After several days of Pacific Northwest November weather last week—downpour, high wind, dramatic clouds—it was a relief to have a weekend of sun. As our Portland universe dried out the past two days, we were finally able to sweep up more of the bajillion fallen Douglas fir needles that had become a uniform carpet on the sidewalks, flagstones, patios, and driveway. This is addition to raking, raking, raking the maple leaves from the three giant trees in our backyard. We are very close to having all of the foliage shaken from every branch. The return of the rains on Monday may just do the trick…
For the love of a watery landscape…
This is a commonplace sight on the English Boom Trail on Camano Island on Camano Island. A place surrounded by the waters of Skagit Bay, Port Susan, and Sarasota Passage in Washington State. Water makings its determined way through marshes, rushes, fields, the surrounding land. Insistent, dominating, winning out in the end
Greetings from War-Ravaged Portland!
Where there are free bouquets available for passersby on their way to and from Alberta Park. Where there are no fires that I can see, no conflagrations, no insurrectionists warring in the streets. Where the sun is out and it is a glorious autumn day iridescent with green, melodious with birdsong, peaceful and calm and serene. And since I know that the tyrants are lying and gaslighting about what is currently going on here—in the city where I live—makes a person wonder why one would ever take anything they utter at face value let alone assume it is telling the truth
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Autumnal Equinox & the Diminishing Hours of Light…
This past Monday marked the passage from summer into autumn—a day of balance between light and dark—even though most of these late September days are still cloudless and warm. Tomatoes continue to ripen on the vine. Assorted flowers are in riotous late-season bloom. In spite of the growing menace—and very real harms—flowing 24/7 from the unhinged actions of too many
Seeking Refuge in the Flower Fields…
This afternoon we made our annual pilgrimage to Canby, Oregon—an hour or so south of Portland near the Willamette River—to see the forty-plus acres of dahlias in peak bloom at Swan Island Dahlias. Every August and September, they open their fields to visitors—there are food carts, music, fresh-cut bouquets, and general festivities all around for the attendees. Sunday afternoon was no exception as we lucked into a performance by the Salem-area blues band, Hank Shreve…
Fog and Pelicans and the Central Coast of the Olympic Peninsula of Washington State…
Been on a bit of a road trip involving ferries, Electrify America charging stations, and quirky museums of local interest and then some. Navigating the two-lanes through the Olympic Peninsula rain forests, the Whidbey Island estuaries and driftwood bird sanctuaries, and now, tonight, the fog-bound Washington coast where Grays Harbor meets the Pacific Ocean and flocks of pelicans are careening overhead. The cars downtown in this coastal marina…
The Summer of Our Discontent
The days grow shorter. The brutal heat comes and goes and comes right back again it seems. The backyard habitat plants that are used to their cool, their shadows and shade, now scald and shrivel and brown. The birds and the bees are gluttons for the many water options we have scattered about. We near the end of August and the state of this union on this precarious planet feels more uncertain, more fraught than ever before it seems. I do not think I have being hyperbolic when National Guard…
Nothing to Celebrate Today…
After this shameful week in the United States Senate, later in the House of Representatives, and today when Felon 47 takes out his Sharpie and scrawls his illegible nonsense on a bill that should never have been sanctioned let alone. Instead, give a listen to a reading of this scathing speech by the Honorable Frederick Douglass, “What to the Slave is the Fourth of July?” as orated by his descendants. Douglass delivered this speech to the Rochester Ladies’ Anti-Slavery Society in Rochester, New York on July 5, 1852. So much of what he speaks to is tragically still relevant today…
What’s In a Word?
There are a series of language lessons on a fence a few blocks from our house. Take a bunch of critters, mount them in tiny dioramas on a wooden fence and add their names in three languages—Chinook, English, and Spanish. What do you have? A cross-cultural language lesson and an art installation all in one. And one that acknowledges the folks who lived on this land before us and, frankly, to whom it rightfully belongs. Before I quit Facebook …
All That Remains in the Light
Spring with all of its blooming and blossoming is a good time of year to learn how to see the world anew again. About a month ago, I had cataracts removed from both of my eyes. Since then, I not only have extraordinary distance vision for the first time almost sixty years but the world seems somehow brighter than ever. Throughout the day, I find myself startled…










