Learning to Love the 'Boldt

"When you learn to love something, that's the moment that you lose it."

I am driving along Highway 101 in Southern Humboldt, after visiting a client in Garberville. This client was injured in a hit-and-run accident but fortunately for her she knew the person driving the other car. Still, she couldn't make the 60 mile drive to my office, so I went to her. Just another service of your friendly neighborhood lawyer.

So I'm driving along the Highway on a cold foggy morning. The fog is just lifting, draping the tree-covered hills like a wraith. There is something unutterably sad and beautiful about the scene; metaphoric in any way you wish to make it. The depression lifting? The veil being torn? The world being freed? Or merely another gray day in which one briefly glimpses Paradise?

I am not feeling particularly metaphoric mostly because I am so damned busy. I have family law papers to get out; investigation on a big marijuana case which needs to be finished; and some more doctors to contact on the personal injury case. I have a stack of files on the side of my desk that I want to get out before the end of the week. If not, I will have to come in Saturday morning and nobody wants that.

Still, as I drive along the highway, the lifting fog now crowning the trees seems to calm me. I don't know why but I am suddenly filled with a great affection for Humboldt. This is why people move here--to escape from the 21st Century, to tap into our ancestral memory of living in trees. I stop and take the picture above. I know I can't capture the actual scene--it is too majestic, too panoramic to be caught by a mere cell phone camera. But, like the picture of a lover you carry in your pocket, the smallness of the image reminds you of the greatness of the heart.