On our way out of Monterey last Friday, we drove up the coast to the Santa Cruz mountains. Liam has a little one--a more than doll infused with life by the kindergarten teacher who helped him discover it--named Redwood, and this tree is important to him. While there were a couple of smaller, younger (only a few hundred years, probably) redwoods outside the yellow house of Liam's birth, it seemed right to seek bigger, older Redwoods. There is a range of coastal redwoods that runs from just above Santa Cruz to a few miles over the Oregon border--hundreds of miles long, but never wider than 8 miles or so (the coastal redwoods, as their name suggests, like to grow near the coast).
By mistake, we ended up at the same cog railway trip that Liam took as a baby with his parents and grandparents in 2003. The train took us up Bear Mountain, past grandmother redwoods that were over 2000 years old. After the train trip, the boys and I walked a short trail past some even older and bigger redwoods, including one in which John Fremont was supposed to have slept when mapping the west for the U.S. government (as an illegal alien, because California was a Mexican territory at the time).
We had a smooth ride with surprisingly little traffic over the mountains and into San Jose airport, to have our last sushi for a while.
Liam has talked fondly of the trip in recent days, and I hope to take the boys again.
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