Party for One

 In the writing cave

Rain drums the roof

Fire lights up the hearth

Kettle sings for tea

Fingers dance across a keyboard

Words jive, spin and dive towards home 

Recovering Memories

 Original Publication, Methow Valley News, September 23, 2020

When we evacuate, if there is time, I grab an irreplaceable family heirloom: a small doll with a crude button face, a dress made of tartan rags wrapped about a body formed by the wishbone of a hen. A small card tied about her neck bears a handwritten poem. In the tiny box with the tiny doll is a note written on onionskin paper.

My great-grandmother’s handwriting details the doll’s origins, tracing our family lines. When my parents passed away, their friends and family graciously sent me mementos that they thought I should have to remember my parents: photographs, stories, jewelry, tools — items that had an emotional and physical connection to my parents.

Woven baskets from this region have a similar meaning. Family origins and storylines are woven into the pattern with different colors, different plant materials. To make these artful and utilitarian baskets is no small feat. The process of gathering traditional materials of cedar root and wild cherry bark is increasingly restricted by property owners.

Construction and agricultural activities damage traditional areas where materials were once gathered. Between cultural changes that made weaving no longer a necessity, and landscape changes that limit weaving resources, the art and practice of Native American weaving is in danger of becoming a lost art. These family heirlooms are cultural artifacts, precious evidence of utilitarian practices and art of the first people who lived in their traditional homeland, the Methow Valley.

Labor Day fires burned more than just homes on the Colville Reservation. The fires moved so quickly that families had no time to save their own family heirlooms, cultural artifacts passed down through generations of the Methow people. The loss of home and hearth has a significant impact on elders’ health, livelihood, and capacity to pass on their language, traditions, and skills. For many years, these community members and Methow descendants have graciously and generously shared their stories with the Methow Valley Interpretive Center — helping to build educational bridges. They have given us a rich experience and education about this place and the people who came before us. Now, we must give back and support these elders.

Monetary donations can be made to the Methow Valley Interpretive Center earmarked as “Fire Relief.” All fire relief donations go directly to families in need. Information on how to donate can be found at www.methowvalleyinterpretivecenter.com. Please also consider cultural items that may be someone else’s family heirloom, and how much that would mean to the recipient.

A reminder: Peak bird migration is August-October. The National Audubon Society encourages people to help birds and reduce nighttime light pollution by turning out all unnecessary lights from 11 p.m. to 6 a.m. The Methow Dark Sky Coalition urges people to protect our night sky with environmentally responsible lighting by following International Dark-Sky Association guidelines for outdoor lighting. Be a good neighbor by protecting our dark skies. For information, see http://www.methowdarksky.org.

 

State Flower, State Tree, State Monster

Original publication, Methow Valley News, September 16, 2020

Conversations overheard at the bakery:

Him: We should probably get something for them.

Her: Honey, they don’t eat like us, not remotely anything like what we eat.

Him: You’re right, something with lots of seeds, then…

Also overheard at the bakery:

Him: I think we should get one of everything.

Her: We were sent here for breakfast burritos. Focus on the mission.

Him: That chocolate éclair looks like a burrito.

In other news, Washington state has a state flower, a state tree, and a state monster. On Aug. 26, 1970, Gov. Dan Evans issued this proclamation:

“Whereas, recent developments have shown that Washington State has only one true mysterious monster, the Great Sasquatch, and it is endangered of imminent extinction, and

“Whereas, we are the only state which is able to claim the Sasquatch as our own, Now, therefore, I Daniel J. Evans, by virtue and authority vested in me by RCW 00.00.000 do proclaim all Sasquachii within the border of our great state (and anywhere else) protected as a Washington State resource and be hereafter, the Official State Monster.”

For the trivia win: Bigfoot is the only state monster to ever have his very own syndicated TV show.

At my other job with the Bear Fight Institute, I open the mail. I do other highfalutin things, but the singular task of opening mail is germane to this story. (Side note: the Bear Fight Institute does not deal with the sparrings of ursae. The institute is a collaboration of scientists conducting planetary research.) An airmail letter from Britain contained a handwritten note requesting a professional opinion on the existence of the Loch Ness monster. I regret that I did not reply, “Dear Sir, as a research institute located in the Pacific Northwest, we can only speak on issues relating to Bigfoot.” That would have been a hairy tall tale, as the scientists at the Bear Fight Institute study geographic features, not mythical monsters.

In Barbara Davidson’s “The American Bestiary: The Most Famous Mythical Creature of Every U.S. State, Illustrated,” every state monster receives an illustrated caricature with a short biographical origin story. Included in “The American Bestiary” is a well-known monster from my childhood summer camp: Sharlie, a dinosaur-like creature dwelling beneath the waters of Payette Lake. Camp counselors would tell hushed and urgent tales of Sharlie, and why campers should never go swimming alone. Tell a kid not to go swimming alone because it’s “not safe” and they will ignore the boring adult instruction. Tell campers a mythical dragon snatches children down to a dark watery cave, and kids will religiously use the buddy system when swimming — not for safety, but to torture each other by screaming, “something just touched my leg!”

In winter, the McCall Ice Carnival always has a Sharlie carved in ice — a friendly-looking dragon, the length of frozen scales and claws looping the length of a city block, glistening in the winter sun.

Wyoming’s mythical creature is the jackalope. As the origin story goes, some guy (it’s always “some guy”) mounted antelope antlers atop a stuffed bunny and the bar décor became trendy. The viral myth has roots in a virus. Rabbits are susceptible to the Shope papillomavirus that causes carcinomas on the head and face. Carl Zimmer documents the virus in “A Planet of Viruses” — light reading about real monsters that will kill you. Fun trivia fact: There are more viruses than stars in the universe. I am never leaving the house… unless lured by a chocolate éclair from Cinnamon Twisp Bakery.

Sue Misao took another walkabout, gifting the world with this informative gem: https://www.heraldnet.com/news/not-all-who-wander-are-lost-but-we-definitely-were-and-are.

  

Summer Dinner in the Rain

Original publication, Methow Valley News, August 26, 2020

Petrichor [pet-ri-kawr]: the earthy scent produced when rain falls on dry soil. From Greek petros, "stone", and ichor, the ethereal fluid that flows in the veins of the gods in classical Greek mythology. As I am writing this column late on a Friday afternoon, the aroma of petrichor blows through the window carried by late summer winds. September rains cannot come soon enough. 

A friend noted that while she lived in the deep south there was never the smell of petrichor when it rained. Perhaps because the southern soil is perpetually drenched by humid blankets of air from ocean currents, and there is no dry soil to release sighs of petrichor when raindrops fall. 

While southern air may be heavy, Pacific Northwest gardens benefit from long summer days. The vines droop with the weight of ripened tomatoes, squash, and beans, while branches bend beneath the weight of juicy peaches. 

Summer dinners are seasonal feasts. It begins with a plate of sliced tomatoes atop thick slices of mozzarella, drizzled with balsamic vinegar and topped with torn basil. Next come meatballs, made with two cups of finely shredded zucchini, a grated shallot, half a cup of panko bread crumbs, one teaspoon of red pepper flakes, one pound of ground turkey, a handful of chopped fresh herbs: mint, basil, parsley, dill, oregano, the juice from a large lemon, and half a cup of feta cheese. The meatballs are drizzled with olive oil prior to baking at 425 degrees Fahrenheit for 30 minutes, and served wrapped in warm pita bread topped with a cucumber dill yogurt sauce. A side of colorful roasted vegetables from the garden, drizzled with oil, topped with feta and herbs complete the meal. 

Barbara Kingsolver’s book Animal, Vegetable, Miracle contains a staple zucchini dish: Disappearing Zucchini Orzo. This works well as a warm side dish, or a cold pasta salad, or in a bowl all by itself. Cook up a pound of orzo pasta according to package directions. Shred 3 zucchini, an onion, and 2 cloves of garlic. Saute the vegetables in olive oil and butter until golden and translucent. Finely grate a half cup of parmesan, and toss together with the pasta and sauted vegetables. Top with freshly chopped thyme and oregano, salt and pepper to taste. 

For dessert, a peach ginger crumble comes together with barely any effort. Remove skins and pits from a dozen peaches. Thinly slice peaches and place in 9”x9” baking dish. Peel two inches of gingerroot and using a zester, finely grate the gingerroot over the peaches. Sprinkle with a bit of cinnamon and nutmeg. Toss to combine. Pour a half cup of honey over the peaches and stir to combine. Pour two cups of quick cooking rolled oats over the peach mixture, spreading evenly. Top the oats with three quarter cups of loose brown sugar, in an even layer. Thinly slice a stick of cold butter and place the slices atop the brown sugar. Bake at 425 degrees Fahrenheit for 30 minutes, until the oat topping is browned and peaches are bubbly. 

 

Book Review: The Fire Next Time, James Baldwin

As I consider how far America has come in sixty years, and how far we have yet to actualize the ideals listed in the Constitution and Bill of Rights, one singular image is burned into my mind. Little Ruby Bridges, escorted by federal marshals to her first day of kindergarten at a newly desegregated elementary school in 1960 New Orleans. She looks like every other kindergartener: smaller than the school bag she carries, with a button nose and chubby cheeks of a baby, stepping out into the big wide world. Her hairbow is most prominent as she looks down, her little feet stepping down those big steps. 

I want to rush up those steps and scoop her into my arms, hiding her face in my shoulder so she doesn’t see the crowds of other white women hurling objects at her and yelling ugly words. I felt this even more strongly as images of my hometown from last week portrayed white adults physically assaulting young protesters who were peacefully requesting an end systemic racism. I often think about what Ruby Bridge’s mother must have felt that first day of school… in addition to the fear, I know her mother felt an overwhelming sense of awe, love, and pride in that little girl who held her head up and returned to school day after day, walking through those crowds with the federal marshals at her side. 

Little Ruby Bridges grew into a strong woman with a large voice that she uses to this day to continue to advocate for civil rights. 

In his essay, “The Fire Next Time”, writer James Baldwin touches upon the strength that Ruby displayed at such a tender age. He states that generations of Black Americans surviving the worst that life had to offer had born, “children of kindergarten age who can walk through mobs to get to school.”

The title of Baldwin’s essay is from a slave song, “God gave Noah the rainbow sign, No more water, the fire next time!” His essay opens with a letter to his nephew, also named James. The letter is a map for his nephew to navigate a white America as a young black man. The second part of the essay is a letter from the writer describing his own navigational journey. Harassed and abused by police when he was ten, young James finds security in a life devoted to the church, and enters the ministry. His essay examines the roles Christianity and Islam played during the civil rights movement, and in slavery and oppression. Through hardship, black Americans rose above fear and moved forward with love and grace. The overarching message is change is messy, and requires all citizens to stand up and make their voices heard in unity. At 100 pages, the essay is bit longer than most, and requires a quiet mind to listen. At once historical and timely, “The Fire Next Time” provides context for civil right actions today.

 

Peruvian Chicken and Roasted Corn Salad

While in Peru, we ate well at every single meal. This one sheet pan meal is an easy, flavorful dinner that combines roasted chicken, potatoes, and a roasted corn salad all on one pan.

You will need:
Four chicken thighs or two chicken breasts
1 lb multi-colored fingerling potatoes
1 ear of corn (or 1/2 cup frozen corn kernels, thawed and squeezed dry)
1 small onion
1 red bell pepper
2-3 jalepeno peppers
Chili seasoning and olive oil


Green sauce:
1 bunch cilantro
1 bunch mint
1 lime
Oil, salt, pepper

Heat oven to 400 degrees F. Slice potatoes into quarters, toss with olive oil and chili seasoning and spread on one side of pan. Oil and season chicken, place in center of pan. Place pan in preheated oven for 10 minutes.

Slice corn from ear, and chop remaining vegetables to the same size as the corn kernels. Toss with olive oil and chili seasoning. Remove chicken and potatoes from oven, spread corn and pepper salad on other side of sheet pan and return to oven for 20 minutes to cook the roasted corn/pepper salad and continue roasting the potatoes and chicken.

Place cilantro and mint leaves in blender. Zest the lime. Add the zest and juice of the lime to the blender. Sprinkle in salt and pepper to taste. Drizzle in olive oil while blending until sauce reaches desired consistency. Serve over roasted chicken and potatoes.

Poem for Mary

For Mary

Solvitur Ambulando,

A heavy heart embraced by storm clouds

A head full of bees, seeking tranquility

It is solved by walking

Where mountain peaks touch the sky

Brush the rain from the clouds

Droplets, rivulets, connecting streams

From mountains arteries, sweet water flows

Treetops sway in the breeze

Aspen leaves applaud the morning light

Meadow larks sing the bees to sleep

Mountain bluebirds discern undulating grasses

Arrowleaf and lupine master the hillsides

Sage butter cups, spring beauties

Burst forth, assimilating the forest floor

Leaves absorb sunlight, roots deeply penetrate rich soil

Nxwenax wenanamx

Wenatchi - to comprehend, to understand

Footprints writ upon the forest floor

The forest knows, it knows the soul

#Starentine

While we’re in quarantine, let’s all starentine! Head outside at the same time each night and log your experience on social media using the hashtag #starentine, along with thousands of other people around the world. 

Appreciating the night sky comes naturally, after all, as Carl Sagan so aptly stated, “we are all made of starstuff.” During this time of lockdown, less light pollution allows the vibrancy of meteors, planets, and star constellations to reach our eager eyes. Star gazing requires no specialized knowledge or expensive gear. Turn off the lights, call your neighbor and ask them politely to turn off their yard light, and step outside with your head tilted back and eyes wide open. Let us enjoy the night sky together, while we are all apart. 

This week is perfect for viewing the Lyrid meteor shower with mostly clear skies and the moon hidden in Earth’s shadow. The Lyrids can be seen throughout the end of April, but the peak viewing time is during the darkest hours of the new moon Wednesday night, April 22nd. The recommended viewing time is from midnight to just an hour before dawn. Look to the northeast, towards the Vega star in the Lyra constellation. To learn more about the Lyrid meteor shower, visit the American Meteor Society’s webpage, https://www.amsmeteors.org/

You may have already noticed a vibrant Venus. She is the brightest planet and the first to arrive to the party in the western sky shortly after the Sun takes his leave. If you rise an hour before dawn and look to the east, you’ll see Mars, Saturn, and Jupiter. Mars has a reddish hue from the rust colored dust coating his surface. Saturn, the gassiest planet, is golden from the mixture of hydrogen, helium, ammonia, phosphine, water vapor, and hydrocarbons. The largest planet in our solar system, Jupiter, is mostly viewed as creamy white with the ice crystals that make up its atmosphere. The four largest moons of Jupiter can be seen through a pair of binoculars. Io, Europa, Ganymede, and Callisto are known collectively as the Galileans, named after Galileo Galilei. For more information on viewing planets in the night sky, visit https://nightsky.jpl.nasa.gov/planner.cfm

The best time to view the topography of the moon will be at the end of the month, on April 30th during the “quarter moon” phase, when half of the visible surface is lit. Using binoculars, gaze along the boundary line between the dark side and the sunlit side of the moon. Long shadows cast by mountain ranges and crater rims are easier to see on the moon’s surface when it is partially lit in either the crescent or half-moon phases.

Another kind of shooting star can be seen during the day, on long walks up sunny hillsides. In addition to shooting stars, the mountain buttercups, yellow bells, and blue bells are in full bloom, while the balsam root sunflowers are eclipsing the newly green hillsides. With upended daily routines, and social hangouts on hold, I feel my thoughts sluggish at times. But in the words of Henry David Thoreau, “Methinks that the moment my legs begin to move, my thoughts begin to flow.” 

Wash your hands, take a walk, and look up once in a while. Be well, my friends.

Original publication, Methow Valley News, 22 April 2020

Full Plate

My plate is too full

I wish it piled with cake

Alas it is not

As it has always been...

Two recent earthquakes shook the western slopes of the Rocky Mountains. On March 18th a 5.7 magnitude quake shook a town near Salt Lake. On March 31st, a 6.5 magnitude quake occurred north of Boise. The quakes were unrelated, but caused by the same actions that formed the Rocky Mountain range 80 million to 55 million years ago. The mountains continue to slowly grow, as they always have. It is a reassurance that the world continues to move in ways it always has.

The Idaho quake triggered an instant video conference with school chums from my hometown. We all had ‘working from home’ hair except for that one guy who dresses up for everything, and that one gal who is always put together. His coiffure lay in perfectly combed waves and he wore a sweater vest with a tie, her black hair smoothly framed her flawless skin as she sipped a glass of wine. The rest of us bore wild uncombed locks and sported concert t-shirts and sweatpants. It has always been this way with this group.

Mud season is not my favorite season, but I do love what it promises: long walks in an awakening spring. Plants unfurl their leaves to absorb sunlight, breathe in carbon dioxide and exhale oxygen, producing food and clean air. Afternoon mud puddles transform overnight into crystalline art forms, glistening in the morning sun. As the day warms, rivulets of melted ice trickle into the ditch along the road, rushing to meet the creek, which flows into the river in a rush towards the great ocean. Mary Oliver assured us, “It is the nature of stone to be satisfied. It is the nature of water to want to be somewhere else.” It has always been this way.

In the novel, The Overstory by Richard Powers, one of the characters describes walking through a Pacific Northwest forest tucked into the stony folds of the Cascade mountain range. She walks in a place where one of the native languages uses the same word for “footprint” and “understanding.” The Wenatchi dialect of Interior Pacific Northwest Salish uses the same phrase for “footprint” as “to comprehend and to understand.” In Latin, the phrase solvitur ambulando, translates as, “it is solved by walking.” Walking is good for both body and soul, as is understood in languages older than our own. It has always been a grounding reassurance to feel the earth under our feet.

I’ve been stuck on the song, “Alaska,” by Maggie Rogers. She sings about walking through icy streams and glacial plains. The chorus, “I walked off you, and I walked off an old me,” is a reminder that everything is temporary, and a walk is good medicine to clear the mind. It has always been this way.

While we are physically distanced, we can still make a connection with each other by listening and reading one another’s stories…as it has always been.

Roasted vegetables with creamy polenta

This meal feels perfect during the coronavirus quarantine. Made from pantry staples and fresh vegetables that keep well for weeks, this simple dish is full of flavor and deeply satisfying.

I use pre-cooked polenta, that comes packaged in a tube form. Mainly because I'm lazy, but also because I love to cut the polenta into thick slices and fry it for other meals. For this meal, I made the polenta, roasted the veggies, and stewed the the sweet peppers in a tomato sauce. A bit longer to prepare, but worth it. The stewed peppers are also a nice addition to an antipasto board served with brushetta.
For a quicker meal, skip the stewing step, and roast the peppers with the other vegetables before topping off with your favorite tomato sauce.

• 1 pkg precooked polenta
• cream, butter, and salt and pepper to taste
• 1 zucchini
• 1 large carrot
• 6 large white mushrooms
• 1 small red onion
• 6 small sweet bell peppers, red and yellow
• Olive oil
• Seasoning salt

Optional - if you choose to stew the peppers instead of roasting:

• Olive oil
• 4 anchovies
• 1 large sweet onion
• kalamata olives, pitted, and capers in brine
• 1 can roasted tomatoes
• salt

Prepare the polenta according to package directions. I break mine up into chunks in a saucepan and heat over medium heat, mashing and adding cream and butter until it is the consistency that I like. Add salt and pepper to taste.

Chop up vegetables, except the peppers if you opt to stew them, and toss with olive oil and seasoning salt. Roast at 400 degrees F for 20 minutes.

To prepare stewed peppers: Heat the olive oil in a large straight-sided skillet over medium heat. When the oil is hot, add the anchovies. Cook and stir until they dissolve into the oil, about 1 to 2 minutes. Add the onions, and cook until they begin to wilt, about 4 minutes.

Add the peppers, and season with the salt. Add the olives, capers, and red pepper flakes, and get everything sizzling; then add the tomatoes, slosh out the can with 1 cup water, and add that to the pan. Cover, and cook until the peppers begin to droop, about 10 minutes.

Uncover, and cook until the peppers and onions are tender and the sauce is thick and flavorful, about 10 to 15 minutes more.

To serve: spoon polenta onto plate, top with vegetables and grated parmesan or asiago cheese.

Lentil Loaf

After a long day of weekend chores and hiking, this was exactly what I wanted for dinner tonight. Filling, delicious, easy, and cheap

I wanted traditional comfort food. Meat loaf fit the bill, but I'm working to reduce the plastic I buy, and since meat at the grocery store is all wrapped in plastic, we are trying to reduce the meat in our meals.

I was curious about lentil loaves, having read several recipes about them, it seemed simple enough. I perused through a few different recipes, and came up with this combination.

Canned lentils could be used in place of dry lentils. Dry lentils can be simmered in any type of liquid: broth or water would be just as good. I typically use a tomato sauce in my meatloaf mixture, so I opted to cook the lentils in a tomato sauce for this recipe.

Loaf 1/2 C dry lentils 1 C chopped mushrooms 32 oz tomato sauce 1 C water 1/2 tsp onion powder 1/2 tsp garlic powder 1/2 tsp chipotle powder 1/4 salt

Vegetables onion 2 carrots 2 celery stalks 1 zucchini olive oil salt and pepper 3 garlic cloves

Binder 2 eggs 1 C flour 1 C oats

Glaze 32 oz tomato sauce 3 T balsamic vinegar 3 T maple syrup

Place the loaf ingredients into a saucepan and bring to a boil. Simmer until lentils are soft, about 30 minutes.

Finely chop vegetables and saute in olive oil for about 10 minutes, until onions are translucent. Finely chop garlic cloves and add to vegetable mixture, sauteing for another 2 minutes before removing from heat.

Using an immersion blender, mash lentil/mushroom mixture, or put in a food processor. Add binding ingredients: eggs, flour, oats, and mix until well blended. Combine lentil mixture with vegetables. Place  into loaf pan and bake in 350 degree oven for 40 minutes.

To prepare glaze, place tomato sauce, balsamic vinegar, and maple syrup into sauce pan. Bring to a boil, then simmer for 40 minutes to reduce sauce. When lentil loaf has baked for 40 minutes, remove from oven, spoon glaze over top, and return to oven for an additional 10 minutes or until glaze starts to caramelize (brown).

We are all made of star stuff

Everyone has a desire to connect with where their DNA originated from. Friday night discussions in the tap room circled around an upcoming vacation. The couple planned to follow the genetic signature revealed by their DNA test results. The journey to find our common origination source could go back even further.  Let’s start at the very beginning. I heard it’s a very good place to start.

In the first few seconds of the Big Bang, the simplest atom, hydrogen, formed. Hydrogen atoms were the only element for nearly 300 million years. Hydrogen atoms begin to stick together, forming large clusters.  As more and more hydrogen atoms joined the cluster, the internal temperature and pressure excited the particles to the extent that two hydrogen atoms crashed together in nuclear fusion. The protons of each hydrogen atom fused in the nuclei, forming a nucleus with two protons. Helium was born. This nuclear fusion released an astronomical amount of energy, converting some of the hydrogen mass into energy expressed as light, creating a star. Einstein’s shorthand for this process can be read as E=mc2.

Within the newborn star, nuclear fusion continued. Elements crashed together again and again, protons colliding into nuclei, combining to form more elements. Helium fused with hydrogen to form lithium, and on and on all the way up to iron, with 26 protons in its nuclei. At this moment, the star full of elements reached the end of its life and exploded in a supernova. The elements erupted forth in the form of stardust that traveled on stellar winds like little space dust bunnies, clumping together to form more stars. In all, 86 different elements are produced during the birth, life, and death of stars. 

All of these elements, these particles of stardust, make up the human body. There is oxygen in our lungs, carbon in our muscles, calcium in our bones, and iron in our blood. All of these elements were created inside a star before Earth was ever a twinkle in her daddy’s eye. Imagine, someone may have wished upon a star that you are made of.

This week of January is the perfect time of month for star gazing, if the skies are clear. The moon is positioned in between the Earth and Sun, showing us her dark side, and leaving only the light of the stars to reach our eyes at night. 

Look directly north around 7:30 p.m. to see the Double Cluster of stars. These star clusters lie between the constellations of Perseus and Cassiopia. The Double Cluster is visible by the naked eye in areas with little light pollution – like our own Methow Valley dark skies. In the northern sky this week, comet C/2017 T2 PanSTARRS will travel through the Cassiopeia constellation. With binoculars, the comet and perhaps its tail is dimly visible during the month of January. Peak visibility of the comet is during May 2020. 

Preserving our dark skies allows us to see the very stars from whence we came, and connect with the basic elements that we all share. As Martin Luther King Jr. said, “Only in the darkness can you see the stars.” 

This article originally appeared in Methow Valley News, 22 January 2020

Mr. Crotchet

Merry Christmas Eve

The year was 1981. I was seven, and mesmerized by our neighbor: a crotchety man, I will call him Mr. Crotchet, who tirelessly ranted about everything and everyone. I found him fascinating.

Sometimes I sat on my bike in his driveway, listening while he puttered and muttered in his garage.

Sometimes I would inch closer and start handing him tools while he worked on his motorcycle and raged against the world. He taught me sophisticated insults: insipid, fatuous, obtuse, and more. I never heard an adult so articulately voice anger on a consistent level. I honestly did not think he noticed who handed him tools, or that a seven-year-old intently listened to his diatribes on the current state of affairs.

One day he uncharacteristically asked me a question: when were we getting a Christmas tree?

The night before, my dad explained there was no money for a tree. His shoulders slumped as he said he hoped I was not disappointed. I only wanted my parents not to worry, I did not care about a tree.

I explained all this to Mr. Crotchet, and shrugged my shoulders to indicate that a stupid tree was not important. He asked if we had enough to eat, and inquired about my baby brother. We were fine, I said, and then took off on my bike after wishing him a Merry Christmas.

The next day I came home from school to find the biggest, fullest, beautiful fir tree leaning up against our house next to a box filled with jars of baby food and a frozen turkey. The electric bill was due that day, and when my mother called the power company to explain why we were not able to pay on time that month, the receptionist said someone paid our bill the day before.

I told Mom it was Mr. Crotchet. She doubted it, but piled a clean styrofoam meat tray with cookies, wrapped it with Saran Wrap and stuck a bow on top. We marched across the street with the tray full of cookies topped with a bow and knocked on his door.

As we thanked him, Mr. Crotchet claimed he didn’t know what we were talking about and rushed to firmly shut the door in our faces.

Mom bent down to set the cookies on his stoop and met me at eye level. “Clearly, it wasn’t him,” she said with a look that made it clear this was a secret we would let him keep.

His gift was not the tree, the turkey, the baby food, or even the paid bill.

The gift he gave us was kindness.

Being kind is not the same as being nice. Niceties are shallow, and disappear quickly, like snowflakes melting on a fingertip. Kindness leaves a lasting impression, an indented fingerprint on our souls of clay.

Festivus, 2019

Brothers and sisters, let us gather together once again for the holiday that brings us all together, Festivus. The hallowed tradition of the Airing of Grievances connects us all in our mutual annoyance of all things annoying. Place a solemn gloved hand on a pole, and let us begin. 

Toilet paper rolls with one remaining square. Nothing ruins the sacred grounds of trust more than a previous user failing to replace the role of toilet paper. 

One headlight out. The dashboard of a car is filled with useless lights and warnings. I can readily see that my seatbelt is not fastened, I don’t need a flashing cartoon reminder accompanied by a loud ding. The ‘Check Engine’ light is too generic to be of any use. What I can’t readily see from behind the wheel of the car is that one headlight is out, causing a whole host of perilous dangers. We can put a man on the moon, but can’t develop a dashboard notification of a Popeye.

George RR Martin has yet to finish the final two books of his series, A Song of Ice and Fire. He’s procrastinated for over two decades, pumping out other novels, a daily blog, essays, and granting interviews. Instead of just sitting down to focus on finishing what I want, he just does what he wants. The audacity of being an independent human being. 

Drivers who drive too slowly when the roads are dry and weather’s awesome. Look buddy, I know you’re out on a scenic drive, but this two-lane highway is a conduit for people who have somewhere to be and we don’t all have the luxury of going 35 in a 60 zone. That’s what the back roads are for. Take that whimsical drive over to the back road. 

Drivers who drive too fast when the roads are nasty and the weather’s thick. Look buddy, I know the speed limit is 60, but there’s people driving around with one headlight out and nobody can see more than ten feet in front of the car. Slow your roll to 35, and let’s try to live until Georgie-boy cranks out the final two novels of A Song of Ice and Fire. 

Brimmed hats indoors on someone’s head. Do they need a ‘check engine’ light on the brim to remind them to remove their hat? Or should I just make a ding noise next to them until said hat is removed?

Speaking of hats – outdoor lights with no lamp shade. The light just spills out all over the place, lighting up other neighbor’s windows and copious amounts of sky. Can you afford to light the whole neighborhood? Nobody wants your extra light. 

Vacuums with bagless canisters and hinged openings on both the top and bottom. Having two hinged openings on one bagless cannister opens up a whole dusty bin of opportunity for failure of multiple hinges. Nothing aggrieves me more than a dust bin unexpectedly opening from the bottom to release all the dirty contents on a freshly vacuumed floor. 

Happy Festivus! 

This article originally appeared in the Methow Valley News, 11 December 2019

Elderberry Canyon Trail

Elderberry Canyon, located in the Libby Creek drainage, has no elderberries. At least, from what I observed on a recent foray. I could be wrong. My attention was oft distracted by views of silvery granite peaks of the Sawtooth range, adorned by seasonal colors of golden larches. 

If you are looking for a short and sweet, in and out, close to town, and relatively flat walk, Elderberry Canyon is one option. To get there, travel one mile south of Carlton, and turn right into the Libby Creek drainage. After 3.6 miles, take the left fork and continue on Libby Creek Road for about a quarter of a mile. An old forest road sign indicates “Elderberry Canyon Road End, 2”. The first portion of this dirt road is private. If driving a high-clearance all-wheel drive vehicle, you could drive to the end of this two-mile rutted road and park in a small clearing. Otherwise, park alongside Libby Creek Road. Do not block the entrance, and do not stray from the easement.

Elderberry Canyon trail begins at the end of this two-mile rutted and overgrown jeep track. Wide and shaded, the trail is a roadbed that gently climbs for approximately two miles through red ponderosa pine, dressed in brilliant wolf lichen. At two miles, the trail disappears into a small meadow. Lookout Mountain rises ahead, and the ambitious hiker in search of views can continue on the open ridge line to the lookout. 

This gem is a go-to trail for all seasons. In the spring, yellow balsam and spring beauties carpet the forest floor and frame the views of the Sawtooths. In summer and fall the shaded roadbed is an easy mountain bike ride with rewarding views. Elderberry Canyon is accessible in winter, as Libby Creek Road is reliably plowed. Skiers and snowshoers should look for wider parking pullouts at the junction of Libby Creek Road and Smith Canyon Road and walk the quarter mile to the beginning of Elderberry Canyon Road.

Harts Pass to Grasshopper Pass

Original publication, Methow Valley News, September 4, 2019

The holiday weekend crowds were delightfully sparse along the Pacific Crest Trail between Harts Pass and Grasshopper Pass. A parking spot was available, there were no lines at the outhouse, and the hikers were stretched few and far between.

All the elevation was gained via Harts Pass Road 5400. The road climbs above 6000’ in elevation into the heart of the North Cascades, where Hart’s Pass accesses a network of trails into the vast Pasayten Wilderness. 

Hart’s Pass is the highest road in the State of Washington. Built in 1893, the route gave access to gold and silver mines and over 1,000 permanent residents. According to “High Hopes and Deep Snows, How Mining Spurred Development of the Methow Valley,” author Marcy Stamper states the town of Barron near Harts Pass served 2,500 miners with a post office, a butcher shop, a trading company, several restaurants, gambling establishments, and “dancing women.” The road is named after Thomas Hart, the mine owner who built the road to transport equipment and ore. When the gold ran out, so did the people. The town of Barron was hastily abandoned in 1907, people left just as quickly as they first appeared, leaving tools of trade and personal belongings behind. Sally Portman, in her book, “The Smiling Country” relays the humorous account of sisters Ruth and Florence McLean camping up at Hart’s Pass with their family in 1910:

              “The two sleuths dove into some old boxes left in haste by former dance hall girls and delightedly lifted out fancy-lady dresses…Florence put on one and started running as fast as she could up the path. When asked why she was running away, Florence answered, ‘I heard this dress belonged to a fast woman and I’ll bet I’m just as fast as any of them.’”

All that remains today are the views that leaves one either speechless or reaching for superlatives. Summer flowers are still in limited bloom, while other blooms have dried to perfection on the stem. The larch will turn golden in a few short weeks. The hike from Hart’s Pass to Grasshopper Pass is relatively easy and flat, following the ridgeline along the Pacific Crest Trail. To get there, travel Lost River road from Mazama to the end, continue the gravel forest service road 5400. At roughly 13 miles on 5400, the road forks. To the left is Meadows Campground, straight on is Hart’s Pass. There are many trailheads and views at Hart’s Pass, but for this hike, I recommend turning left and heading towards Meadows Campground. At another fork in the road, the left leads to the campground, while the right fork continues to Brown Bear Trailhead. Take the right fork and park at the Brown Bear Trailhead. 

Follow the trailhead to the Pacific Crest Trail mark. A large sign indicates left to Glacier Pass, and right to the Canadian Border. Turn left. Grasshopper Pass is 4.7 miles from this trailhead. A detailed trail description with mileage and points of interest can be found at https://www.wta.org/go-hiking/hikes/grasshopper-pass. 

Shock Waves, Sound Waves

Original publication, Methow Valley News, September 11, 2019

That was a lovely little storm, wasn’t it? I have not enjoyed a raucous storm in years. Five years, to be precise. But this time was different. I thoroughly reveled in the cacophony of light and sound. Perhaps because there was an accompaniment of rain, or maybe because it is September, and the leaves are starting to turn, a delightful presage to snow.

In the morning after the storm, I strolled through the woods. My hands slid over the tops of heavy sodden shrubs, releasing a cascade of raindrops from the golden red leaves to fall once more to the ground. I thought of a certain poem, expressing the angst of a summer storm, versus the sigh of relief exhaled when a storm ushers in autumn. 

Mother, Summer, I - Philip Larkin

My mother, who hates thunder storms,
Holds up each summer day and shakes
It out suspiciously, lest swarms
Of grape-dark clouds are lurking there;
But when the August weather breaks
And rains begin, and brittle frost
Sharpens the bird-abandoned air,
Her worried summer look is lost,
And I her son, though summer-born
And summer-loving, none the less
Am easier when the leaves are gone
Too often summer days appear
Emblems of perfect happiness
I can't confront: I must await
A time less bold, less rich, less clear:
An autumn more appropriate.

Is a thunderstorm a power anthem of Mother Nature? A single bolt of lightning travels 200,000 mph and is hotter than 50,000 degrees Fahrenheit. The sun is practically frigid in comparison at slightly over 10,000 degrees Fahrenheit.

Lightning occurs during a dance of molecules and temperature. As water vapor rises into the heights of the atmosphere, it cools and forms ice. As more molecules join the party, they dance with a greater frenzy. Bumping and grinding, these ice crystals collide and build up an electrical charge. Positively charged ions are lightweights, and rise to the top of the cloud. Negatively charged particles carry more weight, and drop to the bottom of the cloud. When these particles build up to a tipping point, a bolt of lightning streaks between the positive and negative charges, bringing equilibrium to the cloud once more…and the dance continues. If there are positive charges on the ground below, then a lighting bolt of energy will occur between the ground and the cloud. But you already knew all this.

The extreme heat of the lightning bolt, five times greater than the sun, attempts to expand into the cold air of the cloud. But, traveling at 200,000 mph, there is no time or space for the release of energy to expand. The force of energy results in a shock wave that rips open a tunnel through the cold air. As the tunnel collapses, the shock wave is then expressed as a sound wave. Rolling thunder that goes on and on is an audible signature of the length of the tunnel as it closes behind the shock wave created by super-heated lightning bolts. And now you know a thing, that perhaps you already knew.

First People of the Methow, an informative guide

A beautiful and informative map featuring the First People of the Methow Valley is now available at the Methow Valley Interpretive Center (MVIC).

The map features trade routes, settlements, and important fishing and gathering areas along the main corridor of the Methow Valley, along with ten informational stops along the way. Users are encouraged to visit the interpretive sites noted on the map: the Methow Monument in Pateros, McFarland Creek Fishing area, the Methow Valley Interpretive Center and Native Plant Gardens on the TwispWorks campus, the Twisp Ponds Discovery Center, the Cottonwood Trail, the new Homestream Park in Winthrop, the Interpretive Loop Trail at Sun Mountain, the Sa Teekh Wa Trail in Winthrop, and Early Winters Campground.

The map includes a geological timeline from when the Methow Valley was covered in glaciers up to a mile thick. As the ice receded, the First People settled throughout the Methow Valley, where food and cultural resources were available. They established several trails and trade routes and traded goods with the coastal and plains regions.  The descendants of these First People, the Methow, continue to live in this region - teaching and practicing cultural traditions passed down through hundreds of generations.

Featured on the map is an introduction to the Coyote Story and a large artful representation by Virgil “Smoker” Marchand, filled with images of important plants and animals to the First People. One of the Coyote Stories, as recorded by Ella E. Clark, and featured at the Fort Okanogan Interpretive Center reads, “Old-One told Coyote to teach the Indians the best way to do things and the best way to make things. Life would be easier and better for them when they were no longer ignorant. Coyote then traveled the earth and did many wonderful things.”

The map was created by a talented team of volunteers, professionals, and Methow descendants: Randy Lewis, Crystal Miller, Arnold and Gail Cleveland, Chuck Borg, Mary Yglesia, Julie Grialou, and myself, Joanna Bastian. Funding came from two private and anonymous donors: one through the Methow Conservancy, and the other through MVIC. MVIC served as fiscal sponsor. Confederated Colville Tribes (CCT) History/Archaeology program provided oversight and editing. Tara Gregg of Terra Firma Design was the graphic designer. Images and artwork were donated by the History/Archaeology Program of the CCT, MVIC, Methow Conservancy, Okanogan County Historical Society, artist Virgil "Smoker" Marchand, David Moskowitz, Tom Forker, Solveig Torvik, Randy Lewis, and the Miller family. The map was approved by the Colville Business Council. 

With less than 2,000 to distribute, distribution points are limited to a small sampling of school districts, museums and libraries in Okanogan County. The map is available at these locations: Pateros Museum and Public Library, in Twisp at the MVIC, Methow Arts, and the Public Library, in Winthrop at the Shafer Museum, Public Library, and Methow Conservancy; in Omak and Okanogan public libraries and the Okanogan County Historical museum, at the Fort Okanogan Interpretive Center, and at the Colville Tribal Museum at Coulee Dam.

The First People Map will be distributed to three pilot school districts in Okanogan County, with established MVIC field trip programs. As funding becomes available for more prints, distribution will grow to include all nine school districts in the county. Donations to the MVIC are welcome to help with these efforts.

Visit the MVIC website  http://www.methowvalleyinterpretivecenter.com/ for information on locations highlighted on the map, including trail descriptions and directions.

Methow Valley Interpretive Center, located on the TwispWorks campus in Twisp, features in-depth exhibits of the unique geology and natural history of the Methow Valley, and pre-European native inhabitants. While visiting the informational points along the map, please respect the land and personal property. Do not disturb archaeological sites and leave only footprints, take only memories. 

The MVIC Map point of contact is David H. LaFever - Methow Valley Interpretive Center Education Coordinator, (509) 919-0686, dhlafever@gmail.com.

Aunt Rosie

The same year my great-aunt Rosie was born, her 17-year-old sister Jean gave birth to my mother Carol. Being just a year apart, my mother Carol and her Aunt Rosie were playmates and confidantes, as close as sisters. They had sleepovers and play dates, inside jokes and secrets.

When we visited Grandma Jean and Grandpa Harvey, Aunt Rosie would drop in for a visit. She was a whirlwind of punch lines and vivacious color. When she stood and announced she was going to the restroom, Harvey would complain that Rosie used too much toilet paper. With a flourish, Aunt Rosie whipped out a roll of Charmin from her ample bosom. “Don’t worry Harvey, I brought my own!”

Her cleavage was like the bottomless hat of a magician. Car keys, wallet, lipstick, Kleenex and more appeared and disappeared with a flick of the wrist. My memory includes an endless string of colorful scarves and a white rabbit, but I’m willing to bet — hesitantly — that she probably never tucked woodland creatures into her brassiere.

Eventually, my mom moved to Idaho, Jean and Harvey retired to Florida, and Aunt Rosie remained in Ohio. I would come home from school and find my mom doubled over in mirth, the long cord of the kitchen phone jiggling wildly with waves of her glee. It was either Aunt Rosie on the other end, or Grandma Jean talking about Aunt Rosie’s latest antics. Grandma Jean often said, “just sit on Rosie’s porch, and life happens!” They were a treasured trio who loved and laughed regardless of the time and space that separated them.

If Aunt Rosie was the life of the party, my mother was the joy. Once, while we were waiting for my mother to arrive at a get-together, my father leaned down and whispered in my ear, “Watch how the room lights up when your mother walks in — see how everyone smiles?”

My mother Carol was the first to die, and my Grandma Jean soon followed. Aunt Rosie’s communications with me were always a reminder of the closeness that the three women shared.

One morning, I had the most vivid dream. I was suspended in space, planets and stars in prescribed orbits were all slowly moving according to plan. In the distance, I could hear Aunt Rosie laughing. She was somersaulting through time and space, having a grand time. I could feel the wind blow as she rushed by, a smile and a wave she gave me. I looked down to see a sunny meadow below — dotted with white and yellow flowers. Carol and Jean stood ready, knees bent and arms extended, their faces upturned expectantly to the sky. Falling through the blue came Rosie, tumbling into their waiting arms. The three rolled to the grass in laughter.

I awoke still holding that sense of joy, but also a bit of sadness. Rosie took her leave from this world while I was dreaming that morning, and I’m so grateful she passed me by on the way.