
03/06/2012 Year in Yosemite: On View
Before we left Los Angeles to live in Yosemite National Park, we lived in a very nice neighborhood on a lovely tree-lined street. Our daughter was at a school we liked; our closest friends were just minutes away. It should have been perfect, but I had a problem. Every night I'd wake up gasping for breath, feeling as if the city were closing in on me.
Before we left Los Angeles to live in Yosemite National Park, we lived in a very nice neighborhood on a lovely tree-lined street. Our daughter was at a school we liked; our closest friends were just minutes away. It should have been perfect, but I had a problem. Every night I'd wake up gasping for breath, feeling as if the city were closing in on me.

That feeling left when we moved to Yosemite. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I could breathe. It helped that we moved to quiet, laid-back Wawona and not to Yosemite Valley. The Valley is stunningly scenic but its towering granite walls, narrow valley floor and endless summer traffic jams leave me feeling hemmed in too. Living in a national park, I've come to realize that everyone has their own favorite type of scenery. Some love the deserts. Others prefer the prairies. What speaks to me are wide-open places.
Give me the rolling hills of Yellowstone over the narrow slot canyons of the Grand Canyon. I'll take meadows over forests and the sweeping pasturelands of the Sierra foothills over the mountains themselves. Even in parks defined by their valleys, I prefer the open views from on high. That's why we encourage all our friends to hike to Sentinel Dome with its 8,300-foot- high, 360-degree view of the valley and much of the rest of the park. And no visit to Zion is complete without leaving its exquisite valley to circle back through the town of Virgin to Kolob Reservoir Road for the ride to the crest of the park.
Give me the rolling hills of Yellowstone over the narrow slot canyons of the Grand Canyon. I'll take meadows over forests and the sweeping pasturelands of the Sierra foothills over the mountains themselves. Even in parks defined by their valleys, I prefer the open views from on high. That's why we encourage all our friends to hike to Sentinel Dome with its 8,300-foot- high, 360-degree view of the valley and much of the rest of the park. And no visit to Zion is complete without leaving its exquisite valley to circle back through the town of Virgin to Kolob Reservoir Road for the ride to the crest of the park.

Few people venture that way. We found it only by accident. (The National Park Service seems to do little to publicize it, probably because one passes through miles of private lands before reentering the park). At every turn in the road, the views spread out in awe-inspiring grandeur; while in the foreground, green and gold pasturelands push up against deep vermilion rock to create what, I think, is some of the most spectacular scenery in the world. Forgive me but I'm a vista junkie and can't seem to help myself. I like the West's horizontal plains better than the East's vertical cities. Africa, with its huge salt pans and miles of unspoiled savannah, seems like heaven to me.So how am I going to transition back to over-developed Southern California when we leave Yosemite this summer? We got lucky. Our new home is located where the city is forced to stop and the Pacific takes over. If I can leave Yosemite with its "Pinch me, I-can't-believe-I-get-to-live-here quality," it's only because every time I look up to see the sky meet the sea, I'm again overwhelmed by that "pinch-me" feeling.
-- Jamie Simons/Top two images by Jon Jay; bottom image by Karis Simons.
-- Jamie Simons/Top two images by Jon Jay; bottom image by Karis Simons.

03/19/2012 Year in Yosemite: Natural Opposites
Now that I know that we'll be leaving our home in Yosemite National Park by summer, I've become acutely aware of everything around me. Almost daily I add to my list of things that I'll miss—the frogs that bluster and croak in the seasonal pond by our library; the first daffodils that bloom at my daughter's school; the magnificent ride from Fresno to Yosemite through the Sierra foothills and, of course, the breathtaking beauty of this place.
And while I know living by the beach in Southern California will offer its own version of views to rival Yosemite's, I don't believe I'll find anything in Orange County to rival the mountain area's deeply eccentric charm. Where else but here would you find a building that's part gas station and part church? Where will I find another chiropractor's office that has copies of Body & Soul magazine sitting alongside Guns & Ammo? Will the Elks Club of Orange County help children get craniosacral bodywork like the Elks Club here does?
In the mountains, Tea Party members serve vegan meals at their restaurants, a California Highway Patrolman runs the area's only grass-fed beef farm and children who are home schooled for religious reasons look and sound an awful lot like children raised on "hippie" communes. I love it all. In the mountains, the most improbable things, and people, often find themselves sitting side by side as if opposites attracting were a preordained part of life here.If there is one unifying theme, it seems to me to be a love for the land. Casual conversations, usually about the weather, regularly turn into musings about nature. At the gas station, the attendant filling my tank mentions that he's worried our very warm, dry winter will mean trouble for the trees this summer. "How will they fight off beetle-bore disease," he asks?
Now that I know that we'll be leaving our home in Yosemite National Park by summer, I've become acutely aware of everything around me. Almost daily I add to my list of things that I'll miss—the frogs that bluster and croak in the seasonal pond by our library; the first daffodils that bloom at my daughter's school; the magnificent ride from Fresno to Yosemite through the Sierra foothills and, of course, the breathtaking beauty of this place.
And while I know living by the beach in Southern California will offer its own version of views to rival Yosemite's, I don't believe I'll find anything in Orange County to rival the mountain area's deeply eccentric charm. Where else but here would you find a building that's part gas station and part church? Where will I find another chiropractor's office that has copies of Body & Soul magazine sitting alongside Guns & Ammo? Will the Elks Club of Orange County help children get craniosacral bodywork like the Elks Club here does?
In the mountains, Tea Party members serve vegan meals at their restaurants, a California Highway Patrolman runs the area's only grass-fed beef farm and children who are home schooled for religious reasons look and sound an awful lot like children raised on "hippie" communes. I love it all. In the mountains, the most improbable things, and people, often find themselves sitting side by side as if opposites attracting were a preordained part of life here.If there is one unifying theme, it seems to me to be a love for the land. Casual conversations, usually about the weather, regularly turn into musings about nature. At the gas station, the attendant filling my tank mentions that he's worried our very warm, dry winter will mean trouble for the trees this summer. "How will they fight off beetle-bore disease," he asks?

A Forest Service botanist stops to talk about the forest fauna, wondering how the animals will fare if there is a sudden, major snowstorm. The librarian in Wawona takes a break outside just to listen to the frogs.
Everywhere, everyone talks about the possibility of a bad fire season this year. But the worry here is different than in the city. Naturally, people are concerned about their homes and safety, but there’s also an acceptance and understanding about the good to be had from fire. To be raised in the mountains is to grow up with an awareness of the danger of dense underbrush, the need to rejuvenate forests and the absolute necessity of fire to the health of giant sequoias.
Before moving to Yosemite, I had spent my life living in cities. I know first hand how seductive that life can be. Don't want to cook? Head for a restaurant. Looking for a distraction? How about a store or a movie? In the city, it’s easy for nature to seem divorced from daily life. But not here. Somehow the mountains seem to produce a fair crop of I-can-do-it, outdoor-oriented, independent-minded people. It's something I find as bracing as the air. And I'll miss them — Body & Soul and Guns & Ammo readers alike.
-- Jamie Simons/ images by Nancy Casolaro
Everywhere, everyone talks about the possibility of a bad fire season this year. But the worry here is different than in the city. Naturally, people are concerned about their homes and safety, but there’s also an acceptance and understanding about the good to be had from fire. To be raised in the mountains is to grow up with an awareness of the danger of dense underbrush, the need to rejuvenate forests and the absolute necessity of fire to the health of giant sequoias.
Before moving to Yosemite, I had spent my life living in cities. I know first hand how seductive that life can be. Don't want to cook? Head for a restaurant. Looking for a distraction? How about a store or a movie? In the city, it’s easy for nature to seem divorced from daily life. But not here. Somehow the mountains seem to produce a fair crop of I-can-do-it, outdoor-oriented, independent-minded people. It's something I find as bracing as the air. And I'll miss them — Body & Soul and Guns & Ammo readers alike.
-- Jamie Simons/ images by Nancy Casolaro

03/30/2012 Year in Yosemite: Inspired Pilgrim
"We are now in the mountains and they are in us, kindling enthusiasm, making every nerve quiver, filling every pore and cell of us,…"
-- John Muir
A couple of weeks ago, 25 students and almost as many parents went to see our Mariposa County Supervisor. He spoke for an hour and held his audience spellbound. There was no talk of politics but I'd be willing to bet he filled our students' young minds with thoughts of possibility and power, social responsibility, and civic action. That's because our local county supervisor is Lee Stetson. A trained actor, director and writer, Mr. Stetson treated us to what he’s best known for—his one-man show as John Muir.
"We are now in the mountains and they are in us, kindling enthusiasm, making every nerve quiver, filling every pore and cell of us,…"
-- John Muir
A couple of weeks ago, 25 students and almost as many parents went to see our Mariposa County Supervisor. He spoke for an hour and held his audience spellbound. There was no talk of politics but I'd be willing to bet he filled our students' young minds with thoughts of possibility and power, social responsibility, and civic action. That's because our local county supervisor is Lee Stetson. A trained actor, director and writer, Mr. Stetson treated us to what he’s best known for—his one-man show as John Muir.

Now I know it's just about impossible to live in Yosemite, or to love the national parks, or contemplate the wonder and healing power of nature without coming across the name John Muir. But, until I saw Mr. Stetson, I never thought about the fact that Muir had a lilting Scottish accent that must have gone a long way toward charming his audiences, be they presidents or townspeople. In Mr. Stetson's capable hands, Muir came across as passionate about life, endlessly curious, an enthusiastic talker, (Galen Clark's main complaint about him) and very clever. He could build a sawmill, fashion a cabin (complete with a stream running through it so he could fall asleep to its comforting sound), and concoct a bed that would pitch him onto the floor each morning.
The son of a serious and dictatorial man, Muir seems to have run in the opposite vein. Early on, he left behind his father's harsh religion and settled instead on nature as his religion and his calling. He was in awe of Emerson, obsessed with Thoreau and determined to model his life after theirs. Considered by many to be frighteningly naïve (especially about the possibilities of politics), he was either lucky enough or smart enough to align himself with powerful patrons. They gave him the important political introductions to pursue his great love—the establishment of the national parks and the preservation of wilderness. But even if he had not attracted these people into his life, Mr. Stetson's portrayal of Muir left one overriding impression. John Muir was a spirited doer; it was impossible to keep him down.
The son of a serious and dictatorial man, Muir seems to have run in the opposite vein. Early on, he left behind his father's harsh religion and settled instead on nature as his religion and his calling. He was in awe of Emerson, obsessed with Thoreau and determined to model his life after theirs. Considered by many to be frighteningly naïve (especially about the possibilities of politics), he was either lucky enough or smart enough to align himself with powerful patrons. They gave him the important political introductions to pursue his great love—the establishment of the national parks and the preservation of wilderness. But even if he had not attracted these people into his life, Mr. Stetson's portrayal of Muir left one overriding impression. John Muir was a spirited doer; it was impossible to keep him down.

As a young man, he worked 12 hours a day at hard physical labor on his father's farm, then spent almost as long reading and working on his inventions. When an industrial accident caused him to lose his sight (He thought forever, but it turned out to be for a month.), he made up for lost time by walking 1,000 miles from Indiana to the Gulf of Mexico. Eventually heading West, he made California his own, most especially the Sierra Nevada.
When Mr. Muir died at the age of 76, he left behind a family, 12 major books, over 300 articles, his journals and The Sierra Club. Known by then as the "Father of the National Park System," he could claim a direct hand in the establishment of Yosemite, Sequoia and Kings Canyon, Mount Rainier and Grand Canyon National Parks. More importantly, he had helped to establish the idea of wilderness preservation as an American ideal.
Some claim that the loss of Yosemite's other magnificent valley, Hetch Hetchy, (San Francisco flooded it to use as a reservoir for its water) caused Muir to die of a broken heart. I think not. This was the man who claimed that "The battle for conservation must go on endlessly. It is part of the universal warfare between right and wrong." Clearly seeing himself on the side of right, Muir understood that through his example and through his writings, he had established a lasting legacy that would help guide generations.
Muir's spirit reached out to Lee Stetson when he first made his way to Yosemite, over 30 years ago. Taking a job at the front desk of Curry Village, he used his time in Yosemite to research and write about Muir. When no one wanted to take on the part, he made it his own, bringing alive the character and stories of the great man. This summer, he’ll offer up his interpretation of John Muir two nights a week in Yosemite Valley. During the day, you can find Mr. Stetson at his desk in Mariposa County, working, as Muir did, for the people—both with the goal of enriching people's lives.
-- Jamie Simons/ images: top photo by Nancy Casolaro, middle photo by Jon Jay, and John Muir portrait is courtesy the National Park Service.
When Mr. Muir died at the age of 76, he left behind a family, 12 major books, over 300 articles, his journals and The Sierra Club. Known by then as the "Father of the National Park System," he could claim a direct hand in the establishment of Yosemite, Sequoia and Kings Canyon, Mount Rainier and Grand Canyon National Parks. More importantly, he had helped to establish the idea of wilderness preservation as an American ideal.
Some claim that the loss of Yosemite's other magnificent valley, Hetch Hetchy, (San Francisco flooded it to use as a reservoir for its water) caused Muir to die of a broken heart. I think not. This was the man who claimed that "The battle for conservation must go on endlessly. It is part of the universal warfare between right and wrong." Clearly seeing himself on the side of right, Muir understood that through his example and through his writings, he had established a lasting legacy that would help guide generations.
Muir's spirit reached out to Lee Stetson when he first made his way to Yosemite, over 30 years ago. Taking a job at the front desk of Curry Village, he used his time in Yosemite to research and write about Muir. When no one wanted to take on the part, he made it his own, bringing alive the character and stories of the great man. This summer, he’ll offer up his interpretation of John Muir two nights a week in Yosemite Valley. During the day, you can find Mr. Stetson at his desk in Mariposa County, working, as Muir did, for the people—both with the goal of enriching people's lives.
-- Jamie Simons/ images: top photo by Nancy Casolaro, middle photo by Jon Jay, and John Muir portrait is courtesy the National Park Service.

04/05/2012 Year in Yosemite: The Inspiration
"I know that I am one with beauty and that my comrades are one. Let our souls be mountains, Let our spirits be stars, Let our hearts be worlds."
-- Gaelic saying/Adams's favorite
We moved to Yosemite National Park three years ago because of Ansel Adams. And, spectacular as they are, it wasn't his photographs that hooked us. It was his early life. Like so many people who went on to change our world -- Albert Einstein, Thomas Edison, Benjamin Franklin, Walt Disney, Richard Branson, Charles Dickens -- he never finished school. Some of these people dropped out for economic reasons. Some, like Branson, were lousy students. And some, like Adams, Einstein and Edison, got kicked out and were asked to never come back. Too distracted, too dreamy and too inattentive, they proved a trial and tribulation for their teachers.
In Ansel Adams's case, he got lucky. After multiple schools had asked him to leave, his parents decided to home school him. When they discovered that nature calmed their high- energy, fidgety son they let nature become his greatest teacher.
"I know that I am one with beauty and that my comrades are one. Let our souls be mountains, Let our spirits be stars, Let our hearts be worlds."
-- Gaelic saying/Adams's favorite
We moved to Yosemite National Park three years ago because of Ansel Adams. And, spectacular as they are, it wasn't his photographs that hooked us. It was his early life. Like so many people who went on to change our world -- Albert Einstein, Thomas Edison, Benjamin Franklin, Walt Disney, Richard Branson, Charles Dickens -- he never finished school. Some of these people dropped out for economic reasons. Some, like Branson, were lousy students. And some, like Adams, Einstein and Edison, got kicked out and were asked to never come back. Too distracted, too dreamy and too inattentive, they proved a trial and tribulation for their teachers.
In Ansel Adams's case, he got lucky. After multiple schools had asked him to leave, his parents decided to home school him. When they discovered that nature calmed their high- energy, fidgety son they let nature become his greatest teacher.

So unconventional was Adams's education that during his middle school years, his father bought him a pass to San Francisco's 1915 Panama-Pacific International Exposition and sent his son off to attend it every day.In 1916, Adams and his family traveled to Yosemite. His father gave him a Kodak Brownie camera so he could record the scenery. But Adams, who had begun to play the piano at the age of 12, saw his future as a classical pianist. He was interested in photography but not yet obsessed with it.
Then fate intervened. When Adams failed to fully recover from the flu during the epidemic of 1918, his parents sent him to Yosemite, thinking the fresh air would do him good. It did far more than that. Yosemite was the making of Ansel Adams. Hiking its high country, camera in hand, he began to see wilderness as essential to man’s happiness. When he realized that his piano playing was not quite good enough to lead to a career as a classical pianist, he decided to devote himself to his photography. (By that time he’d also married Virginia Best whose parents owned the photography shop, now the Ansel Adams Gallery, in Yosemite Valley).
During the Depression, photographers like Dorothea Lange and Walker Evans used their art to expose the underbelly of poverty in America. Adams chose a different tack. Like Jessie Benton Fremont, Frederick Law Olmstead, Galen Clark and John Muir, time spent in Yosemite and the Sierras led Ansel Adams to the conclusion that the preservation of wilderness was as essential to man's health as food. "I believe in beauty. I believe in stones and water, air and soil, people and their future and their fate," he said.
It was in hopes of providing the best possible future for our daughter that we moved to Yosemite. Like Adams, she was fidgety and uninspired by school. After reading about Ansel Adam’s early years, I was hoping that a life lived in nature would do for her what it did for him. This is not to say that I expect her to become a world-famous photographer, although she seems to know her way around a camera.
No, my wish for her, and for all people, is that they discover their great passion in life and have the guts and the gumption to pursue it. My experience of living in Yosemite is that when nature surrounds you, when quiet and solitude is the order of the day, it is easier to hear one's deep internal voices. Then, hopefully, as in Adams's favorite saying, it is possible to be one with beauty and let one’s heart be the world.
-- Jamie Simons / Top image: courtesy Cedric Wright/Sierra Club Archives. Bottom image: Karis Simons.
Then fate intervened. When Adams failed to fully recover from the flu during the epidemic of 1918, his parents sent him to Yosemite, thinking the fresh air would do him good. It did far more than that. Yosemite was the making of Ansel Adams. Hiking its high country, camera in hand, he began to see wilderness as essential to man’s happiness. When he realized that his piano playing was not quite good enough to lead to a career as a classical pianist, he decided to devote himself to his photography. (By that time he’d also married Virginia Best whose parents owned the photography shop, now the Ansel Adams Gallery, in Yosemite Valley).
During the Depression, photographers like Dorothea Lange and Walker Evans used their art to expose the underbelly of poverty in America. Adams chose a different tack. Like Jessie Benton Fremont, Frederick Law Olmstead, Galen Clark and John Muir, time spent in Yosemite and the Sierras led Ansel Adams to the conclusion that the preservation of wilderness was as essential to man's health as food. "I believe in beauty. I believe in stones and water, air and soil, people and their future and their fate," he said.
It was in hopes of providing the best possible future for our daughter that we moved to Yosemite. Like Adams, she was fidgety and uninspired by school. After reading about Ansel Adam’s early years, I was hoping that a life lived in nature would do for her what it did for him. This is not to say that I expect her to become a world-famous photographer, although she seems to know her way around a camera.
No, my wish for her, and for all people, is that they discover their great passion in life and have the guts and the gumption to pursue it. My experience of living in Yosemite is that when nature surrounds you, when quiet and solitude is the order of the day, it is easier to hear one's deep internal voices. Then, hopefully, as in Adams's favorite saying, it is possible to be one with beauty and let one’s heart be the world.
-- Jamie Simons / Top image: courtesy Cedric Wright/Sierra Club Archives. Bottom image: Karis Simons.

04/30/2012 Year in Yosemite: Time Travel
For thousands of years, the native peoples wandered around Yosemite with seemingly no problem. For everyone else, access to Yosemite has never been easy. I was reminded of this when a friend wrote to say she was thinking of coming to visit. “How do I find you?” she asked. My answer bordered on the ridiculous. She could fly into Fresno and we’d come pick her up. Or she could fly to San Francisco, Oakland, Burbank or Los Angeles (4-6 hours away), take the train to Fresno and again we’d pick her up. Without renting a car, none of the choices were easy and even if she rented one, the trip from all but Fresno was long (especially after flying in from the East Coast). Furthermore, unless a person loves whipping around curvy mountain roads, the drive is not much fun. All of which led me to conclude that the more things change, the more they stay the same.
Yosemite was “discovered” in 1851 when the Mariposa Battalion stumbled into the Valley while chasing down local natives. After that, the only way to get to the place was by horseback. Apparently, this was no picnic. Riders traveled for days just to reach an access point into Yosemite. From there the ride over the passes and into the Valley proved too arduous for all but the most courageous visitors. And, once in Yosemite, there were few, if any, decent places to stay or eat. Ten years after the Mariposa Battalion arrived only the hardy came to gaze upon Yosemite’s wonders. But as early entrepreneurs knew, where there’s beauty, there is money to be made. And so there seemed only one answer: make the journey easier.
Of course, as so often happens, several groups of people had this same idea at about the same time. Starting in 1859, different groups of investors set out to be the only stagecoach route into Yosemite. But then, as now, bribery, political contributions and pay-offs held sway, and soon competing routes into the park were being touted. As a result, travel to Yosemite was easier and quicker but not necessarily more comfortable. Folks still had to make their way to the staging areas (usually by train), then climb aboard an aptly named mud wagon for the ride to the Valley. In summer the routes were dusty and hot. In winter they were simply impassable.
For thousands of years, the native peoples wandered around Yosemite with seemingly no problem. For everyone else, access to Yosemite has never been easy. I was reminded of this when a friend wrote to say she was thinking of coming to visit. “How do I find you?” she asked. My answer bordered on the ridiculous. She could fly into Fresno and we’d come pick her up. Or she could fly to San Francisco, Oakland, Burbank or Los Angeles (4-6 hours away), take the train to Fresno and again we’d pick her up. Without renting a car, none of the choices were easy and even if she rented one, the trip from all but Fresno was long (especially after flying in from the East Coast). Furthermore, unless a person loves whipping around curvy mountain roads, the drive is not much fun. All of which led me to conclude that the more things change, the more they stay the same.
Yosemite was “discovered” in 1851 when the Mariposa Battalion stumbled into the Valley while chasing down local natives. After that, the only way to get to the place was by horseback. Apparently, this was no picnic. Riders traveled for days just to reach an access point into Yosemite. From there the ride over the passes and into the Valley proved too arduous for all but the most courageous visitors. And, once in Yosemite, there were few, if any, decent places to stay or eat. Ten years after the Mariposa Battalion arrived only the hardy came to gaze upon Yosemite’s wonders. But as early entrepreneurs knew, where there’s beauty, there is money to be made. And so there seemed only one answer: make the journey easier.
Of course, as so often happens, several groups of people had this same idea at about the same time. Starting in 1859, different groups of investors set out to be the only stagecoach route into Yosemite. But then, as now, bribery, political contributions and pay-offs held sway, and soon competing routes into the park were being touted. As a result, travel to Yosemite was easier and quicker but not necessarily more comfortable. Folks still had to make their way to the staging areas (usually by train), then climb aboard an aptly named mud wagon for the ride to the Valley. In summer the routes were dusty and hot. In winter they were simply impassable.

All that changed when, in 1907, the Yosemite Valley Railroad laid tracks just at the edge of the Merced River. Its trains carried visitors to El Portal where they once again climbed into horse-drawn coaches bound for the Valley. By now, nicer hotels, decent campgrounds, hiking trails and a variety of restaurants had made Yosemite a popular destination.
Then came the automobile. Just as the railroad had helped to put the stagecoaches out of business, private cars would mean the end of the railroad. At first, park rules forbade the use of automobiles in Yosemite. However, in time, they became visitors’ overwhelming choice. Now every year almost 4 million people visit Yosemite and the only way to do it is by car or bus. Once here, it is possible to park and take shuttles. But most people seem to prefer the convenience of their car—despite the mind-boggling traffic jams of summer.
I may be old-fashioned but I’m waiting for the day when we return to earlier times. When, as in the late 1800s, great staging areas are created outside the park, and people board modern-day stagecoaches (better known as buses and trams) for the last leg of their journey. Or better yet, let’s do what we do in Wawona. Thanks to the park service, our little village boasts the only stagecoach-driving ranger in the National Park Service. Here in Pioneer Village, it is still possible to board a mud wagon (now suddenly romantic rather than hot and dusty), sit back and let the horses do the pulling. It’s fun. It’s exciting. And the only pollution is the biodegradable kind.
Top image by Nancy Casolaro. Bottom image from National Park Service.
Then came the automobile. Just as the railroad had helped to put the stagecoaches out of business, private cars would mean the end of the railroad. At first, park rules forbade the use of automobiles in Yosemite. However, in time, they became visitors’ overwhelming choice. Now every year almost 4 million people visit Yosemite and the only way to do it is by car or bus. Once here, it is possible to park and take shuttles. But most people seem to prefer the convenience of their car—despite the mind-boggling traffic jams of summer.
I may be old-fashioned but I’m waiting for the day when we return to earlier times. When, as in the late 1800s, great staging areas are created outside the park, and people board modern-day stagecoaches (better known as buses and trams) for the last leg of their journey. Or better yet, let’s do what we do in Wawona. Thanks to the park service, our little village boasts the only stagecoach-driving ranger in the National Park Service. Here in Pioneer Village, it is still possible to board a mud wagon (now suddenly romantic rather than hot and dusty), sit back and let the horses do the pulling. It’s fun. It’s exciting. And the only pollution is the biodegradable kind.
Top image by Nancy Casolaro. Bottom image from National Park Service.

05/22/2012 Year in Yosemite: Closure
In my very favorite mystery series, the heroine, a Ms. Maisie Dobbs, revisits every site and person she encountered in the solving of the crime. Psychic and able to take on the "energy" of a person or place, she does it as a form of closure, a way to lay the energy to rest. Now that we're leaving our Yosemite home in just six weeks, I find myself following her lead.
In my very favorite mystery series, the heroine, a Ms. Maisie Dobbs, revisits every site and person she encountered in the solving of the crime. Psychic and able to take on the "energy" of a person or place, she does it as a form of closure, a way to lay the energy to rest. Now that we're leaving our Yosemite home in just six weeks, I find myself following her lead.

And so, days that should be filled with organizing and packing, often find me visiting my favorite places.
But unlike Maisie, I don't want to lay the energy to rest; I want to imprint it on my soul. That's because all the mysteries I solved while living here were of the internal kind. During our three-year stay, I learned more about myself than I had in the previous three decades.
So what's become sacred to me in the time that we've lived here? Here's my top ten:
1. Walking down Chilnualna Falls Road in Wawona to the Pioneer Village, across the Vermont-inspired covered bridge to the post office. It may not sound like much, but for three years I’ve done it almost daily, usually in the company of good friends.
But unlike Maisie, I don't want to lay the energy to rest; I want to imprint it on my soul. That's because all the mysteries I solved while living here were of the internal kind. During our three-year stay, I learned more about myself than I had in the previous three decades.
So what's become sacred to me in the time that we've lived here? Here's my top ten:
1. Walking down Chilnualna Falls Road in Wawona to the Pioneer Village, across the Vermont-inspired covered bridge to the post office. It may not sound like much, but for three years I’ve done it almost daily, usually in the company of good friends.

2. Sentinel Dome. There is no hike in the park I cherish as much as this one. It’s short. It’s easy. The pay-off can’t be beat. A 360-degree view of Yosemite with Half Dome so close it feels like I can reach out and touch it.
3. The Mariposa Grove of Giant Sequoias. Wawona exists as part of the park only because it lies right between the Grove and the Valley. To think that, for 3 years, I’ve lived four miles away from the largest living trees on the planet boggles my mind. I’m grateful.
4. You might laugh (or come enjoy), but I’ll miss the Saturday night summer BBQs at the Wawona Hotel followed by Tom Bopp on the piano and the barn dances at the Pioneer Village.
3. The Mariposa Grove of Giant Sequoias. Wawona exists as part of the park only because it lies right between the Grove and the Valley. To think that, for 3 years, I’ve lived four miles away from the largest living trees on the planet boggles my mind. I’m grateful.
4. You might laugh (or come enjoy), but I’ll miss the Saturday night summer BBQs at the Wawona Hotel followed by Tom Bopp on the piano and the barn dances at the Pioneer Village.

5. The south fork of the Merced River. To have a major river (by California standards) flow right by our home is a huge blessing. To sit by it for hours is a sheer blood pressure lowering delight.
6. Swinging Bridge Trail. It’s the closest hike to our home (the trail passes right by us). At its end, the rushing waters of the South Merced pound over great blocks of granite best seen from the delicate looking swinging bridge that spans the river.
7. Mountain lions. Apparently we share our woods with three mountain lions. I’ve yet to see them (and hope to be in a car when I do), but knowing they’re our neighbors gives me a thrill.
8. Tunnel View. The name’s not much but the view can’t be beat. I’m willing to bet it’s the one OMG moment that visitors never forget. I won’t.
6. Swinging Bridge Trail. It’s the closest hike to our home (the trail passes right by us). At its end, the rushing waters of the South Merced pound over great blocks of granite best seen from the delicate looking swinging bridge that spans the river.
7. Mountain lions. Apparently we share our woods with three mountain lions. I’ve yet to see them (and hope to be in a car when I do), but knowing they’re our neighbors gives me a thrill.
8. Tunnel View. The name’s not much but the view can’t be beat. I’m willing to bet it’s the one OMG moment that visitors never forget. I won’t.

9. The Ahwanhee. Okay, the dining room of The Ahwanhee. Not that the hotel isn’t grand, but to me the dining room is one of the most beautiful dining spots on Earth. If I could afford it, I’d eat there every time I go to the Valley.
10. The drive from the south gate to Wawona. In three years, every single time I drive the four miles from the southern gate of the park to our village of Wawona, I think, “Pinch me, I get to live here.”
As we see friends and make our good-byes, people inevitably say, “You’ll be back.” Probably so, but only as tourists. Somehow it won’t be the same.
Images by Jon Jay.
-- Jamie Simons
10. The drive from the south gate to Wawona. In three years, every single time I drive the four miles from the southern gate of the park to our village of Wawona, I think, “Pinch me, I get to live here.”
As we see friends and make our good-byes, people inevitably say, “You’ll be back.” Probably so, but only as tourists. Somehow it won’t be the same.
Images by Jon Jay.
-- Jamie Simons

02/14/2013 Year in Yosemite: Moving On
I was worried about moving from Yosemite National Park to Orange County, California. And rightly so. Two more different places could hardly be found. Although it may not feel like it to those who visit in summer, with its crush of people and its bumper-to-bumper traffic, Yosemite, at its heart, is about the preservation of wilderness.
In the mid-1800s, Frederick Law Olmstead (designer of Central Park) pushed for a Yosemite where roads would funnel people into 5% of its landmass. That left the other 95%, an area the size of Rhode Island, alone.
The same could not be said of Orange County. Size-wise, it’s one of the smallest counties in California. Yet, with just over 3 million people, its population ranks it third in the state, just behind Los Angeles to its north and San Diego to the south. It wasn't always this way.
As its name implies, Orange County once supplied citrus to the world. At the very same time that Olmstead was laying out his vision of Yosemite, farmers were planting Orange County's first Valencia orange trees. By 1948, 5 million trees were under cultivation on 67,000 acres of land. Yet 30 years later, only 4,000 acres remained. By 2005, less than 100 acres of Valencia oranges still existed. What happened? Development. As the aerospace and defense industries of the Cold War years moved to Southern California, the people who owned Orange County’s farms discovered the land had far more value when the only thing cropping up were office buildings and housing tracts.
I was worried about moving from Yosemite National Park to Orange County, California. And rightly so. Two more different places could hardly be found. Although it may not feel like it to those who visit in summer, with its crush of people and its bumper-to-bumper traffic, Yosemite, at its heart, is about the preservation of wilderness.
In the mid-1800s, Frederick Law Olmstead (designer of Central Park) pushed for a Yosemite where roads would funnel people into 5% of its landmass. That left the other 95%, an area the size of Rhode Island, alone.
The same could not be said of Orange County. Size-wise, it’s one of the smallest counties in California. Yet, with just over 3 million people, its population ranks it third in the state, just behind Los Angeles to its north and San Diego to the south. It wasn't always this way.
As its name implies, Orange County once supplied citrus to the world. At the very same time that Olmstead was laying out his vision of Yosemite, farmers were planting Orange County's first Valencia orange trees. By 1948, 5 million trees were under cultivation on 67,000 acres of land. Yet 30 years later, only 4,000 acres remained. By 2005, less than 100 acres of Valencia oranges still existed. What happened? Development. As the aerospace and defense industries of the Cold War years moved to Southern California, the people who owned Orange County’s farms discovered the land had far more value when the only thing cropping up were office buildings and housing tracts.

Development in Orange County was swift and hard. Thirty percent of the county is occupied by planned communities. Anaheim's Disneyland is home to the second most popular amusement park in the world (first is Florida's Disney World) and all the attendant hotels, motels, restaurants and dives that go with it.Near our home, and throughout the county, it's hard to drive even one-half mile without seeing a shopping mall. I often joke that the shopping centers of Fashion Island and South Coast Plaza are Orange County’s version of El Capitan and Half Dome. Make the mistake of visiting them on a weekend and you would swear that every man, woman and child in the county is there.
Which is not to say that land hasn't been preserved. You just have to look for it. There are wild canyons, acres of wetlands, and, most famously, 41 miles of coastline. From my desk, I look out on the Pacific. On clear days, Catalina and San Clemente islands appear so close I can see the texture and color variation of their cliffs. And it is that view that makes Orange County a place I’m coming to love. In its own strange way it reminds me of the Sierras.
I realized that when we went back to Yosemite at Christmas. Coming up over the rise on Highway 41 headed north out of Fresno, I watched with awe as, once again, the foothills spread out before us. The horizon seems to go on forever, and the land, with its soft curves and horizontal planes, struck me as the most peaceful place in the world.
It's the same feeling I have when I sit and look out the windows of my office. In the distance, the city stops cold and the wide, open expansive Pacific takes over. As its name implies, it is, indeed, peaceful. Just as Yosemite filled me with awe, to sit at the place where the madness stops, the city is contained and nature reigns supreme, makes me grateful indeed for my new home.
(Top two photos: Nancy Casolaro. Bottom photo: Jon Jay.)
Which is not to say that land hasn't been preserved. You just have to look for it. There are wild canyons, acres of wetlands, and, most famously, 41 miles of coastline. From my desk, I look out on the Pacific. On clear days, Catalina and San Clemente islands appear so close I can see the texture and color variation of their cliffs. And it is that view that makes Orange County a place I’m coming to love. In its own strange way it reminds me of the Sierras.
I realized that when we went back to Yosemite at Christmas. Coming up over the rise on Highway 41 headed north out of Fresno, I watched with awe as, once again, the foothills spread out before us. The horizon seems to go on forever, and the land, with its soft curves and horizontal planes, struck me as the most peaceful place in the world.
It's the same feeling I have when I sit and look out the windows of my office. In the distance, the city stops cold and the wide, open expansive Pacific takes over. As its name implies, it is, indeed, peaceful. Just as Yosemite filled me with awe, to sit at the place where the madness stops, the city is contained and nature reigns supreme, makes me grateful indeed for my new home.
(Top two photos: Nancy Casolaro. Bottom photo: Jon Jay.)