When you think of Sequoia National Park, you might imagine cheerful families, picnic blankets, and the feel-good vibes of a 1950s postcard. I thought the same—until I went in the off-season.
This final episode of Live from California became something I didn’t expect: not just a travel diary, but a quiet meditation on endings. Leaving Palm Springs, with its warm, vibrant textures, I drove into a more liminal realm—gas stations dissolving into dust, long empty roads, and the haunting silhouette of charred mountains.
The Sequoia trees themselves? Monolithic. Spiritual. Both alive and dead. I walked among General Sherman and Sentinel with a mix of awe and sorrow. The scars of California wildfires were everywhere, blackened trunks rising like monuments to loss. And yet, there was grace in that destruction—like nature whispering: “We’re still here.”
Staying in a cabin in Three Rivers felt like stepping into a novel. I chatted with the owner. I hiked in solitude. I mistook burnt tree stubs for black bears because I’m equal parts curious and cowardly. The Ellen Wake video game reference wasn’t a joke—it really did feel like I was navigating a dreamy, glitchy wilderness, unsure what was real and what was metaphor.
And then there were the humans. Fewer, older, slower—more reflective. A couple joined me on a trail. We shared stories about philosophy, people, life. There’s something sacred about conversations that arise in unexpected places. They stick.
I hiked to Tokopa Falls, navigated the breathtaking view from Moro Rock, and visited Crescent Meadow—where I heard frogs and found snow. It was peaceful, green, and gentle. John Muir once called it the “Gem of the Sierras.” He wasn’t wrong.
Sequoia off-season isn’t for everyone. It’s quiet. A little eerie. Post-apocalyptic, even. But it gave me a different kind of beauty. One that doesn’t scream for attention. One that humbles you.
This marks the end of my four-part Live from California miniseries. If you’ve been along for the ride—from dinosaurs to burgers, deserts to forests—thank you. I’ve loved this raw-dogged road trip more than I can say. And I hope it made you feel something too.
Now, we return to the usual chaos—music, guests, and maybe even ads. But Sequoia will always be where the road turned inward. Where silence grew tall.
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