both. She got off her chair and took out another pint to share: lavender honey and a prior one, cacao nibs with mint.
“Hmm, delicious,” I exclaimed and took a few spoons.
Days later, she remembered and whispered: “Grandma, thank you and Lolo for coming to my house for dinner.”
I kissed her and said, “Welcome, we are so happy to be with you. We love you so much.”
After our goodbyes, she gave me a purple heart with glitter.
“Is this mine?” I asked. “Oh my Princess, you really know I love hearts, huh?” She nodded.
Would your heart not melt if you spent this kind of a day, surrounded by nature’s wildflowers, whose energies somehow are absorbed?
Will you gain an appreciation for every wildflower, even the miniatures, similar to recognizing a four-year-old’s warmth and compassion as her mom’s positive spirits?
The blowing winds gave us such a chill, realizing “the mountains are calling” as John Muir once said and “going to the mountains is going home.” We headed northeast.
Mammoth lakes
Home feels serene and pristine. We passed by Lake Palmdale, nearly four miles inshore length where trout fishing is an attraction. Lupines and mustard wildflowers saturated the hillsides with purple and yellow colors. The palette changed to red rock in the canyons as we approached Red Rock Canyon State Park a popular site for camping.
The desert has more in store for us literally, in the form of windmills generating power, whose blinking red lights on the horizon indicate power generation and power transfer at night, and acreage of solar panels absorbing the sun’s power to generate energy for our population’ s use.
As we approach Highway 395, gray rain clouds threatened the serenity of our very scenic ride. Pelting sounds of rain on the rooftop of the vehicle could be heard. Both sides of Highway 395 had snow-capped mountains. It was blinding pristine white as far as the eyes could see.
A local told us it was snowing since Thanksgiving. It is now mid-March. It started with 3-feet high snow, and by Valentine’s Day, 10-feet snow covered the main highway which was subsequently shut down. “Please hand me the shovel,” a worker said to me, while four others scooped the snow off the rooftop of a storefront business. I handed it to him, while he retrieved it, halfway down the ladder.
A frozen Convict Lake greeted us. It is described as “nestled in the aspens of Convict Canyon, below the towering peak of Mount Morrison and adjacent to a 170-acre crystal clear lake, Convict Lake Resort,” according to its website.
I watched two skiers come downhill the Mini Morrison Chute Ski. It took four hours to walk up the ascent and the “cheap thrill downhill ski was 20 minutes,” a skier told me. Their priceless big smiles said it all. We then drove to the Mammoth Mountain Ski Area, an 18-foot high snow bank, dwarfing our nine-foot high vehicle. A crowd of skiers waited for their lift to the snow line. They all looked so tiny as they skied the mountain so thick with snow. As they got off skiing, a refreshing look of satisfaction was apparent on their faces.
“The Earth has taken excellent care of us – let’s return the favor,” Oprah asserts in April 2019’s The Oprah Magazine.
More than returning the favor, we must follow the example of Ecuador and Pittsburgh that recognizes the “constitutional rights of nature to exist, persist, maintain and regenerate its vital cycles.”
Published on Asian Journal