Reading this I am encouraged for nature. On a road trip a few years ago, down the Pacific coast headed to San Diego, my first visit through the California redwoods. Loved learning about the 'grandmother circles' and felt blessed to stand in the center of one. Reading Suzanne Simard's study of the arboreal communication beneath the surface - the 'mother tree'.
As always, David, I enjoy that you share what your eyes see and your heart understands. Namaste.
Thank you, Jann. Big fan of Suzanne Simard's storytelling and research, as well, and absolutely delighted each time I see that you are on this shared journey, as well.
Thank you, Bill. It was beautiful. And wildly disquieting. Nothing about the miasmic, moon pierced air that permeated that surreal landscape left me feeling comforted or in any way secure. Everything was foreign, unlike any scene I had ever awakened to, vast and desolate, and filled with air that stung.
I truly enjoy a story full of meanderings, or strange twists and turns. Wow, what a hazy, smoked-up world that must have been. I knew little of the Chetco Bar fire then---just that it had ravaged thousands of Oregon acres, so thanks for details.
Those brown-sky pics are otherworldly, yeah, truly unwelcoming---but what!? "We hiked in, anyway, smoke and heat be damned..."
You guys were courageous (or slightly crazy) adventurers! I have no idea how you endured that heavy, suffocating air---except for Moose Lake! Loved hearing details of that swim, and the Barred Owl seranades---and then, thank God, a bit of rain...
I see it as beautiful now; that single glowing dot of moon...
Toni, how generous of you to weigh in here, to join us on that surreal journey.
You wrote: "I have no idea how you endured that heavy, sufficating air---except for Moose Lake! Loved hearing details of that swim,"
I'm convinced that without that lake, without those cooling, calming, cleansing swims in the evening, and the owl serenades that followed, my ability to handle the rest of it would have been wildly compromised. I was shaken, badly by the inescapability of it all, that there was no place, no untouched place where you could possibly go to get above or beyond that gritty, choking wildfire smoke and unseasonable heat. That was the summer that climate change stopped being an abstraction for me.
Reading this I am encouraged for nature. On a road trip a few years ago, down the Pacific coast headed to San Diego, my first visit through the California redwoods. Loved learning about the 'grandmother circles' and felt blessed to stand in the center of one. Reading Suzanne Simard's study of the arboreal communication beneath the surface - the 'mother tree'.
As always, David, I enjoy that you share what your eyes see and your heart understands. Namaste.
Thank you, Jann. Big fan of Suzanne Simard's storytelling and research, as well, and absolutely delighted each time I see that you are on this shared journey, as well.
Great moonrise shot…what a place, beautiful,
Thank you, Bill. It was beautiful. And wildly disquieting. Nothing about the miasmic, moon pierced air that permeated that surreal landscape left me feeling comforted or in any way secure. Everything was foreign, unlike any scene I had ever awakened to, vast and desolate, and filled with air that stung.
I truly enjoy a story full of meanderings, or strange twists and turns. Wow, what a hazy, smoked-up world that must have been. I knew little of the Chetco Bar fire then---just that it had ravaged thousands of Oregon acres, so thanks for details.
Those brown-sky pics are otherworldly, yeah, truly unwelcoming---but what!? "We hiked in, anyway, smoke and heat be damned..."
You guys were courageous (or slightly crazy) adventurers! I have no idea how you endured that heavy, suffocating air---except for Moose Lake! Loved hearing details of that swim, and the Barred Owl seranades---and then, thank God, a bit of rain...
I see it as beautiful now; that single glowing dot of moon...
Toni, how generous of you to weigh in here, to join us on that surreal journey.
You wrote: "I have no idea how you endured that heavy, sufficating air---except for Moose Lake! Loved hearing details of that swim,"
I'm convinced that without that lake, without those cooling, calming, cleansing swims in the evening, and the owl serenades that followed, my ability to handle the rest of it would have been wildly compromised. I was shaken, badly by the inescapability of it all, that there was no place, no untouched place where you could possibly go to get above or beyond that gritty, choking wildfire smoke and unseasonable heat. That was the summer that climate change stopped being an abstraction for me.