In June of 1979, my husband, our two sons, and I, had been in California for ten months and we were ready to explore the surrounding area. As soon as school let out for the summer, we took a weekend trip to see Yosemite National Park.
The waterfalls were full and spectacular as we wandered around on the valley floor. We went to Glacier Point. Saw climbers on Half-Dome. We toured the lobby of the Ahwahnee Hotel and watched a group of artists sketching the falls. We ate at Wawona, the lodge at the south entrance to the park.
The trek to Yosemite became an annual get-away as soon as school was out—a reward for making it through another year.
Having grown up in Ohio, with nice straight roads and few hills, I discovered that in California the winding mountain roads easily made me nauseous. The solution was for me to drive those roads. Holding the wheel and keeping my eyes on the road ahead calmed my stomach.
One year, on the drive back to Livermore on Route 120, I watched the snow-covered mountains recede in the rear view mirror as I drove across the valley.
The next week, I put a blue cotton warp on my loom and threaded it for Moorman Tapestry weave. The yarn was a perfect sky color, so I wove the image I’d seen on the drive home.