Heading north from the furnace of Portland was like heading back in time. The smell of firs and spruces sweeter and rounder in the ebbing afternoon heat softer than the sharp pines and oak meadows of my adopted home. The roads I traveled were the roads of my young adulthood; when I was the age… Continue reading The road to Tokeland
It is August and west of the Hundredth Meridian the land is tinder dry; a match, a spark even just pressure and oxygen can start a conflagration. Fire has always been part of the western landscape but the rainless days of August to October now stretch from June to November. People often complain about the… Continue reading The Burning Season
June is almost upon Oregon, and once again my mind turns towards thoughts of… irrigation. Just who have I become anyway? Neither love nor lust, summer concerts or motorcycles fill my dreams but acre feet of water. Even as the grass is green and bends lithe in the wind, thoughts of August brown and brittle… Continue reading The turn of summer
Low winter sun long shadows cast, Cuts through the Valley fog, Frost like snow upon the grass, And the sheep bleating for grain, Their work is in pastures below, So to my labors must I depart, The coast range glows gold and green, But in darkness I will return until, The longer light of spring.