Grass Beneath Our Feet

Finding Respite in the Barren Landscape of Life

The conditions were dry. Very dry. So dry that a man-made fire had grown into the fourth largest in state history. And while the blaze was relatively close to our 112-mile section of the John Muir Trail in California, it only affected us in the evenings as smoke filled the valleys.

I mention the fire for literary effect—to paint a picture of how arid the land and climate were. The farther we navigated into Sequoia National Park and the higher we climbed each subsequent pass, the more rocky and broken the terrain became. I don’t want you to think it wasn’t stunningly picturesque, because it was. But days of walking through an inhospitable land changes your perspective.

Scarcity creates longing. When all that surrounds you are rocks, you dream of sitting in a soft chair or lying on the couch. When the land is quiet, you long for the song of a bird or even the buzz of an insect. When the landscape and contours are only different shades of monotone, you realize how much you’ve taken every vibrant accent and flourish for granted.

We had just finished climbing Forrester Pass (13,153 feet) and took a long lunch break. After putting our packs back on, we had no intention of stopping again until we reached our end-of-day destination at Guitar Lake, just below Mt. Whitney. But as we raced through what seemed like a hundred dusty switchbacks a thousand feet below, a small alpine pond greeted us, its tufts of long grass beckoning us to lie down. Despite wanting to keep our schedule, we dropped our packs again and took a brief respite.

You may have never hiked to elevations where everything feels bleak and desolate, but I’m guessing you’ve been to that metaphorical place before—where everything seems lifeless, where it’s difficult to appreciate the colors and tapestry that surround you, where every step among broken things feels difficult or impossible. In those times, you just need something to break the monotony—a respite from the struggle.

I’m not sure we always appreciate the power of an unexpected kind word or encouragement, the profound impact of an embrace or affirmation, the weight of our presence or a warm touch at the right moment. But like an unforeseen patch of grass by the cool water, our smallest gestures of kindness can offer unexpected refuge in someone’s barren landscape.

Question

Where in my life—or in someone else’s—can I offer a moment of respite, a small kindness that breaks through the monotony or struggle?

Peace,

Brandon

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