A Return to Little Eden
When Easter Coincided with 4/20
On Easter Sunday, Mark and I returned to a place we once called Little Eden.
Decades ago, we discovered it tucked away in a high desert canyon—a granite sanctuary at the end of a rugged trail. A waterfall fed a crystal-clear pool, shaded by a tree whose limbs offered respite from the heat. We’d found it while hiking, then later visited it by mountain bike, drawn again and again to its solitude and beauty. We remember the day not long after we’d found it, when the two of us, along with seven friends, all jumped in together. That’s how deep and wide the pool once was. That’s how generous Eden had been.
But then the wildfire came.
The tree burned, the cliffs were scorched, and the rains that followed—El Niño’s fury—filled the pool with silt and sand. The trail choked over with manzanita, yucca, and brush. We stopped going. Maybe because it hurt to see a place we loved altered. Maybe we thought it was gone for good.
Still, this Easter, something in our bones whispered: Go back.
The day began with a hiccup—Mark forgot his bicycle tire and had to drive all the way back to San Diego to retrieve it, leaving me to ride up alone. Three miles that felt like thirty. I wore long sleeves and Lycra pants, but it was as if the mountain wanted to remind me who was boss. My arms were scratched raw, crisscrossed with signatures of brush and thorn. I felt like Jesus in the desert, tempted to turn back, but too stubborn to stop.
When I reached the cliff above Eden, I dismounted and stashed my bike in the brush. There’s no easy way down. Just a steep scramble over loose dirt and rock. I was halfway down when I heard Mark’s voice from above. He descended like a big horn sheep, and we arrived at the bottom together.
There she was.
Little Eden.
Not smaller. Not diminished. Just… waiting.
The granite still shimmered. The waterfall still pummeled the granite. And our tree—our beloved tree, once charred to a blackened frame—was in bloom. Green and alive again, on Easter Sunday.
We lay down on the warm stone, closed our eyes, and listened to the music of water on rock.
And we realized: not many would ever see this place. Not many would endure the thorns, the steepness, the solitude. But we had. We did.
Two lovers. Decades later reunited with their Eden.
Still as beautiful. Still as sacred.
In bloom again.
Something Mark said on an early hike right after we met: “I can’t make you be happy. But I really hope you will decide to be happy.”
I did. I do. And I wish the same for you.
Love,