It’s inevitable.

Whether visiting, living in, or simply reading about the Sierra Nevada mountains, eventually you will come upon John Muir’s famous quote:

The mountains are calling and I must go…

In the ten days since coming upon a mama bear and her cubs in my kitchen, I’ve had to adjust to a new normal. We now have an electric fence that operates like a burglar alarm to discourage repeat visits. I am more vigilant about letting our pup roam on our property, no longer without supervision. I’m quick to ascertain the direction and distance of barking dogs, often a signal that a bear is nearby.

But the mountains are calling!

May 12th; a lot of snow surrounding the small reservoir near our property 

Spring snow melt: on the right: May 8th; on the left: May 17th

Part of my daily routine is to get outside with my dog and hike each morning. Sometimes a short mile; sometimes 3-5. We had over 700 inches of snow this year. Stubborn berms cling to shady spots on the forest floor. Overnight temperatures dip below 40 degrees. Thunderstorms blow through many afternoons and evenings. My husband is working on our garden boxes, but I’m not confident I will get tomatoes or greens planted before mid-June. It remains to be seen whether we will have a long spring and a short summer or a short spring and a regular summer.

But one thing I look forward to every year is the emergence of snow plants.

They appear tucked close to tree trunks or downed logs, a symbiotic relationship involving tree roots and fungi. Typically, they grow in a spot warmed ever-so-briefly by sunshine. They never bloom in the same place as prior years. And often they emerge in a clump of two or three or more, like a family of forest gnomes that quietly show up when you’re not looking.

 

Last week, I set out on familiar trails, marveling at the snow that remains, and from a short distance a spot of bright red caught my eye. There! First snow plant of the season! A sure sign, spring is here! Within days, a couple more appeared. Soon I will no longer keep track, not because there will be hundreds. They are not prolific like mule ear or manzanita. The snow flower is a random gem, spring’s delight, beckoning me into the mountains.

 

snow flower: a haiku

subterranean

scarlet surprise emerges

high sierra joy

 

©2023, Patricia J. Franz

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