Treebeard, Meet Sherman

CEBU, Philippines - New Jersey has malls. New York has skyscrapers. California has trees.

Great big giant trees like the sequoia and redwood. They must be cousins of Treebeard (one of the Ents, the tree-like creatures of Fangorn forest from The Lord of the Rings).

We’ve been on a tree-viewing expedition these past few weeks, first with friends of mine in Armstrong Redwoods State Natural Reserve.

As we walked on the trail among the giant trees, my friend said the setting reminded her of Twilight (we pictured Edward scaling the trees) while my other friend said it reminded her more of The Chronicles of Narnia. Meanwhile, the massive trees made me think of The Lord of the Rings.

In Armstrong Redwoods State Natural Reserve, the oldest tree in the grove is the Colonel Armstrong tree which is 1,400 years old. We humans are lucky if we reach a hundred. Imagine what Colonel Armstrong has seen in the last 1,400 years.

In Sequoia National Park, we meet General Sherman, the largest living specimen on the planet. Though it is not the tallest tree at 275 feet, it is the most massive, with its trunk measuring 36 feet in diameter. (At 275 feet, would Sherman bully Treebeard, who is only 14 feet tall? Would Sherman give Treebeard a wedgie?)

According to the refrigerator magnet I bought (and refrigerator magnets don’t lie), sequoia trees can grow taller than space shuttles, and can grow as tall as the Statue of Liberty. Humans are to the sequoia as ants are to humans.

After Sequoia National Park, my husband and I went on to Yosemite National Park. I stood at the bottom of Lower Yosemite Falls and felt like a speck in the universe. Meanwhile, the view from Glacier Point was astounding: great wide valley bellow, incredible rock formations across the way including Half Dome, and clear blue sky overhead. In terms of beauty, Nature can kick a Victoria’s Secret model’s butt.

While driving in Yosemite, we see a pair of gray foxes crossing the narrow road. One “poses” as I take its picture from the safety of the car. The other disappears into the trees.

While we were in Yosemite, I was reading Jack London’s Call of the Wild, where the protagonist, a dog named Buck, revels in being out in the wild: hunting salmon and moose for food, digging a hole in the ground to protect himself from the cold night air, drinking from the stream and running with his wild brother the wolf. The book inspires feelings of being one with nature and embracing the outdoors.

But outdoors it was 30 degrees Fahrenheit. I shivered and quickly walked back to the car. I got inside and cranked up the heat.