Lines and Shadows
There are many theories about individuals with autism, often about how their brains process things. For someone like my severely autistic son, who I consider to be very intelligent in his unconventional way, extreme difficulty with language keeps him from explaining how his thinking works. General theories are interesting, but unless a specific individual can confirm his or her thought pattern, we’re only guessing. Autism research papers often comment that autistic individuals have difficulty with abstract thinking, which is associated with problem solving abilities. That may be true, but when I hear “abstract” I instinctively think about the visual arts. In that sense of the word, a fascination with abstract lines and patterns with less regard for tangible objects was a key element in the way my son interacted with the world from when he was little. Though my son seems more connected to tangible objects and people and somewhat less focused on patterns as he has gotten older, I know they are still part of how he processes the world around him. Relating to the world through lines and patterns feels familiar as I also tapped into the world that way from childhood. Visual memories of my early days are etched with distinctive markings on a worn linoleum floor, uniquely shifting ripples on a running creek, the characteristic curves of snow banks carved by the wind. Some of my favorite trail images these days are pale brown paths marked by dark shadow stripes that move organically as leaves and branches blow in the breeze. A recent hike featured line patterns created by tree branches and shadow patterns on a mountain. Part of nature’s calming magic is its power to focus our minds away from life’s worries. Next time you need to pull out from stressful thoughts, soften your gaze and look around until your eyes catch an interesting pattern to settle on, whether indoors or out. Seeing a pattern and letting troubles fade from the front of our minds is a magic trick most of us had as children. If we had it then, we can find it again. This week’s Hike Notes, San Pedro Valley Montara Mountain-Brooks Creek Loop, takes hikers through eucalyptus, manzanita, and coyote brush on sometimes steep trails that offer ocean views as well as mountain views with turkey buzzards dancing in the sky above, presenting its own unique varieties of line and shadow patterns at every turn. The long list of Hikes can be found on the Quick View Hike List and on the main Hikes page. All past Insights posts can also be viewed in the Insights/Hike Update News archives. Check the Home page for the broader background story. If you’re not able to take one of these Northern California hikes, hopefully you can enjoy the photo galleries at the bottom of each hike page! Click Insights/Hike Update News for inspiring reflections. Please feel free to share. Follow on Twitter at @HikingAutism New this week: Hike Notes 127: San Pedro Valley Montara Mountain-Brooks Creek Loop
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Still Steep, Still Climbing
Birthdays are supposed to be celebrated, but they often come with mixed emotional baggage. People are sometimes jolted by reaching a new decade, reminded that time is passing quickly. Children’s birthdays are typically happy affairs, as family members remember the joy of being blessed with a precious family member. For special needs parents, though, birthdays can be a harsh reminder of how far our children haven’t developed, how many milestones they haven’t reached, how far off track they are from typically developing kids. Each year around his birthday, we’re called by support entities regarding our nonverbal autistic son’s current status to confirm his continued eligibility for services. Each time I have to say, “He is severely disabled and not able to speak on the phone,” I feel tears start to well up. It is the repeated reminder of how far I fell from the basic goal of helping my child become functionally independent. When he turned 18, receiving a call from the Selective Service and having to explain that it made no sense for my son to register for the draft felt like being on another planet. The officer’s military tone softened as he listened to my cracking voice. Individuals with disabilities, of whatever type, face a steep climb through life in many ways. Getting older doesn’t necessarily mean things get easier. As one difficulty eases, another challenge is revealed. And yet individuals soldier on, climbing up each steep path. And they do reach new heights, and we do celebrate those milestones. Feeling disheartened part of the time is counterbalanced by the joy of seeing how high we’ve climbed together despite the obstacles. We stop and take a breath, enjoy the realization of our progress, then pick up our feet and continue climbing the next stretch. This week’s Hike Notes are from the archives, Huckleberry Trail, an unexpectedly steep, rough trail on Mt. Tam, but a satisfying effort connecting between two bigger scenic trails. The long list of Hikes can be found on the Quick View Hike List and on the main Hikes page. All past Insights posts can also be viewed in the Insights/Hike Update News archives. Check the Home page for the broader background story. If you’re not able to take one of these Northern California hikes, hopefully you can enjoy the photo galleries at the bottom of each hike page! Click Insights/Hike Update News for inspiring reflections. Please feel free to share, and follow on Twitter at @HikingAutism. This week’s Hike Notes from the Archives: (Original Hike Notes 34): Huckleberry Trail So Close and Yet So Far
Have you ever had something right in front of you—a place you want to go, something you want to say, an activity you want to try—that you can’t get past some barrier to get to? We see a new phase in our future—a change in our occupation, relationships, doing something for our own care instead of just others—but can’t get through the few steps to get there. In a more literal sense, a person in a wheelchair or someone with balance and mobility issues may see a small rise at a doorway like a moat they can’t cross. For people on the autism spectrum, even incremental moves forward can be blocked by invisible obstacles. Sensory overload and anxiety can make simple things feel impossible. When our severely autistic son was little, things that seemed so easy for other children were out of reach. Trying a new food. Crossing the threshold to any new space. Even getting out of the car to set foot in an unfamiliar location. On a really bad day, even familiar places held some secret barrier to participation. Any of us can feel this way at some level. I have a hundred locations in my head that I’d like to add to my Hikes list, but getting past the little voice in my head saying “maybe not today” to explore a new place is a challenge. Standing at the north edge of San Francisco, I see a charming set of red roofs behind a cove right across the Golden Gate Bridge. A late night map app check tells me that with no traffic, it’s a mere 16 minutes to reach Fort Baker, part of our beloved Golden Gate National Recreation Area. It would take less time to scoot across the bridge and visit that little cove than it takes to drive downtown and find parking for a dentist visit. And yet the standard nagging questions—Are there bathrooms? What about parking? Isn’t it too crowded to get to on weekends?—shift us from an attempt to visit a new place to a more familiar family outing. In those “so near and yet so far” situations, at some point we have to push ourselves past that last hurdle and decide to move forward, come what may. Though it pales compared to other life issues, it felt good to decide firmly to face potential problems and head across the bridge on a sunny weekend day. The traffic, bathrooms and parking questions were resolved, and all those mental blocks seemed silly once we arrived and enjoyed walking around the little cove at Fort Baker, looking back toward the San Francisco skyline. The dreamy looking place across the waters of the Golden Gate that felt like a million miles away now feels like an easy destination where we can take guests for a pleasant walk. Sometimes we just have to pick up our feet, step forward, and be ready to roll with the punches. Though it is harder with bigger life challenges that make nearby goals feel unreachable, we tap into the same problem solving skills and determination to get where we want to go. Keep putting one foot forward, even if it’s a small step. This week’s Hike Notes, Fort Baker, takes visitors to the north side of the Golden Gate Bridge to historic Fort Baker which offers iconic views back to the San Francisco skyline from a cozy cove by a fishing pier, marina, and historic military sites. The long list of Hikes can be found on the Quick View Hike List and on the main Hikes page. All past Insights posts can also be viewed in the Insights/Hike Update News archives. Check the Home page for the broader background story. If you’re not able to take one of these Northern California hikes, hopefully you can enjoy the photo galleries at the bottom of each hike page! Click Insights/Hike Update News for inspiring reflections. Please feel free to share. Follow on Twitter at @HikingAutism New this week: Hike Notes 126: Fort Baker Transcendence
Head filled with the worrying distractions of the hour, the day, the week, the year, I park at a trailhead. Autistic son have his backpack, jacket and hat? Check. Other members of the entourage ready to go? Check. Car locked? Check. And then we set foot on the trail. And we walk. One foot strikes the earth, the other rises and moves ahead. These are automatic movements. There is a blind comfort to the regular rhythm, the familiar sense of pressure underfoot, and the sensory awareness of our surroundings. The air and sun on our face, the sixth sense of trees or rocks at our periphery, our hiking companions in motion nearby. The volume button of our busy brain state gradually shifts to quieter mode. Breathing, walking, stopping to look at a bird, a coyote in the distance, the horizon. Countless elements in our surroundings dampen the anxious edgy noise in our heads. And then there are the moments when our brains are silenced—in a good way— by a view or a sound or a feeling so overwhelmingly simple but moving that we can do nothing but stand still and absorb. Nature—whether standing on the edge of a cliff with a grand view or crouching to view a dew-covered blossom—offers many of life’s transcendent moments. Truth. Beauty. Love. Maybe these come to mind as elements of transcendence in life, trite as the list may sound, because they all seem to well up at the moments when I am stopped still on a trail by something stunningly simple and beautiful. And how grateful I am to have those opportunities, on my own or with my severely challenged son who would not be able to walk these paths on his own. This week’s Hike Notes are from the archives, Devil’s Slide, one of the most dramatic, dangerous and storied stretches of California’s famed Highway 1 converted to a walking trail when a tunnel replaced the cliff side road. The long list of Hikes can be found on the Quick View Hike List and on the main Hikes page. All past Insights posts can also be viewed in the Insights/Hike Update News archives. Check the Home page for the broader background story. If you’re not able to take one of these Northern California hikes, hopefully you can enjoy the photo galleries at the bottom of each hike page! Click Insights/Hike Update News for inspiring reflections. Please feel free to share, and follow on Twitter at @HikingAutism. This week’s Hike Notes from the Archives: (Original Hike Notes 5): Devil’s Slide |
Lisa LouisSharing insights and hiking highlights (Hikes, Hike Search by Area) from the special needs caregiver front in San Francisco. Archives
February 2025
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