Water Dance

This article first appeared in the Methow Valley News, March 27, 2019

It must be the end of winter.

All the tell-tale signs are here. Robins nibble on dried-up berries and rosehips at the edges of the yard. The dogs are shedding their winter coats, leaving tufts of hair like a breadcrumb trail wherever they go. The roof shrugs off layers of snow and ice, with a cacophony of drips throughout the morning followed by thunderous slides that shake the house in the afternoon. The winter food storage, so plentiful at the end of harvest, is nearly gone but for a few shriveled carrots, a handful of sprouting potatoes and one lone jar of tomato sauce.

Afternoon mud puddles transform overnight into crystalline shards of intricate geometric ice castles, glistening in the morning sun. As the day warms, ice crystals melt into rivulets that trickle down the walkway, joining other trickles in a rush to the creek that soon will become a roaring torrent, rolling down to the river in a rush towards the open ocean. As the poet Mary Oliver so wisely observed, “It is the nature of stone to be satisfied. It is the nature of water to want to be somewhere else.”

In our valley of plenty, it’s easy to take water for granted. According to an article published in the Los Angeles Times last week, 1.6 million people in the United States don’t have access to clean drinking water. Recently I traveled to the Bahamas — where there is no surface water and the freshwater resources are finite and vulnerable. The tap water on the island was filled with salt and sulfur. After a salt-shower, I would wet a washcloth with bottled water to rinse the residual salt off my body. My travel water bottle was useless as the only available drinking water came in plastic bottles. As we were instructed on the dangers that sunscreen posed to coral reefs, I couldn’t help but think of all those plastic bottles, and the impact on the fragile eco-system of the limestone and coral islands.

Returning home, I realized the stark differences between the water-rich and the water-poor. I ran four loads of laundry, took a shower, mopped the floors, filled the water fountain, turned on the humidifier, and filled the dogs’ water bowl with the ease of rotating a handle. Filling a quart jar with well water from the tap, I drunk deeply.

People in Flint, Michigan, still don’t have clean drinking water. An interactive map at www.drinkingwateralliance.org tracks all the areas in the United States with unsafe drinking water, and how the community has responded, or has failed to respond.

All these watery ruminations drove me to seek out the poems of Mary Oliver, who died early this year.

What is the vitality and necessity

Of clean water?

Ask a man who is ill, and who is lifting

His lips to the cup.

Ask the forest.

“Water,” by Mary Oliver

Whales hear shapes, bees dance maps, and plants eat sunshine. What happens when it ends?

This article first appeared in the Methow Valley News, March 13, 2019

Long walks in the woods with friends can lead to fascinating conversations.

On a recent sunny day, our footsteps crunched over freshly fallen snow. A group of friends shared how they each experienced listening to ensemble music. Some choose to close their eyes and picture a story unrolling, like a movie reel. Others enjoy the technical aspect of the music, how the different instruments emerge in solo or interact with others. Individual notes tracking over a range of scales, sending waves and ripples of sound through a concert hall.   

The conversation stuck with me for days, as I thought about how other living creatures experience sound, like whales, for instance. The ocean’s dark abyss limits eyesight, while water dilutes scent. With limited sight, and muffled scents, whales must depend on other sensory skills. Soundwaves move faster in water than in air, and the ear bones in whales are highly developed to process sound. Whales vocalize ultra-sonic pitches that travel through water and echo back, allowing whales to “see” their environment using echolocation. Whales depend primarily on sound to navigate, feed, and socialize.

Bees also depend on communication to navigate, feed and socialize. A scout bee will return to the hive and share her findings in a detailed “waggle dance.” She dances out a map indicating the length of distance to the nectar source, the richness of the nectar, and the direction in which to travel. Her co-workers will watch the dance once, and immediately fly off in the direction indicated.

Plants that are visited by the bees have their own unique way of processing food. They absorb sunlight, convert the energy to sugar, and grow into a food source to sustain other living creatures. Plants breathe in carbon dioxide and breathe out oxygen, a key component of our own survival as humans.

Whales hear shapes, bees dance maps, and plants eat sunshine.

Plants are made of sunshine and air; humans are made of water. Sixty-five percent of the human body is water, the same salinity as the sea. Soundwaves move through us as we dance our own maps. Sunlight makes us happy, and our bones strong.

What a wonderful world we live in. A symphony of sights, sounds and smells that nourish our bodies, and engage our senses. And yet, there is the sense that the slightest tremble of butterfly wings will set calamity in motion and disrupt the entire balance.

Here’s where it gets dark.

Whales throw themselves ashore to escape something terrifying they’ve “seen.” Bees suffer colony collapse under a storm of pesticides, damaged eco-systems and mono-crops. Just as air pollution causes respiratory disease in humans, dirty air kills plants. 

What if we humans were the proverbial butterfly, the cause of massive disruption? Industries contaminate the water that fills our bodies. Pollution disrupts photosynthesis, killing off pollinators and plants. The delicate interplay of clean water and clean air is essential to whale, bee, plant and human survival.

Real protection comes in the form smart legislation to manage resources and curb pollution. Liberty Bell High School students interning with the Methow Valley Citizens Council researched climate bills and armed themselves with knowledge. This week, that student envoy met with elected representatives in the Washington state Legislature to advocate for action on climate change. We should follow their lead, and demand an effective strategic plan from our representatives that addresses the human causes of climate damage and provides real solutions.

Preparing for Snowmageddon - Methow Edition

This article originally appeared in the Methow Valley News, Feb 13, 2019

While visiting family below the Mason-Dixon line, a curious cousin leaned forward to ask an important question. In a whisper normally reserved for wakes and hospitals, she asked me what winter was like. If she were wearing pearls, she would have clutched them while asking. Instead, she put a hand to her chest in a dramatic motion.

I told her winter was wonderful. I described trees flocked with snow against the bluest winter sky, mist rising from the river in the crisp dawn morning, and sunlight glittering like diamonds over a snow-filled meadow. She looked doubtful. I handed her my phone, and for the next hour she flipped through winter photos, growing more and more impressed. At one point she told her husband, “Honey, we need to visit her in winter.”

I thought of her this weekend as I began preparations for the winter storm that would shut down multiple highways, bury cars and knock out power throughout the state.

To prepare for a huge snowstorm, the first thing to do was to put my affairs in order. By that I mean eating tacos at El Sabor Norteño.

After my tacos were all ingested, and affairs in order, I took a ski lesson from Ray at Sun Mountain Lodge. I’m a terrible skier with no coordination or athletic skill. I figured with all this snow on the way, I better figure out how to get from point A to B with my boots locked onto long narrow boards. Ray gave excellent guidance, and with some pointers on kicking, gliding, and a lesson on how to stop, I felt ready for snowmageddon.

The next stop was Hank’s Harvest Foods. I had to stock up on macaroni and cheese, chocolate, and donate to a good cause. When you use your own reusable bag, the cashier will give you a wooden nickel to donate to a local nonprofit. At the front of the store are large glass jars for eight local nonprofits in the valley. Drop your wooden nickel into any jar of your choosing, and Hank’s will donate a real nickel to that nonprofit. Donate to a good cause and reduce waste at the same time, all while stocking up for the next big storm.

After winter clouds disgorged their load of snow, we strapped on skis and floated through a hushed landscape. Tree limbs shrugged burdens of show, springing back into formation in a cloud of sparkling ice crystals. Throngs of birds serenaded the forest — flitting from tree to tree as we glided our way below.

I’ll take the red cheeks, the cold fingers and numb toes for these fleeting moments of winter beauty above the Mason-Dixon line.

The Houseguest

Grief is a strange companion

An unpredictable house guest 

She comes and goes on a whim

When she finally takes her leave

It’s always a turn to discover

She might have left your heart

Better than she found it

A Festivus for the Rest of Us

This article originally appeared in the Methow Valley News on November 28, 2018

In this season of Gratitude, it is important to keep the balance in the universe by practicing the age-long tradition of Festivus - the Airing of Grievances.

Let us begin.

• Wasps – I would be grateful for weather that is too cold for the little buggers, but now I’m vacuuming up their carcasses as they fall out of the woodwork to die. They may be less annoying now, but they are creating more housework. I just cleaned these floors, and there are three more dead bodies that appeared.
• Dead bugs on the carpet. If only they would be considerate enough to stay within the walls when they die during the chilly months. Less vacuuming, more insulation. Win – win.
• Junk mail masquerading as real mail. I just spent two whole minutes opening an envelope that looked important. All I got was a papercut and an added chore of recycling. That is two minutes of my life that I will never get back. Who knows what number of unidentified germs just jumped off the envelope and into a freshly sliced papercut?
• Molded plastic packaging – nothing is more irritating than to realize that the knife you needed to purchase because you have no knife is encased in an impenetrable package that requires a knife to open the package that holds the knife you need. Three entire minutes of my life wasted, and an open wound from jagged plastic covered in countless germs. Between this and junk mail I am now out a perfectly good five minutes and have developed a case of gangrene. Dear manufacturers, just pack those things in a little recyclable cardboard box.
• Movies with no plot line. That was two hours of my life that I will never get back. However, as there were no gashing wounds involved, this grievance is slightly lower on the list than junk mail and molded plastic packaging.
• People who claim they don’t eat vegetables – they might as well announce their constant state of constipation and a degraded immune system. It’s disgusting. Eat a vegetable.
• Coats that don’t have that little loop of fabric that goes on a coat hook. What are we, savages?
• People who complain about loud chewers. There are people starving in this world who have nothing to eat at all. Celebrate that someone is eating. Unless, of course, it’s a crinkly bag of potato chips – in that case, hand them a bowl.
• Crinkly bags. Whoever makes these should be stuck next to a crinkly bag snacker in a movie theater, watching a movie without a plotline. Boxes are quieter. Boxes are great. Boxes are recyclable and don’t result in open gaping wounds! What do you have against boxes?
• Socks that ball up underfoot in a boot. What is point of that elastic sock top if not to hold up a sock? It’s like a coat without a coat-hook loop.

To practice an Airing of Grievances, find a pole. Any pole will do: telephone pole, fence pole, flag pole, or even a pole dancing pole, and with your gloved hand placed upon the frozen pole, air a grievance. Happy Festivus!

A Heart Shaped Tale

This article originally appeared in the Methow Valley News, 14 November 2018

Meet Crick, aka “Fat Daddy”. Tree climber, mouse hunter, pink toed, yellow eyed, black cat with nine lives and a crooked tail that ends in a heart-shaped spiral. A heart shaped tale, if you will.

Crick went missing three years, 250 miles, and three moves ago – and last week he miraculously reunited with his family here in the Methow Valley. I met Crick in Mandy Shoger’s living room. He gazed lovingly at her and purred while she stroked his fur and told as much of his story as she could piece together.

Seventeen years ago, Mandy decided to procure two kittens to keep her older cat, Natalie, company.  She found littermates Crick and Roderigo at a shelter that micro-chipped each adopted animal. The shelter workers named Crick for his crooked spiral shaped tail he was born with. Crick and Roderigo settled in, keeping Natalie company, and the rest of the neighborhood well entertained.

“He’s always been a sweet boy,” Mandy explained, “he went for walks around Ballard with us.” Crick and Roderigo found other ways to enjoy the sights and sounds of Ballard. They periodically climbed a tree and stepped out onto the roof of a neighborhood gym, enjoying the bustling view of the sidewalk below. When they tired of that entertainment, they struggled to get back down. Firefighters from the station across the street extended their tall ladders to the curious cats, recording the rescue and sharing the PR video across media venues. Crick and Roderigo never tired of climbing the tree to enjoy the view from the roof of the gym, and the firefighters seemed to enjoy taking a break out of their day to rescue the cats. “It happened several times,” Mandy said, rolling her eyes. “I was always taking brownies or doughnuts to the fire station.”

After over a decade, Mandy moved from Ballard to Green Lake. Unfortunately, after a few weeks, the landlord decided to sell the first rental Mandy moved into and she had to quickly find another place. Mandy and the cats moved to a less than ideal home. “It was a busy area,” she said, “lots of businesses, a freeway on-ramp, and many parking garages.” Crick decided to take a stroll one morning, and failed to return. Mandy put up fliers all over the neighborhood. For months she walked in every direction, calling his name. She joined multiple facebook groups to ask for help finding Crick. “There were a lot of false hopes,” she recalled, “lots of black cats were found, but none with his distinctive crooked tail.”

A year ago, Mandy moved to the Methow Valley with her husband Nate. “I felt so bad leaving, what if Crick was still out there?” After two years of searching, Mandy accepted that Crick was gone, but still had this feeling he was alive. She dreamt of him often.

Two weeks ago, Mandy received a phone call from Roosevelt Station Vet Care in Seattle. A man named Ed had brought Crick into the office to treat an ear infection. After a routine microchip scan, Ed was surprised to learn the cat, who he had called “Fat Daddy”, had a microchip. He thought Fat Daddy was a stray.

The vet office did a diligent search for Crick’s owner, but immediately came up against a wall. The seventeen-year-old microchip was made long before cell phones, and the company no longer produced the chip. The vet office was able to locate the manufacturer who still had Mandy’s name on record. Luckily, Mandy is a successful artist with a unique last name. The top 40 links in a Google search all yield Mandy’s Foxtail Pottery art and contact information. The top link was to her TwispWorks studio.

Ed agreed to meet Mandy for a reunion with Fat Daddy Crick. The good man bought Crick toys, fed him, provided vet care, and even built Crick a little insulated hut. Mandy was certain that Ed had bonded with Crick and she didn’t want to put extra stress on the cat, but Ed insisted that she take him home. “Are you sure you are ok with me taking him?” she asked. Ed shrugged and in a thick English accent proclaimed Crick loud and annoying. This whole time, Crick was living just nine blocks away from where he first went missing.

On the coffee table in front of the couch where Crick snuggled with Mandy, sat an open box from TabCat. Collar tags and a radio receiver are a more immediate method of keeping track of the cat with a heart-shaped crick at the end of his tail.

Wandering Betties, Cutthroat Lake

For trail information, visit: Washington Trails Association

On a perfect fall day, Cutthroat Lake is a colorful destination of changing larch trees.