Chapter Eleven #2
Mo then noticed how much wider these trees were, their deep reddish-brown color and thick, flowy bark letting her know they had reached the redwood grove Aspen promised.
She then followed Aspen’s advice and looked up.
The trees didn’t seem to stop, their height akin to most small skyscrapers.
There were bushy green puffs at the tops, like erasers on the ends of pencils, blocking out bits of the sky.
The view up was disorienting but breathtaking, and Mo was enthralled by how small she felt in comparison.
“This is a small grove, not normally accessed by regular hikers. Betty and some of the other rangers showed me that little path up here, and I always try to stop at least once when I hike the creek trail.”
Mo was unable to find words for Aspen, her mind in a struggle between the beauty and her own turmoil. She slowly let her head drop, taking in the width of these trees instead of processing the looming guilt she felt for how she was treating Aspen. “Can I touch one?”
“Sure.” Aspen pulled her pack off with ease and leaned it against a jagged stump. “That one there is about eight or nine feet in diameter.”
Mo walked to the tree in question, placing a hand against the interesting grain of the reddish bark.
As she studied it, she noticed how it was light brown in places where the bark was rubbed off.
She slowly walked around the base, gliding her hand along the uneven bark to feel the peaks and valleys as she moved.
At one point she noticed a large black spot where bark was missing.
It ran up the side of the tree so high that Mo couldn’t tell where it ended.
“It’s black here.”
“Tannic acid. The trees produce it to combat bugs,” Aspen explained. “On some trees, though, the black is where a tree has been partially burned during a wildfire or some other fire incident.”
Mo touched it, feeling the edges of the grain. The black didn’t take away from the tree’s majesty, but it definitely put its fragility into question. Or in the case of tannic acid, its ability to persevere.
“Cool.”
“Yeah.”
“I love it here,” Mo finally said, her head on a swivel.
“You do?”
“Yeah, I think…I think Annie would have loved this too.”
“From what you’ve told me about her so far, I’d agree. I’ve hiked out here just to sit, relax, and even read. It’s one of the few places I feel truly at peace.”
“Hmm,” Mo mumbled, her mind’s eye instead focused on trying to imagine a blurry image of Annie frolicking amongst the trees. But all she could muster was a feeling of regret and deep-seated sorrow. Every day it was harder to remember what she looked like.
“How does it make you feel?” Aspen asked, stepping closer.
“I feel…”
“Safe?” Aspen offered, cocking her head to the side as she watched Mo turn.
“No.” Annie’s image disappeared from her mind. The thick, towering trees and their enormous footprint. The shaded grove floor littered with dead leaves, only a few plants having learned to thrive. It led her to one feeling, and one feeling only. “I feel…insignificant.”
“Is that good?”
“It’s familiar,” Mo replied honestly, catching Aspen’s deep-brown eyes gazing at her. Just as her feet tried to move her toward Aspen, her brain made her turn away. “I’m kinda hungry.”
“Oh.” Aspen sighed. “Right. I’ve got some energy bars in the top pouch.”
Mo nodded, choosing not to reply as she reached for the zipper.
* * *
The pair didn’t talk the entire hike back to the main trail.
Instead, Mo just silently observed Aspen’s careful descent, the orange phone almost taunting her as it bounced around.
Her muscles were on fire, and she silently wondered if she would have even made it to the grove with her pack. How did Aspen make it look so easy?
Would it have been as easy for Annie?
“Must be marshmallows in her boots,” Mo mumbled grumpily under her breath, gripping a tree for dear life as she tried to safely inch down the last small vertical slide before returning to the actual trail.
“Your pack is undisturbed,” Aspen announced, lifting it easily and walking it to a stump closer to Mo.
“Thanks.” Mo grimaced, pain shooting from her knees down through her shins. “Are we done?”
“Are you tired?”
Mo checked her watch, the time ticking closer to four. “We’ve been walking all day.”
“True.”
“Musta been miles,” Mo complained, sitting on the stump next to her pack before rolling her fists along her aching calves. “I’m old.”
“It’s actually less than two from the lot, though I did take you three-fourths of a mile up an incline and back.” Aspen checked her own watch. “Yeah, we should move out to the creek and find a spot for the night.”
“Why not here?” Mo asked snidely, the idea of carrying her pack even ten feet more sounding like the end of the world. “It’s flat-ish.”
“Not allowed. We can only camp along the creek bed.”
“That’s stupid.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Yeah,” Mo snapped, sliding her arms into the shoulder straps begrudgingly. “It is. I hate it.”
Aspen didn’t answer her immediately, instead pulling out a map and analyzing it. “We are in the dispersed camping zone, I just need to pick a spot. Do you want me to carry your pack?”
That offer exasperated Mo more, and she scoffed. “I got it.”
“Okay.” Aspen turned and trotted back to the trail, leaving Mo to struggle with her straps.
A minute later, Mo caught up and followed her off the trail toward the creek bed, stepping carefully on sand instead of the more precarious rocks.
“The bridge everyone uses is over there.” Aspen pointed to their left before moving right toward a bend. “Let’s go find somewhere over here so we aren’t right in the way of any hiker’s path.”
Mo followed Aspen along the rocky bank toward the bend, silently praying for Aspen to pick a spot, any spot. Right as they rounded it, Mo heard Aspen whistle and increase her pace, finally standing on a patch of sand free of large rocks.
“I think this is as flat as we are going to get.”
“Finally,” Mo exclaimed, dumping her pack to the ground as quickly as she could. “My feet are on fire.”