The trail had a light elevation gain. It felt less like a hike and more like a walk through the redwoods and sequoias. The giant trees provided shade against the clear bright skies. We got a little lost and walked across the same river three times using large rocks and fallen logs as a bridge. The ones who hesitated in their footing tended to be the ones who walked around with wet socks.

We admired the texture of the varying trees. We paused to stare at the first few banana slugs we met along the way. Each time, a girl from Santa Cruz would dare someone to kiss it, an actual tradition from her university. No one did. And I don’t regret declining the challenge.

As we passed an overwhelmingly large sequoia, a friend noted the negative wisdom over wildland fires. Park rangers worked for years to suppress fires, believing it was what was best for the growth of the trees. And for years, they didn’t understand why the pine forests weren’t growing. What they thought was needed, was actually restricting.

Experimenting with small-scale maintained fires, they discovered how essential the burning was for growth. The fires opened up the pine cones to spread its seed and cleared the ground of small debris, exposing bare soil for the seedlings to take root.

It was a brief part of our conversation, just a fun fact she shared. Within a few sentences, we went on to another topic. But well after the hike, I kept thinking about forest fires.

Destruction is necessary for renewal.

I thought about the fires in my own life, roaring and blazing and burning out of control. The sorrows and sufferings that seemed to wreak havoc and destruction and disarray. At times so overwhelming it felt hard to breath.

A lot of my life I tried to suppress the heat and smoke, running around and stifling the flames where I could, believing that was what was best for me. To ignore my feelings and move along. But it only left me feeling burnt out.

I can’t always escape from the fires in my life. I’ve learned it’s much better to let it burn and clear away the debris and give me space to process what is important and valuable and worth maintaining in my life.

This doesn’t diminish all the pain and the hurt of feeling surrounded, almost consumed, nearly suffocating. But there is a sense of hope, that I have overcome what I thought was the end of me.

I researched sequoias a bit more, and found that fires also open up holes in the forest canopy for sunlight to reach through.

And I thought about how beautiful of an image that is. Once the fire dies down, and the smoke clears, and the roaring sound of chaos gives way to a peaceful quiet, to see the sun glisten through the tree tops and rest upon a tiny seedling, new life beginning…

And to think that’s me, always beginning again where I thought it was the end.

How beautiful of an image, how hopeful of a thought that is.