Armed and dangerous

Mike, my first cyclist, was also an amazing hiker. We spent many, many afternoons hiking the trails and back country between Big Sur and Carmel Valley. I still think of that area as one of the most beautiful places I have ever been.

When I first began hiking, though, I was wary of the landscape. I had just moved to California from Florida. In California, nature is benign. In Florida, nature is well-armed. Growing up in Florida, everything bites. My childhood memories include mosquitoes at twilight, alligators sheltering under the dock, and invisible chiggers in the beautiful green grass. Fire ants, sharp stickers, and burning hot sand made walking barefoot across a field inadvisable. All the above gave me a healthy respect for 'nature'.

When I first began hiking with Mike, I would jump at the sight of a bug. If I sat on a log, I would be poised to leap at the first nibble. The idea of wading into a river was viewed with extreme trepidation. Mike found all this hilarious. I tried to explain that in Florida, between the alligators, cotton mouths, chiggers, fire ants, stickers, and goodness knows what else... that nature was NOT relaxing.

It took months for me to calm down and finally enjoy the wonder of the coastal forests and beaches. One day, resting on a trail, I observed a beautiful furry ant. Yes. Furry. It was the oddest ant I had ever seen. A vibrant orange-red, it was also super-sized -- literally twice the size of any ant I had ever seen. I was quite captivated watching this wonder of god's creatures. For some reason, I was compelled, I reached out and touched it. To this day I still feel the shock of when it bit me.