With my next hike I will have completed the goal of hiking every inch of the John Muir Trail. I realize now that this has been a somewhat selfish pursuit. It is during times like these that I am wont to consult my “Karma Meter”. You have a “Karma Meter” too. Allow me to explain how the “Karma Meter” works.

The world, indeed the universe, will be a different place because you (and I) have passed through it. There was the universe before you were born. There will be the universe after you have died. Because of your presence within that universe, you will have altered its course and final outcome. It is a simple case of cause and effect – the butterfly effect. You are the butterfly!

As we move through the universe, we leave behind ripples. Maybe even a wake. Or perhaps a splash! But often it is the tiny ripples that matter. These tiny ripples have an effect not only on the fabric of space and time but on other beings.

When you are doing good things – leaving behind positive ripples – you are banking good karma and your “Karma Meter” records this. By banking good karma you are then able to afford the pursuit of selfish wants, thus drawing down your “karma account”. But keep a close eye on that Karma Meter lest it go from black to red.

If we all pay close attention to our Karma Meter and make sure that we leave this world while “in the black”, then the world we leave behind will be a better place. I was fortunate in that teaching afforded me with daily opportunities to deposit good karma in the bank. I could listen to a student in trouble. I could champion an underdog. I could be kind.

Four years into retirement and I feel it is time to make some more deposits!

For this final leg of the John Muir Trail, I hope to use the East Fork of Rock Creek as my base camp. There I can acclimatize and maybe do some fishing. I can also pay my respects to June – my mother – whose final remains were scattered there not too long ago.

As far as her Karma Meter goes, June left this world well in the black.

It was here, at Rock Creek that June would vacation with her father during the summer. 

June grew up along Route 66 in the Mojave Desert. Her father ran a small “Radiator Springs” kind of town on Route 66 called Ludlow, California. 

It was a busy spot with all sorts of characters passing through as well as service men. World War II was just around the corner as June approached her teen years. After being seen riding on the back of a motorcycle June was sent off to boarding school in Claremont, California.

Upon graduation she crossed the street and continued her education at Scripps.

Needing some variety, she then transferred to Occidental where she met a Caltech student who later became my father. My father Stan grew up poor in a mining town in Utah, so when Chevron offered him a job as an “exploration geophysicist” he jumped at the opportunity for financial independence.

Stan’s job took him where there was oil to be found. First the deep south (a daughter was born in Mississippi) and later South America (where another two children were born.) Wherever she traveled, June could be found teaching, tutoring or even establishing a school. There were also books – always books – and of course bridge, cocktails, tennis and some political activism.

June encouraged me to read the classics, but without the need for analysis and dissection. I grew up reading adventure books like Moby Dick and Huckleberry Finn. When it came to term papers, she was also my editor. 

I have mentioned Stan’s influence on my pursuit of outdoor adventure, but it was my mother’s influence as an English teacher that now impels me to write and to write well whenever possible.

Thanks, Mom!

(Originally published on June 5, 2022)