In the midst of California’s drought my husband and I make way to one of California’s great natural monuments, Yosemite National Park. It’s a traditionally quiet time of the year.  Kids are back in school after the holiday, the falls are frozen, the road to the gate is only as reliable as the plow that clears it. But the drought is hitting California hard and the snow, which brings tourists and scenery gawkers, has not accumulated. We were alone in the B&B we stayed in last night.

A charred forest, the result of last years devastating fire, greets us as we approach the gate. A late evening snow fleury left just enough snow on the roadways to require vehicles to use snow chains. The snow chain installer who sells us our chains, joked that if we could get in an accident they will increase the chain requirements to 4X4’s. Business is slow and they are praying for any kind of precipitation.

As we make our way into the valley floor, the river beds lie barren – their smooth stones reveal the passing of time by Mother Nature. In a normal year, snow would blanket and cover this evidence of nature’s transformative powers – raging rivers exposing rocks, smoothing their rough surfaces. Time and circumstance shifting the path of each stone and grain of sand. But in this drought ridden year the rocky underbelly of a raging river is revealed and children climb boulders at the base of waterfalls that were once feared.

We stopped at the world renowned Awanhee Hotel for lunch. The restaurant had a 20 minute wait because of a scaled back staff – we got a window seat.

Yosemite’s Curry Village in summer is a teaming bustle of bicyclists, backpackers, river rafters and waders. The roadways are now empty and the pathways easy to navigate with a few picture takers and hikers taking advantage of the temperate weather.

As the evening mist settles over the valley floor the fireside lodge fills with trekkers and backpackers. Snacks and bottles of wine fill the tables. The resort’s few visitors fending for themselves for food. Most of the restaurants and cafes are closed for the season.

Curry has been in existence for 100 years. Our cabin was built in 1909. Construction in Curry is everywhere. They are laying new foundations to replace dilapidated cabins, replacing old inefficient windows and doors while recycling the original siding.

Behind our cabin are ruins of the cabins built by its founder Mr. Curry. Tile floors of bath houses and a fireplace from the old bungalow remains. Moss blankets an old staircase and trees jet from its foundation. Falling boulders from the sheer cliffs above crushed some of the cabins.

Mr. Curry probably never envisioned a time when visitors to his village would stand among the rubble of these structures. But time and circumstance has taken bits and pieces of the camp, changing and adapting to its visitors and the ravages of Mother Nature.

But ruin brings new life, the way the fire reinvigorates a forest, drought leaves sandy lake bottoms that become fertile ground for springtime meadows. Giant boulders at the base of once cascading waterfalls become monuments to climb with ease, and dry creek beds become new pathways to explore.

Whatever your ruin is this week, it is a gift, an opportunity to climb higher, explore deeper and reinvigorate your life.

Buen Camino!