“It’s a messed up world, but I love it anyway.” Greg Brown from Two Little Feet Successive storms stagger into the valley. Swollen rivers rush from the foothills to the Columbia. On the street, fallen leaves coalesce in soggy stews of cellulose. They stick to the shoes of holiday shoppers. Downtown, the greasy residue adorns … More The Glory And The Pity
“A book is proof that humans are capable of working magic.” Carl Sagan Saturday dissolved in a murky soup of bad weather. A November storm drenched the valley. Rain fell, lightning flashed, and thunder boomed. Me and my cat, Spanky, stayed indoors. It was the sensible thing to do. We ate, we napped, and I … More November Rain
“… these things we depend on, they disappear.” Louise Gluck (1943-2023) My son is building his house. He and his wife and two children live in the Upper Hood River Valley. I’ve been making periodic visits to view and photograph the process. The early stages amaze me: the re-shaping of his property, digging trenches, and … More Artful Dodgers
“No matter where you go, there you are.” Anonymous We arrived first. Clear skies and morning calm portended a hot day. We waited. Montavon’s Farm sits on a plateau atop Trout Creek Ridge. It’s near the small community of Parkdale in Hood River’s upper valley. Mighty Mt. Hood commands the view to the south. West … More Montavon’s Farm
I drove to the hospital in town. Smoke billowed on the Washington shore of the Columbia River. Like a genie escaping from the bottle of dry forest, it swirled upwards in the morning breeze. I have a standing order for monthly labs through next February. With this bloodwork, we will assess my response to last … More Summer Doldrums
“Everybody should be quiet near a little stream, and listen.” Maurice Sendak I follow the path. It’s quiet. A covey of quail stir in the undergrowth. Their mama whispers a warning. As I pass … stillness. Trees abound: oaks, maples, and dogwood. White firs, shaggy with lichen, border the trail. A lone ponderosa pine towers … More Mother’s Day 2023
“We are always here and always leaving. We are water, like the river, just passing through.” David Budbill I walk the waterfront. A damp wind batters me. The normal crowd is absent. Too cold. An armada of scoters dive near the shore, oblivious to the temperature and rain. Above me, convoys of geese traverse the … More Under the Dying Stars
Dry, pumpkin colored fall: the season to gather apples and grapes. Geese congregate before their flight south. Squirrels store food for winter. The whimsy of Halloween collides with bittersweet autumn. I lean into the tenderness of its melancholy contradictions. If we celebrate the harvest, then we must also accept the reckoning. Autumn cushions the fall … More The Last Bouquet
We scuffed through the narrow perimeter of dunes. The powdery sand gave way with each step. Tall grasses glowed in the morning light. Once upon the beach, the going eased. An ebbing tide had packed the sand. It stretched for miles, north and south. Ahead, the ocean schussed with a succession of breaking waves that … More Another Roadside Attraction
“… since we must always have a suffering world, we must also always have a song” David Budbill It’s said that “a Libra’s purpose is to use its unbiased and fair stance to fight for the practical cause of the world and make it become a better place. They like balance and justice.” Hmm … … More Libra Lullaby
Good Blood, Bad Blood 