The snacks were packed, the dog was wagging his tail at the sound of car keys, and it was a sunny day that was begging us to travel somewhere. Except we weren't sure exactly where to go. Should we go north, south, east, or west? If we went west, we'd go to Taughannock Falls in Ithaca, New York. Other destinations represented the other directions. I don't remember what they were. But when we took off, we weren't sure where we were going.

     To pause over this dilemma, we got breakfast the all-American way: take-out from McDonald's. Husbands and wives, mothers and children, friends and neighbors sat in the generic atmosphere of the restaurant, and were still there after I got our breakfast. Who says that fast-food has busted up family time? After nourishing ourselves with instant nosh, the decision for the west and Taughannock was made. So west we headed, west we went.

     The trip there was smooth and quiet, passing by small towns and farms, the way a typical rural drive typically is. That is, until downtown Ithaca, home of Cornell University. It was like being lulled asleep by silence, and waking up to firecrackers. Drivers from the right lane cutting in front of you to get into the left-hand lane. Creeping along at twenty miles an hour, then the guy in front of you braking suddenly in order to parallel park in the last spot in town. I don't know if Ithaca is a bona fide city, but it felt like I was driving in one.

     Soon enough, thankfully, we drove out of the city to the route that would take us to Taughannock. We passed Allen H. Treman State Park, a marina that is located on Cayuga Lake. The terrain was flatter than the landscape we drove by on the way. This was the Finger Lake Region, where the vineyards were. We'd passed a couple on the way. Further west and north were wineries aplenty. But now we drove past the lake. Sailboats and powerboats dotted the marina, ready to play. The water was an emerald green, as though we were in the Caribbean and not central New York. You could see it shimmering through the trees as we traveled towards Taughannock.


     We reached the obligatory state park sign, and pulled into a parking lot of what seemed to be a beach park. There was a comfort station, a playground, and a lifeguard stand. But no falls. We got up and walked around, thinking that there must be some path that would lead us to the falls. We didn't see any, but there was an information station, with one of those maps that announce "YOU ARE HERE" with a bright symbol, representing how dismally you're off track. It turned out the falls were across the street, slightly further down the road. Obeying the directive, we hustled ourselves across the street. The familiar sound of mist spraying and the mob of cars gathered here indicated we had finally arrived at our destination.

     Taughannock (pronounced tuh-GA-nick) Falls is a waterfall with vertical height of 215 feet. This is 33 feet higher than its famous counterpart, the Niagara. It's one of the highest falls east of the Rockies. There's two ways to access the falls, a base trail and one on the bluffs. The base trail is known as the Gorge Trail. It goes for a length of three-quarters if a mile, and is flat pretty much the whole way. The upper trail is the Rim Trail, a trail that is only open subject to the seasons. There are other trails throughout the park, though we didn't access any of them. We decided to save the Rim Trail for another day and took the began walking the Gorge Trail towards the falls.


     There was a small waterfall that you could see from the parking area. It was a small hint of what was to come later. These rapids were full from melted snowfall, and could pass as a scenic centerpiece in any county or town park. They resembled chiseled steps, as though in prehistoric times, mankind used it as a sacred staircase as they ascended their way through the glen. Now, through time, they bore testament to history, as the water ground them down and played a rhythm of solitude and peace.

     Many others had the same idea as we did to visit the falls. Women with track suits and earphones, college students, couples, and those with dogs walked the trail with us. Our dog, Kirk, particularly enjoyed the last group of people. Like most dog-owners are aware of, canines can be great ice-breakers amongst strangers, and he provided opportunity for conversation that wouldn't have happened otherwise. An older gentleman with a younger boy walked at about the same pace of us. They spoke in a foreign language; my guess was German.

     The trail was easy on the feet. On one side, there was a rising hill of trees, on which the Rim Trail was on the summit. On the other side was the lake, which was bordered by a huge glen. At points, this glen reaches up to 400 feet. There is a rock bed creek, which eventually, over time, created the falls. For now, the glen gave made me feel like I was on the bottom of the Grand Canyon, that is, until I looked left and saw the trees rising up on the hill.


     Soon afterwards, we encountered another small waterfall. At this part of the creek, the water was shallow enough to leave a beach of rocks in which to walk on. Many took advantage of this. There were parents whose children who walked to see how close to the edge they could reach without getting wet or before their panicked guardians recalled them, whichever came first. The beach was large enough to find your own private space where you could let the sun beam on your face and you could listen to the water, wondering how many people in the past did exactly the same thing. Like the falls themselves, it was a space of meditation in the middle of civilization.

     There were several areas where the creek diverted away from the main path, and we walked amongst rudimentary trails in order to access these points. It was like pulling off a busy highway into a secluded rest area. You could observe the bustling traffic and the waterway, while remaining hidden from both. It felt like the metaphorical road not taken, a view not seen by many and forgotten by most. Ducks splashed in the water here, enjoying the relative solitude that the woods inadvertently provided for them. Signs of life awakening to the spring, relishing the new season.


     The older gentleman with his young boy of a companion walked at about the same pace of us. I imagined that they were grandson and grandfather. The young boy, a blonde child of about eight, had a digital camera and stopped in the same areas as we did. Most times, when we walked, we were just ahead of them. Like us, they went off the main path to walk in the wooded areas by the creek. Most others remained on the main path.

     After about a half-hour or so, the sound of the main drop began echoing through the glen. The path crossed over on a bridge that spanned the creek, and the huge waterfall came into view. From a distance, it resembled postcards of Bridal Veil Falls in Yosemite. The fact that it was 400 feet less in height seemed irrelevant, and was hardly noticed. Perhaps because it was shorter in length, up close it almost seemed wider in diameter than the famous California destination. Maybe it was older; maybe it had achieved a quieter wisdom over time. Nothing in the comparison detracted from its enchantment.


     The falls were a simple testament to how elegant nature still was, and timeless. A cynic could just say it was water cascading over rock that happened to be in its way, but what a jewel it was to find. Just being in its presence was enough to silence my inner thinking, slapping any worries of the outside world down like the gnats they were. This was true life, this was true beauty.

     Many others congregated at the wall that served as the barrier of the observation point, some sitting for minutes, others coming and going. The focal point, the backdrop of the falls silencing the talkative, creating a commonality that between humans from many diverse regions. You've come a long way to get here, announced a sign as you reached the falls, stop and enjoy them. Many, including myself, heeded the advice, a piece of wisdom that hadn't needed to inform most who were there.

     Eventually, at a point that felt too soon, we made our way back on the trail to our vehicle. Some of the people who had arrived at the falls concurrently with us had already left, some stayed. More and more people arrived, and more and more encounters we had with children rushing onto the beach and dogs trying to get to know our pet. Yet as we made our way back toward our car and civilization, the power of the falls stayed. It's good to know oases of natural phenomena exist in the madness of urban and suburban chaos.

     Before we left, we made a quick pitstop to the beach across the street. The beach itself was deserted, which made sense seeing that swimming season was still months away. But there were people walking the trails in the park, enjoying the mild weather before going back to whatever responsibility they had to deal with. The Cayuga Lake still resembled a tropical beauty as it had on the drive there. Standing on the beach, for whatever reason, it briefly reminded me of Megan's Bay in St. Thomas. Perhaps it was the green water as well as feeling totally relaxed. The lack of people on the beach added to this moment of quietude.

     The word "Taughannock" originates from the Delaware Indians. It either comes from the name of the Indian chief by the same name, or could be derived from the word taghkanic, which means "great fall in the woods". Either definition would seem appropriate for this particular natural majesty, which had stood the test of time as something that predated mankind in the center of man's civilizations. The great minds spent their days at Cornell University, immersing themselves in some of the best theories that mankind had to offer. But not far away, this treasure still remained. I drove away from Taughannock Falls with the sound of its mist still resonating in my ears, thinking of that.