I’ve had a number of emails this morning commenting on the death of naturalist Verna Johnston, noted in today’s newspaper.
The fact that so many people remember her so well nearly two decades after she left the area says something, I think, about Johnston’s legacy.
Johnston wrote a poem just last summer which “tells us where she is now,” as her longtime friend Arlene Mueller put it.
When the Snow Geese fly at Merced
When they rise from the Marsh
My voice will be among them.
I’ll be in Yosemite
When the Dogwoods bloom,
In the High Sierra
When the golden Aspen leaves drift down;
In the desert
When the Ocatillos turn red
And the Saguaros add another year
Wherever there is beauty in nature
I’ll be there.