Beware of Falling Rocks
~ by Mark Blackwell
Back in the last century, I took a trip to the“ promised land,” also known as California. Having grown up listening to the Beach Boys, Dick Dale, and Jan and Dean, I had developed an overwhelming desire to brave the wild surf. I wanted to play“ Beach Blanket Bingo” and race my“ 409” all the way to“ Dead Man’ s Curve.”
As it turned out, I was much better at wiping out than I was at hanging ten.
I left L. A. and headed north to look for and look at the Redwood trees in Yosemite National Park.
When I arrived at Yosemite my concept of paradise underwent a radical revision. From the moment I entered I was enthralled by the magnificence of the scenery. I had read about Yosemite before I got there and was a little afraid that the park might be a bit over-hyped. I was totally bowled over by the beauty of Yosemite Falls, the majesty of Half Dome, and the big trees.
56 Our Brown County • Nov./ Dec. 2019
To find oneself in a grove of Sequoias is to experience an involuntary and total sense of humility. If you really want to find yourself, I suggest spending some time amongst living beings that are 300 feet tall and can live to be 3,000 years old. That feeling I got has not left, although it has been more than fifty years since I last walked among those giants.
It was that feeling that got me wondering about how I could move into a place like that. I was under the impression that the only folks who got to live inside the park would be park rangers. Later on, I saw some cabins throughout the valley and I started asking around. I found out that there were some families that hadn’ t sold their properties when Yosemite was established. So, it was possible.
Fast forward another 30 + years and I find myself looking for a new place to live. Brown County is beckoning. I had friends who lived in the county for many years and one friend had a nice patch of ground INSIDE Yellowwood State Forest. That friend said that he would be willing to sell me some ground.
I built my cabin by the side of a road that was little more than a two track with a fair amount of weeds growing up the center. The first time my brother visited me, he asked if the county highway department mowed my road or did I have to do it myself. I finally had my piece of paradise. I was under few illusions about living in the woods. I knew there would be snakes. I knew that I would have to invest some labor in getting firewood. I knew that I could never have another pizza delivered. I also knew that my cabin was only a mile or so from what, at the time was a minor tourist attraction; the“ Rock in the Tree,” or“ Gobbler’ s Rock” as it was also known.
What is the Rock in the Tree you may ask? Well, I’ ll tell you, it was a 400-pound boulder perched forty feet up in a Chestnut Oak tree. It was discovered some time in the latter part of the last century by a couple of back country turkey