The California Trip: Part One

Mums and I have just returned from California. Returning home, from "home", is a unique experience that perhaps many have never lived except in very unusual circumstances. Like ours.

I love flying. One of these days (hopefully this year!) I am going to get my private pilot’s license and then I can spend all the time I want just going in and out of the clouds - my favorite part of all.

We took off from Burlington early on Thursday morning and as we shot up through the whiteness and then suddenly emerged into the land of perpetual sun there above the clouds, it felt like we had just entered heaven. The sun painted the tops of the clouds with a glowing yellow halo, and the plane rose higher and higher above until the clouds were but a yellow and white carpet far beneath us. And somewhere down there, the miles were speeding by and the states were giving way to each other as we headed for Atlanta.

It was strange to be in Atlanta after only a couple of hours, and then it was for hardly any time at all, as we had scarcely twenty minutes of a layover between flights, and we had to run like crazy through the terminals to make it on time. We did get to ride on the in-airport train, though, which was fun enough to make up for anything.

And then we were off. I excitedly set my little airplane screen to map mode and settled in for the long wait, trying to be patient, watching as the land slipped by far below us, my eyes eagerly scanning the distance ahead to make out familiar land forms and the changing scenery of the country. Oklahoma went by. It looked beautiful down there. Kansas looked green. Colorado looked brown. It was all beautiful. I began to take like, hundreds of pictures. The Rockies came and went.

My excitement grew. People around me were sleeping, or reading, or watching movies, or eating… but I sat there, glued to the window and the magnificent view it afforded, watching for a sight of home. It took a long time. Utah went by slowly. The mountains down there called my name and I took too many pictures to count. Nevada came into view. The dry plains down there called my name. The little plane on my flight tracker screen edged closer to California.

I saw hills… I saw valleys… there was Reno… the Sierra Nevada range took shape out of the distance. And then, THERE IT WAS. Before I knew it I was looking down on the most beautiful lake I have ever seen, and the most beautiful mountains I have ever seen, and the little white dots of boats on the water, only partially obscured by smoky air.

I tried to swallow the lump in my throat. My eyes stung and my hands shook as I held the camera, balanced against the window, snapping picture after picture and knowing with a full heart that this was the first time I had seen the hills of “home” in two and a half years.

Lake Tahoe is, in a word, indescribable. California is, in a word, well, I don’t have any words for it. The hills rolled beneath me, green and brown and studded with Ponderosa pine and Manzanita and sage. The lake was an azure blue, so blue it took my breath away. The roads wound through the hills and canyons, far below, speaking of adventure and exploration and promise.

What a land! It is the land of my roots, the land of my childhood, the land of dreams. (Is it perfect in every way? No. Are there other places in this country that captivate me? Absolutely. But stay with me here – I have only just returned from that amazing place. :)

The plane started to descend. I watched the elevation monitor on my screen and gazed eagerly out the window as Tahoe fell away behind us and the valley, our valley, came into sight. There was Sacramento, there were the fields and orchards and canal banks of my memories, the dust clouds rising here and there as farmers are already beginning the harvest. It is a valley of agriculture. I snapped more pictures. The cornfields (oh! The cornfields!) lay brown and parched due to the widespread drought, but they looked beautiful to my eyes. I drank in the sight of the winding rivers and the cows in the fields and the thin line of highway 99 as it heads south towards Turlock.

The plane came lower. My heart was pounding as we neared the runway. I could see the shadow of the plane as it flew, low over farms and roads, and thundered in for a landing. Only a few seconds left now.

And then we were there. The wheels touched the pavement with a jolt and a squeal of brakes and I was once again on the ground, on land, IN California. I took a long breath. It was good to be home. It was indescribable. It was amazing.....

{stay tuned: the journal continues tomorrow}