off the pavement / By Bennett Barthelemy

Serendipity

(March 29, 2007) “Serendipity is looking in a haystack for a needle and discovering a farmer’s daughter.”

Julius Comroe Jr.

Photo by Bennett Barthelemy.

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Looking for a change of pace last month, my wife and I opted to sleep on the marble slab called a futon instead of our comfy bed. I was awakened after dawn by her exclaiming, “Oh! That’s why we slept here.” A double-rainbow was blazing over the bay - a sight we would never have noticed from our bedroom window with the azaleas hiding the view.

What am I rambling on about this time? There is a kind of providence that is most rewarding that becomes strangely accessible, often when you think your luck may be turning for the worse. The trick for me is staying perceptive and positive enough to notice it. Other times, and most often when I am outside and off the pavement, these epiphanies just jump out in front of me demanding my full attention.

Oh! That’s why I took a chance and rode on my bike several miles down this unmarked trail at dusk. I uttered this after I had just locked eyes with an inquisitive coyote. A staring contest without malice or fear - head-tilting curiosity as we summed each other up and finally went our separate ways.

I find these moments tend to occur when I put myself in a good position to view them, physically as well as temporally. Like sunrise and sunset, when change is promised. Shadows lengthen, colors deepen, contrast and contour heighten - and then slowly it all bleeds away again. The beauty of impermanence held for a moment when the alpenglow burns like a raging fire. Like those incredible Tibetan mandalas of colored sand that dazzle with grand intricacy and are then brushed away into memory.

The angle of sunlight, clouds and fog, refraction of light through water and a massive alpine, forest or coastal canvas to brush them over. Some years ago I nearly crashed the car as we sped south down Highway 395. Through my rear-view mirror I had just glimpsed a crazy crimson sunset over the Eastern Sierra. My ex-wife eyed me curiously and said flatly, “You see one sunset you have seen them all.” I found this to be somewhat irreconcilable. This lack of appreciation has been somewhat subverted judging by her newfound wanderlust.

Two days ago, against my better judgment, I offered to meet friends on top of a vertical granite cliff that took them three days of non-stop climbing to top-out on. They slept in a hanging tent they hauled up with them and fastened by two expansion bolts to the cliff face. I knew they would be mentally and physically devastated and would appreciate the help to carry their gear that weighed in at nearly 150 pounds down Yosemite’s treacherous North Dome Gully - a nerve-shattering, scree-filled, mossy, wet, exposed granite sluice that is roughly equivalent to spending four hours trying to stay upright on roller skates while juggling a bowling ball and a crowbar.

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