Departing ... arriving: what's in between?

I am coming more and more to realize that it's what's in between that matters the most; great riches reside in those in between places, between where we find ourselves, oftentimes comfortable and safe, but somewhat dissatisfied and and where we suspect/know we need to be.

We left Yosemite this morning. A significant part of me didn't want to make the move from that storied valley. I'd never been there, having waited a lifetime, so to speak, to glimpse, to enter into that vast but also geographically small place. At the same time, Yosemite had a wonderfully familiar feel. It must have something to do with how enclosed the space is. Womb-like, maybe?

As the coach began the climb out of the valley, however, the sadness I expected to experince did not come upon me. Very unusual. Normally, places I love are hard to leave and the actual departure is enough to evoke tears. One reason for the unusual lack of response could be that I know I'll be back; there's been much conversation amongst us about needing to be at Yosemite in the spring to see (and hear) water in the falls. Frankly, another reason has to have something to do with the numbers of people (yes, even in September), particularly around the Lodge. I found time and place for solitude, no doubt about that, and I certainly don't begrudge families and large tours time in Yosemite, but ... I was more ready to move on that I realized.

Let me interject one thing here. The summer Tal and I tent-camped across the country and back, I made a practice of making two photographs each time we stopped: one of the camp site all set up -- our green, domed tent, the two, now gone, folding striped canvas chairs, the Army-green, wooden camp box, the (also green) Coleman stove all ready for occupancy and use, and the other a photograph taken from inside the tent looking out, showing anyone who studied the photographs my first view on waking (besides Tal, of course!)at each location. Well, this is what I saw from the patio outside the sliding doors of my room three mornings running at Yosemite. Could I have been any more fortunate in room assignments?

We made several stops today, the first one at Olmstead Point for a good look at the backside of Half Dome and into the east end of the Yosemite Valley. It was also a great place to look at exfoliating granite up close with its domed shape and varied layers and to get ready to see the red metamorphic slate of Mts Dana and Gibbes further along our route. Teneya Lake was visible from the NE end of the Olmstead Point parking lot and was our second photography stop. I'm sorry to say that I don't know the name of the rock reflected in the water.



We pressed on to Toulumne Meadows for a short time to check out the visitors' center, to wander in the meadow, cameras at the ready, followed by the finale: moving out of the park and through the Tioga Pass, truly a geographic and engineering marvel. All this before lunch. Our stop for the midday meal was on the rain shadow side of the mountains -- at the Whoa Nellie Deli, aptly named, and it did not disappoint. While trying to imagine the untold numbers of people who arrived, terrified, at the bottom of that pass, I gamely tried the self-proclaimed, world-famous fish tacos. Actually, while I didn't know fish tacos were on my "list," I can strike them off now ...

The restored Mobile station which houses the deli, along with the on-site remains of a trapeese school, overlooks Mono Lake, our destination for the next two nights, a place like I've never seen and about as un-womb-like as it could get.