In the Pacific Northwest: Fire and Rain

As I write this, the air outside is tinged with a smokey fog that smells like a campfire here in Seattle, where there shouldn't be campfires. Yesterday the sky was tinged orange, although it's slightly improved today. Our air quality is still considered unhealthy.

This is not the Pacific Northwest of my youth or even young adulthood. Big fires happened sometimes, but absolutely nothing on the scale of the last few years and this past week. 

Most of us here are grieving for the loss of lives, homes, and many special wild places. Right now one of my favorite trails is burning; some of our last remaining old growth forests and wilderness areas have burned. 

Turns out there's a word for what I'm (we're) feeling: “solastalgia.”

Coined by Australian environmental philosopher Glenn Albrecht, solastalgia is “manifest in an attack on one’s sense of place, in the erosion of the sense of belonging (identity) to a particular place and a feeling of distress (psychological desolation) about its transformation.” In other words, it's “a form of homesickness one gets when one is still at ‘home.’”

This term came about from distressed people who had remained in place, even as the landscape that had once brought them solace became unrecognizable. It’s a word that has started to be used in the context of climate change.

Before I read the article in the L.A. Times about solastalgia, I was basically trying to come up with words to convey this feeling, which has been exacerbated by the  fire maelstroms here in the Pacific Northwest this past week. 

Some of of my most treasured places, such as trails through lush forests carpeted with moss and ferns, have burned or are burning. I read that western red cedar will eventually become a victim of changing climate. I can't imagine a world without these magnificent cedars in our forests, where I feel the most at peace in the world.

As quoted in the L.A. Times  article, “We have relationships to places,” says Dr. Susan Clayton, a professor of psychology and environmental studies at the College of Wooster in Ohio. “They’re very significant to our history and our sense of who we are.”

I was nurtured and shaped in ways I didn't recognize until midlife by woodlands thick with western red cedar. I can't explain clearly the visceral way I'm drawn to these trees.

So here I'm posting shots of places that might have burned (like Silver Falls State Park east of Salem, Oregon, where we're still waiting to hear the extent of fire damage). But I also hope to convey a sense of a changing region, and what's being lost.

Our forests westward of the Cascade Mountains crest are temperate rainforests, which are home to one of the highest levels of biomass on Earth. They harbor a richness of life that needs a good dousing of rain off and on, even in the summer, to thrive. Instead the trend is higher temperatures and longer, drier periods that allow the underbrush to dry out and serve as fuel for fires.

Granted, it's not just a changing climate that is contributing to our increasingly record-breaking fires. Historically there were burns, but it was part of the natural regime. Fire suppression and profit-driven forest practices in the last century have played a role in exacerbating bigger and more extensive fires. 

After a week of fires and hazardous/unhealthy air quality casting a pallor over the region, rain is predicted for tomorrow night. We're supposed to have rain in September. When I was a teenager, I remember getting rained out on a couple week-long backpack trips in the Cascade Mountains the week before school started in early September.

Let's hope (and dance or pray) this rain really comes as forecast. (Monday night update, it did rain a bit although not enough to make much difference in the air quality.)

Here's to a predicted La Nina winter, with colder temps and heavier rain in the Pacific Northwest. Even if it staves off the inevitable for while longer, we'll take it.

How are you faring or feeling this past week if you're on the West Coast USA? Have you been directly affected by the fires? We'd love to hear in a comment below.

Happy trails and thanks for visiting Pacific Northwest Seasons!

In between blog posts, visit Pacific NW Seasons on FaceBook, Twitter, and Instagram for more Northwest photos and outdoors news. 

The Power of Rituals

With 2020 bringing an unprecedented series of challenges, it's a hard time to feel settled.

As the year lurches along, many of us have stepped back from the news and sought solace in rituals, like long daily walks.

Studies have shown that rituals help us feel in control when there are a lot of unknowns in our world. For anxiety-prone people (shooting my hand straight up in the air here), rituals can be calming.

While rituals have their roots in ancient religions, they can be anything we do with regularity, with a sense of purpose, just because. Rituals provide an ongoing way to structure our lives. The ritual process provides a sense of stability and continuity amidst the ever-changing world. Like that daily walk. Or that morning cup of tea or coffee, savored slowly.

My friend Andy's morning ritual involves brewing a cup of coffee just so, then sipping it while doing one game of Sudoko before starting her day.

For me, it’s a variation. During a museum internship in London many years ago, the art department where I worked took a 10-minute break together for tea and biscuits, twice a day. From the department director to the janitor, they all took turns bringing biscuits (cookies) to share.

So although I work at home alone, around 3 p.m. I break and have a fresh pot of silver jasmine tea and a buckwheat fig bar, reheated until just crispy. It’s a cozy and calming few minutes. (And sometimes I think about those heady days as a student in London.)

In a Psychology Today article on rituals I read while prepping for this post, some really resonated with me. They say rituals connect us with nature and the seasons.  By watching the constant shifts and turns in nature, we recognize our own cycles of life, our own rhythms as humans. Rituals remind us of the interconnectedness of all of life.

While I don't have such lofty thoughts when out hiking/walking in nature, walking throughout the seasons does make me feel more connected to the places I pass through. I especially feel this connection on silent meditation hikes that I occasionally lead, where we walk in silence.

Every autumn, I also watch for the peak of golden larch season in the North Cascades and head out for a hike to catch the glorious display. (Now they call it "Larch Madness" or a "Larch March.") My autumn wouldn't feel quite right without a ritual walk amongst those shimmering golden trees.

Rituals provide us with a sense of renewal. They offer us a time-out from our everyday routine, habitual existence. Metaphorically, rituals can provide a time to rest, replenish, and restore our selves.

My morning meditation practice, which has its roots in centuries old rituals, is lovely way to start the day. I don't hit every day, but when I do, sitting silently, focusing on my breath, trying to "stay in the room," in the moment, instead of letting my mind wander all over, is calming and balancing. This year, that's gold.

My meditation is done via Zoom, with my laptop propped in front of me while I sit with people in the Seattle area, Michigan, California, sometimes Florida, and Georgia. Maybe there are people logging in from more locations too.

And then there are rituals I've been doing for years, for no particular reason. Every time I walk on a beach, I go down to the sea's edge and dip my fingers in the salt water.

Before COVID-19, a loose group of us met most mornings at a local bakeshop when it opened at 7 a.m. for coffee/tea and pastries. This diverse collection of people, from an economics instructor, a professional photographer, an insurance company owner, a former chicken farmer, a software engineer, a retired Boeing engineer, a cook-chef, to this writer/editor, was anchored by our matriarch, artist Carolyn.

This morning ritual offered a dose of camaraderie, often laughter, and friendship as we gathered around a table and traded stories before heading off to our respective days. It went on for over a dozen years, with people coming and going, until the pandemic. And fittingly, Carolyn chose a perfect time to move on to the next realm, whatever that may be, with her passing in March.

Here she is at her 95th birthday party we threw for her last year. Wasn't she beautiful?

We all miss Carolyn and mourn her death, but she lived a long, fascinating, often whimsical, and productive life.

So we create new rituals as others fall away. They anchor us, give us solace, and maybe connect us to something beyond.

Have you relied on rituals more than normal during the pandemic? I'd love to hear about any of your rituals in a comment below.

Happy trails and thanks for visiting Pacific Northwest Seasons!

In between blog posts, visit Pacific NW Seasons on FaceBook, Twitter, and Instagram for more Northwest photos and outdoors news. 

Labyrinth walking, another ancient ritual.

Zen rock garden, translated to "ritual space" in ancient Japanese

Pandemic 2020: Re-emerging, Getting Outdoors, and Recreating Responsibly

 With national parks and forests, state parks, and city parks closed for a couple months this spring, many of us urban dwellers were pining to get outdoors for real. Although things started reopening in May, I decided to re-emerge even more gradually.

While Washington was in lockdown for over 2 months, I did a lot of walking/exploring close to home. I didn't fill up my car gas tank from late March to late May. But in June, well, Juneuary weather or not, I finally started to stray farther afield.

It has been beyond wonderful to see some favorite places/trails again and explore a few new places, while striving to recreate responsibly (physical distancing as much as possible and masking up around others). And honestly, these outings are a shred of normalcy in these strange days. 

The First Escape from Seattle

My first foray outside the Seattle city limits in over 3 months was a trip to the Issaquah Alps on a rainy, stormy (thunder and lightning) morning. With the sometimes scary weather (one bolt of lightning was so close it sounded like three gunshots in quick succession overhead), we only saw a couple other joggers in two hours on the trail.

The vivid spring green was a welcome dose of Vitamin N.

The Birds and Me in the Rain

A week later I took a solo trip up to the Skagit River Delta for another walk in a driving rain. The marshy river delta was rich green with late spring, and I walked along levees in solitude, passing a few birds hunkered down (a great blue heron, swallows, and red-winged blackbirds are what I could identify).

I reveled in the escape from traffic noises and the wide open, rain-soaked space.  An occasional distraction were a few jets from nearby Naval Air Station Whidbey Island passing overhead.

The Scenic Drive

About a week later I drove even farther north to Bellingham to take my kayak for repairs. On the scenic drive home, I stopped for a hike off lovely Chuckanut Drive that winds along the sea. 

This bluebird day was much needed. The view shown below is reason #237 why I love living in my home state. I also stopped at Snow Goose Produce on the way home for fresh wild, local shrimp.

The Getaway

Just a couple days later, my first overnight away from Seattle since late December was way overdue. I returned to Port Townsend, where I walked in the woods with friends and helped my aunt celebrate her birthday (all outdoors of course). Although Anderson Lake south of Port Townsend is closed, I snuck in a 30-minute walk skirting the south lake shoreline.

Around Port Townsend, it was quieter than it would normally be nearing peak tourist season. My lodging for the night was the historic and comfortable Palace Hotel on Water Street, where I had a view of the Keystone ferry to Whidbey Island skimming across the Salish Sea outside my window. I brought greens from my garden and other provisions to share with my aunt in her back yard rather than trying to dine out.

There were definitely people around town, but it wasn't crowded by any means. Sunday morning, however, when I stopped for tea and a late breakfast from Cafe Tenby (formerly Pippa's Real Tea), a line gathered outside. And on the drive back to Seattle Sunday evening, there was definitely a wait for the ferry.

The Real Deal

And finally, for the first time since...last fall, a real hike this past weekend. We strayed farther east up the I-90 corridor toward Snoqualmie Pass for a 2,300-foot grind upward through thick, mossy second-growth forest into sub-alpine old-growth forest with raindrop-kissed wildflowers.

As we ascended higher through the rain, the foggy/misty forest was especially magical. In the background, silhouettes of trees hovered like benign ghosts.

When we came to a dicey snow bridge crossing an avalanche gully, we decided to call it a day and head back down. It was 4.5 hours of hiking, with almost 5,000 feet of elevation gain and loss, which was fine for three rusty hikers.

Thankfully the rain kept the crowds down on the trail, and most everyone we passed was thoughtful about distancing. (It was the seventh weekend in a row here with rain, which a true Mossback doesn't mind.)

So it's not completely back to normal, but it's good to be back outdoors. Next up, a great way to get outside and distance: kayaking.

Always trying to get the shot.

How about you? Are you getting out and being/feeling safe?

Happy trails and thanks for visiting Pacific Northwest Seasons! In between blog posts, visit Pacific NW Seasons on FaceBook, Twitter, and Instagram for more Northwest photos and outdoors news. 

The Time of Simple Pleasures

 

What a strange and different time it has been these last few months.

First, I hope you're healthy and well. I'm good.

But while some things are the same, my world in many ways is much smaller. This isn't necessarily a bad thing.

As I mentioned in my last post, life is simpler and closer to home now.

I've been walking and bicycling a lot. In the last 2 months, I haven't refilled my gas tank or driven
 more than 12 miles from my home (there was that trip to the ER for stitches in my finger).

Life in lockdown has not been that difficult for me. I hope it hasn't been that tough for you, either. I recognize that I'm very fortunate to have semi-steady work, and many others aren't so lucky.

But the current reality has required a shift in expectations and activities. If you've read this blog before, you know it's about exploring this special corner of the world and being outside as much as possible.

But for now, well, it's about paring things down. Appreciating the everyday and close to home.

Yippee! Spring sunshine!

It's about simple pleasures. Like spotting this millipede on my walk in the woods last night.

Or pulling out my grandmother's teacups and using them for sipping my morning tea while I work, instead of saving them for a special occasion.

As Janelle, the lovely co-proprietor of Stokesberry Sustainable Farm said in her latest email:

Lately I find myself celebrating when I find the kind of laundry soap that I like to use or making an especially good dinner in spite of not having the certain ingredient I ran out of. One less trip to the grocery store!!

So I've been noticing spring flowers in my neighborhood that I'd not noticed before, despite walking by many times.

Or finding and exploring a new trail that I'd overlooked for years in a much-visited park nearby.

As our state is easing out of the lockdown and reopening trails, parks, and national forests, I'm not jumping out there quite yet. I've heard stories about super crowded trails and overflow parking at trailheads; these are things that have put me off anyway the last few years from some of my former favorite places.

I'm still simmering on what this all has meant and what a new future might encompass. After all, our planet has been breathing a metaphorical sigh of relief with so much less pollutants and emissions spewing into our atmosphere. I'm going to think more about this before I ramp up again, and perhaps I'll continue to keep it simpler, with fewer trips.

So for now I'm appreciating what's within a bike ride or walk from my home. 

I'm grateful to live so close to the Salish Sea, for the spectacular sunsets that can be swooned over and quietly appreciated. I'm grateful for the wildflowers in the park or the cultivated flowers in my neighbor's yards. I'm grateful to have space for a vegetable garden and raspberry patch and have been harvesting fresh greens for salads already.

From last season; about a month away still.

And of course the simple pleasure of texting, but even more, talking to friends and family over the phone. And regular Zoom meetups with some friends.

And how are you doing? I'd love to hear in a comment below.

Take good care, be safe, and considerately distance.

Happy trails and thanks for visiting Pacific Northwest Seasons! 
  
In between blog posts, visit Pacific NW Seasons on FaceBook, Twitter, and Instagram for more Northwest photos and outdoors news.