One thing I miss about Northern California is the big trees.
We had one in our old backyard. I loved the occasional trip to the Redwood grove, where my paws walked on the soft, sandy ground and trampled the needles, giving off a unique musty scent that only the Redwoods can do.
It was wonderful that GraceAnne and Gabriel got married under a Redwood canopy.
The very next day, we showed our pastor and his family Armstrong Woods because they wanted to walk amongst the big trees.
I think they enjoyed themselves because we don’t have trees like this in Tennessee. You can barely see me next to Colonel Armstrong, the oldest tree in the grove.
We walked along and found a fallen tree’s old roots. It looks like a herd of octopus legs tangled up.
Another downed tree had people’s names carved in it. If you look closely, my name is in this tree.
But neither my mom nor I would desecrate a thousand-year-old tree or anything, for that matter. My mom is more of tree-preserver than a destroyer.