Before we gather for Thanksgiving dinner with friends and family, it’s our tradition to take a hike.
 
Usually, we hit the trail on Thanksgiving morn, and our family hike is as much a part of our celebration as the big turkey dinner and the Robert Louis Stevenson Thanksgiving prayer I like to recite. This year, however, with the need to prepare a feast for a whole lot of relatives, more than a few of whom are quite elderly and in ill health, we took our hike the day before the holiday.
 
My wife Cheri, son Daniel, 12, and I meandered through the Coronado Butterfly Preserve located on the coastal bluffs about ten miles north of downtown Santa Barbara. We wanted to see if the monarch butterflies had arrived after their long migration from colder climes. The butterflies seem to have a knack for wintering in some of California’s most beautiful coastal locales, and the eucalyptus grove where they hang and hang out at the edge of Santa Barbara is a lovely place.
 
Monarchs hang on trees in thick bunches, resembling so many triangular dead brown leaves until, warmed by the sun, they spread their wings and fly around aptly-named butterfly groves. This is fall color, California-style, an autumn spectacle that lingers well into winter and stays in a hiker’s heart for a very long time.
 
One-two-three monarchs flutter overhead, but we cannot sight great clusters of the creatures. It appears as if the advance scouting party of monarchs has arrived, but not the main migration. 
 
Here on the California coast, the seasons have been slow to change this year. Daniel is still playing baseball; last Sunday he played in 68-degree weather in the town of Santa Ynez and it appears the Turkey Shoot Baseball Tournament in Ventura this weekend will be played under fair skies. Perhaps the monarchs sense a mild autumn and thus are in no hurry to reach their over-wintering grounds.
 
We hikers—and those we meet and greet with “Happy Thanksgiving”—are all clad in hiking shorts, as if November 25 is the last day of summer.
 
We exit the butterfly preserve and head out onto the coastal bluffs where our attention is soon drawn to a bright white egret. Then it’s on to a coastal trail that traces the edge of 80-foot cliffs soaring high above the beach. Sometimes we like to hike along the beach, but not today; it’s a very high tide and the waves are rolling all the way to the base of the cliffs. You can’t hike the beach if there’s no beach.
 
As we hike back to the trailhead, I silently give thanks for the big things: for my faith, my family, my country. And a thanks for the little things, too: birds, butterflies and time on the trail to count my blessings.