“Everyone needs beauty as well as bread, places to play in and pray in, where nature may heal and give strength to body and soul.” ~ John Muir.

When I first arrived in the US as a newly graduated nurse, I knew American History only vaguely.  So I was floored when, in an encounter with a team of doctors, when one heard my accent and found out I was English, he made a disparaging reference to the fact that the US had won the war of Independence, and something about the Boston Tea Party.  What? A tea party? In the years before the Google and other search engines, it was not that easy to sneakily look stuff up, and it was a while before I understood his snide comments.

The geography of North America I knew a little about.  Geography had been one of my favorite subjects in school, and I took both Geography and Geology at advanced level in my last two years of high school.  Which meant really fun field trips, like walking downstream, thigh high in a local river; stooping down to enter dark caves nearby; and visiting the University’s lab to hold ancient fossils like belemnites and trilobites.

My move to Miami to be with my future husband took me away from my beloved mountains.  Florida is flat! It took me a while to discover that South Florida is also home to a unique ecosystem: the Everglades, and the National Park there became one of my favorite places to introduce visitors to.  It still is. 

One of the gifts of retirement is to be able to move around freely, and this month has been one of road trips.  When in a new place, I use my handy smart phone to find local places of interest, and if possible, find a nearby National Park to visit.  As my friend, the fervent National Park advocate loves to point out, National Parks are not only places of great natural beauty, they also are curators of the stories of the people, culture and history of the area, bearing witness to all that has gone before.  This same advocate, Audrey Peterman, writes often of her epiphany on Cadillac Mountain in the Acadia National Park (you may read about it in her book Legacy on the Land, co-authored with her husband Frank).  Having seen her resonate with awe as she retold the story, I knew that if I ever got the chance, I had to visit that park.

This week I got that chance.  We drove from Connecticut, through Massachusetts, through New Hampshire (did you know that New Hampshire welcomes you with directional signs to the exit for a Liquor Store and Lottery Tickets?), and finally up through Maine.  I was fascinated, as we drove, to look at the variety of trees, so different from in South Florida, and the gorgeous variety of leaves in their Spring freshness, some laden with blooms, and everywhere this message of life, of rebirth.  Out came my phone taking photos of everything, asking for identification of this tree with white blossoms (pear); that shrub with shocking pinkish purple (rhododendron); that majestic tree with deep maroon leaves (not Japanese Maple, I know that one, is it Norway Maple?).  But the one I have so far not been able to identify has such delicate branches, that the sparce, lime green leaves appear to be floating, unattached to anything.

Acadia National Park did not disappoint.  There is something about the dappled light that filters through tall trees to the pine needle and acorn-strewn earth below.  There is something pulse-slowing about standing, sheltered by these trees, hearing the wind susurrating through the leaves, with birds well hidden in their branches, teasing you with their calls.  The Merlin app identified a whole new slew of birds, captured by sound only.  Yesterday alone I heard (according to Merlin) an Eastern Towhee, a Red-eyed Vireo, and a Black-capped chickadee, to name a few. 

The drive up Cadillac Mountain was special (you have to reserve a spot in advance).  We ascended over 1500 feet starting at sea level, up a smooth, winding road, with plenty of places to pull off and breathe, ooh and aah, and take photos.  The mountain is on an island amid islands, surrounded by water, and dotted with lakes, so the vistas provide land and sea and sky.  Up to the very top we went, to where the granite outcrops lay smooth and moss-covered, where alpine flowers and shrubs and occasional pines peep through.  It was fitting that the musical accompaniment on that drive was the Reggae messenger ‘Luciano’, singing: ‘It’s me again, Jah-Jah, as I fall on my knees and pray’, for the emotion that hits you (well, me, at least) is one of worshipful appreciation for the beauty of this planet.  How come?  When you think of the bare, creviced surface of the moon; the uninhabitable planets in our solar system, how did we get so lucky?

As I wandered along the path at the summit, stopping to gaze, to take photos, to read the posted informational and educational notices, I was bothered that other visitors didn’t seem to be as respectful as I was.  For I felt as if I was in church, where conversations are frowned upon, where silent contemplation is the norm.  I remembered reading about ‘thin places’, an ancient Celtic concept about places on earth where the veil between the physical and spiritual worlds is particularly thin, and wondered if this was one such place.

There is much more to write about this particular trip, about visiting Bar Harbor (the Key West of Maine), about admiring the architecture of Victorian houses (featuring gingerbread); thinking about the influence of England  in the many place names common to both (it was many years before I realized that New England was not one of the 50 states!), wondering about the life before the colonizers came. 

This continent, with all the variety of geographical and geological features, is a beautiful one, and thanks to the hard work and foresight of many, there are places preserved for posterity.  It was good to be high above the corruption and chaos that seems to rule our airwaves, but it was also a reminder that we have to be vigilant and vocal in our support of public lands, our protection of these National treasures, so that our grandchildren and their grandchildren may be like the ‘vacation rusticators’ of the 19^th century (I learned that term high on Cadillac mountain) able to get away from the pollution of the city to restore their souls in the rustic, undeveloped beauty of such National Parks.

On this Friday morning, as I relive the sights, sounds and smells of the past few days, I once more recommend nature as the antidote to the current political and global scene.  You may not be able to get to Maine, but there are areas of natural beauty wherever you look.  And if you can’t get there, remember your brain can be tricked by your imagination – seeing yourself in such places can reduce Cortisol output and increase the release of the happy hormones.  Stare at old photos, see yourself there.  We can create our own harmonious place wherever we are. 

Have a wonderful weekend, Family!

One Love!

Namaste.