Things I Will Miss

As the time grows closer to aliyah, I look around and realize that I have slowly been saying good-bye this last year. Each season is the last here. I will miss some things, although I am convinced I am going to a better future for my family. Is that a delusion? Did my great-grandparents delude themselves that thinking New York was better than Russia? I don't think so, ultimately. They lived in poverty and struggled as immigrants but their families live in freedom and comfort now. Iran's nuclear threats notwithstanding, I believe Israel will endure, and will examine herself and see a way to bring us all together.

Things I regret leaving behind:

the plum trees in blossom in the spring;

the green hills of California's winter;

misty mornings in our valley when the hills right above us are shrouded in fog and the oak trees peek through;

California oaks;

the native and rare California maple in our backyard;

the little coveys of quail;

the flocks of wild turkeys on our hills;

the wild peacocks on the southern side of the valley, descendants of some rancher's pets;

our inquisitive racoons;

the hummingbirds who return to our feeders every spring;

the wind rushing through the high grass of the hills in the summer, so it waves like the rollers of the ocean;

the bobcat that lives by Miller Creek on the south side of the road;

that moment that comes every warm day when the ocean breeze begins to shift and blow inland, bringing the summer fog in like a carpet over the warm land;

seeing the sun and moon rise through the copse of oaks behind our house;

the California Delta and its levie roads, especially during the fall when the flocks are travelling the inland skyways;

Judy's cabin, the closest thing to Rivendell this side of Middle Earth;

the Sierra Nevada, the Range of Light;

the Oregon coast;

Redwood trees in large numbers like Muir Woods and Redwood National Forest;

the azaleas blooming along the north coast;

Fern Canyon;

Olema valley;

Lake Tahoe;

Crystal Springs Reservoir and the hills behind it, especially when they are frosted with fog on the crests;

dogwood blooming in Yosemite Valley in the spring;

misty rain on the hills of this valley;

the Bear trail to the Tuolomne River fork;

Aspens in the Fall;

Tuolumne Meadows at any time, but especially the night;

Judy's cabin's porch at night, with a good Irish whiskey at hand;

Big Sur;

the first yellow bloom of acacia signalling the end of winter;

the Wine Country after the harvest, all green grass, gold leaves and bright yellow mustard flowers;

I am grateful for the time I was privileged to spend in all these places, and glad to know that the things I love will continue to be here for others. Californians have a fine sense of caring for the world around them and so I expect there to be turkey and bobcat, native oak and maple, and dogwoods in Yosemite for ages to come, G-d willing.