I Like Hike

I was getting grouchy.  [It happens.]  I just spent hours scouring my books of Southern California hiking trails.  I plan monthly hikes for a mixed group of hikers from our church.  In order to avoid last-minute, month by month scheduling, I try to plan six months of hikes twice a year.  This morning was our last scheduled hike, and people are asking expectantly, "Where are we hiking next month?"

Thank you for enthusiasm.

But I don't know.

Each trail must be carefully selected to meet the demands of our hikers.  Not too steep.  Not too long.  Not too far away.  Something pretty.  Time to meander and chat with our friends.  Because we want to be outdoors in a natural setting, but really we want to enjoy time together.

Thank you for strolls along scenic paths with nice folks.

So I'm looking at page after page and map after map of trail after trail [you get it, this was tedious and fruitless].  And I kept griping, "Ugh, we've been there; we've done that."  I actually started to feel like a failure for having to start taking the group on trails we've done before.  And then it struck me:  This group has been hiking one Saturday a month for about four years, maybe more.  We've gone hiking so much, we've run out of new trails to explore.  I shouldn't be complaining.  I should be celebrating!  Here is something to be thankful for.

Thank you for running out of trails and time and energy to do them again.

None of this would be possible, of course, without all the dedicated people who have worked so hard to make sure that the natural wild lands would remain so.  We are surrounded, here in the San Fernando Valley, by a patchwork of city, county, state, and federal park lands rescued at various times from home or business development by volunteers working with government agencies to buy up land to preserve it in its natural state.  Much of the land was privately owned and donated for the cause.  [I LOVE these people!]

Thank you for the Santa Monica Mountains Conservancy, the Sierra Club, the California State Parks, and the National Park Service.

They have been tireless, caring stewards of God's creation.  These Santa Monica Mountains, with their Pacific Ocean and canyon vistas, ever rising from plate tectonics below and eroding from wind and rain above, are being preserved by some truly wonderful people.  Without them, that trail stretching from the south end of Reseda Blvd to the beach would have been another freeway.  The high, oak-dotted plateau overlooking the western border of the valley would have been checkered with streets within gated communities of posh homes, and the views overlooking Upper Las Virgenes Canyon would have been hidden behind fences, enjoyed only by the homeowners.  Instead, it's mine and yours and everyone's, and that's so cool.  The next time I'm out there I just might shout, "This is not a house and this is not a freeway, and it belongs to us all!"  [I may need someone to bail me outta jail, so stay near your phones.]

Thank you for all the people we don't know and will never meet but who make our lives better because they love this earth and work to preserve it.  Thank you, God, for the mountains and canyons and oceans.  

BTW, this is not a freeway to the beach

This is not a gated housing development

These are some nice folks

Thank you Betty and Gordon, Sally and Doug, Judy and Dave, Patty and Sal, Greg, Randy, Barbara, Jeri, Harriet, Karen, and Bob (and canines Brandy, Zack, and Charlie) for coming on the hike with me today.  Thank you, God, for, well, them.