Raven and Sparrow

Up on the roof

 

We have been enjoying very nice weather here at the end of the summer, a couple of smoke-filled days from forest fires notwithstanding. Now that fall has fallen, the weather report has turned to warnings of heavy rain. Mike and I decided we had better get our gutters cleaned and roofs swept before the onslaught. The large, wind-twisted Douglas Fir trees that surround our house are surprisingly messy. Evergreen doesn't mean that they don't shed a lot of dead bits. In the spring they drop their papery flowers and in the fall, one third of their needles. Every time the wind blows there is a dervish of rust colored detritus that settles on every surface. We have mostly metal roofs which resist the rot caused by moisture retaining windfall, but the gutters clog up terribly. Leaf guards are no use against the little slivery needles, so twice a year we must go up, clean the gutters and sweep the flat portion of our roof clear of accumulated tree stuff. It is surprisingly hard work, but it feels so good to face the rain knowing the gutters are ready to receive it.

The view is pleasant as we work.

 

 

Waiting for spring

These are the days that drag you down. Not  severe, not  scary, nothing to join with others to get through together, just dreary, uncomfortable and short. The sky droops low overhead, the water is sullen and choppy, the land is dull and soggy. February in the Pacific Northwest is the best time to go somewhere else. It was so dark today that the lights were on from morning to night. I have some sewing to do on Lisa's napkins, but it will have to wait for a brighter day because the gray of the fabric is just too close to the gray of the sky. Fortunately, there are little hints that better times are ahead. Tiny green beads of budding leaves are starting to stud the underbrush along the driveway and daffodils are pushing their way up through the dead stuff in the garden. It will only be a couple of weeks before the first wildflowers appear as if by magic on the hillside. To remind myself of this miracle, I cut some twigs from the red currant bushes in the woods and stuck them in a vase. The warmth of the house makes them leap into leaf and I can watch it happen right before my eyes. Spring!

 

Exploring Lopez Island

Sometimes getting away doesn't have to involve a lot of distance. Mike and I grew up on the edge of the San Juan Islands and have visited the two largest islands many times and some of the smaller islands occasionally. However, for some reason, neither of us had ever visited Lopez Island, the third largest and the one located straight across Rosario Strait from our home island, Fidalgo. We decided to check it out and booked an airbnb for a couple days in the third week of January. That's an iffy time around here, weather-wise, but we figured it wouldn't make too much difference, so off we went. We ended up in a tiny but charming cabin almost directly across the water from our house. It perched above its own little beach in splendid isolation, offering complete quiet and a gorgeous view of where we had come from.

When I was growing up here, it felt like the end of the world. Even Seattle in those days was sort of small-townish and off the beaten track, and the islands, most of which were only reachable by ferry, were like stepping back in time. They are still at the whim of the ferry system and distinctly less populated than the mainland, but Orcas and San Juan Islands have acquired a kind of gloss as more and more tourists besiege them every summer. Lopez has its share of summer visitors, but even in the winter doldrums it is clear that it has many fewer residents than the others. The occasional drivers on the road always wave when you pass because they assume that they know you. With the same vocabulary of rocky headlands, quiet bays and pebbly beaches with which we are so familiar, it yet has its own ambiance. Its open spaces are extensive and its wood are deep. The shoreline is amazingly convoluted, with the most bays, spits, harbors and headlands of any of the islands, and many small islets scattered off the coast. There are lots of beautiful walks, but the signage is very minimal, so we relied on the kind directions of people that we met to find our way. In the dim light of a Northwest January, we walked and walked, almost entirely alone. In two days we barely scratched the surface so we will have to go back.

 

This was "our" beach beneath our cabin.

We had this headland and little bay completely to ourselves after an extensive walk through dark woods.

Watmough Bay has no houses, amenities or structures of any kind visible from the beach. You can get a feeling for what it was like here before any outsiders arrived.

Northwest summer

In the news I read of severe weather here and there around the country and the world and I feel the weight of fear settle upon me.  However, when I look outside, I personally have nothing to complain about. After a very cold and rainy spring lasting well into June, the weather here in the Pacific Northwest has been consistently lovely. Even when it is quite hot down in Seattle, up here in the islands the temperature remains in the 70's or high 60's during the day, which is very comfortable, and the sun has been shining. We are having a beautiful summer. No smoke so far (knock on wood) and not too much fog. We have been sticking pretty close to home, but why go elsewhere when it is so pretty here?

The crabbing was really good this year....so good that I am sick of cracking and eating crab. Poor, poor me.

We walked on the ferry for a fun day out. This is the approach to Lopez Island.

We celebrated our 50th wedding anniversary and my mother's 90th birthday.

Mostly we just hung out at home. This is my granddaughter Sophie and her uncle Brendan. Its hard to beat being together in the good old summertime.

Woodpecker New Year

On New Year's Day I was walking the dog when I came upon a dead bird in the snow. It was a medium sized woodpecker with high contrast black and white bars and stripes on its back, wings and tail, a bright red head and chest, and a warm yellow belly....a red-breasted sapsucker. These birds are indigenous to the area but are not common. It could easily be ten years since the last time I saw one. To find a dead one was sad, but to compound my dismay, within five minutes I found another one, also dead. I held the two colorful corpses in my hands and wondered if I would ever see another. So many signs natural, political and familial point to endings and loss. Couldn't red-breasted sapsuckers come to my woods and live? The foreboding that is always lurking in my heart sharpened my grief, but what could I do? It was too late for the woodpeckers.

Within an hour my mood would turn. Looking out the window past the Christmas tree into the snowy woods, I saw the flash of black and white and red and yellow dipping between the trees and then a red-breasted sapsucker perched on a trunk just feet away. Seconds later another joined it, pecking busily into the bark for food. Both birds were puffed up against the cold, wearing their bright feathers like cheerful hats and scarves under their graphic overcoats. They glowed against their wintery background and were very much alive. I felt such a rush of relief and joy seeing them. It was a reassurance that some loss doesn't mean all is lost. At least for now, woodpeckers are still here.

It took a while for it to register having seen four red-breasted sapsuckers in one day. Wow. An interesting way to begin the new year. I looked up woodpeckers in my animal book and found that they are associated with the power of rhythm and discrimination. Words to meditate upon in 2022.

Happy New Year!

In the deep midwinter

Although the rest of the country has struggled through some nasty cold spells this winter I thought we might get a pass this year after three months without even a serious frost. Nope. No longer. A week ago my fuchsia was still blooming, now it is blackening under a foot of snow. We so rarely get snow that it becomes a wonder and delight as long as it doesn't last too long. This storm is expected to pass tonight so tomorrow we will be slogging through icy slush on our way back to our usual gray normalcy. We have to enjoy it now.

Unfortunately I am at complete leisure for contemplation of the weather as I have been weathering a storm of my own. Ten days ago I went in for a routine blood test and within a few hours found myself in an ambulance on the way to Seattle with acute renal failure. It is a return of the auto-immune vasculitis I struggled with a couple of years ago, this time centered in my kidneys..... a real slap upside the head as I had no idea I was sick and still don't feel any symptoms but fatigue, and now the effects of massive doses of steroids. I am lucky not to be suffering and also to have so far avoided the kind of damage that would result in the need for dialysis or other horrid interventions, but there has been some permanent scarring and I am back on the steroid/chemotherapy treadmill it took me two years to escape the last time. I find it devastating to again be swept over this waterfall without warning. How can I prevent it in the future if I don't even know it is happening? I am going to have to cultivate radical acceptance to reach any sort of equanimity, but getting used to things is what humans do best so the outlook is bright. I am very fortunate and I am trying to remember that.

In the meantime....snow. Oh yeah, and Valentine's Day. Happy Valentine's Day everyone.

Summer fog

When the sun shines in winter our days are crisp and clear, but our warmest days in August are sometimes blunted by fog. Today started misty but just after noon the clouds began to lift. My sister and I took the opportunity to take our favorite hike over to Deception Pass. I have been walking in this park for over sixty years.

How lucky am I?

 

The trail goes from beach to cliff through meadow and woods. At the highest point over the bay I looked down and saw a family of river otters swimming together; a mom and four babies. We could see them above and under the water, slipping through either element like eels.

 

Hiking close to home

In this time of covid-19 it is easy to feel confined at home but the parks are jammed with people, so Mike proposed a hike to Decker's Cove for a little variation.  The shoreline on our side of the island is mostly lined with rugged cliffs, but a little ways up the coast there is a place where the hill collapsed (long ago) and formed a tiny cove at sea level surrounded by giant boulders. It is contained in the county park to the north of us, but there is no trail except the one that starts at our house. Did I say trail? Deer trail is really what it is....the faintest track through the dense vegetation of our temperate jungle, or closer to the cliff edge, under and through the lattice of madrona branches. It is not far, but not easy. We took a lunch, some big clippers and the dog, and made an expedition out of it.

The tide was low that morning, just beginning to turn when we reached the cove. Usually it is full of water behind its guardian rocks, but not that day. All of the usually submerged boulders were exposed, rising from the large tide pools at their feet. Down among them it felt like the level of the sea just beyond was higher than my head. Boats and kayaks passed by seemingly at arm's length, and porpoise arched between them. 

We ate our sandwiches and then investigated the tide pools. They were crammed with crabs. Red ones, green ones, hermit crabs.....also mussels, anemones, limpets and barnacles. Approaching a tide pool made all the crabs dash for cover, and then if you were still they would peek out and take up their lives again. Click on the picture and see how many you can find. I see twelve clear ones, but there were many more still hiding in the crevices.

The bald eagles who nest nearby were displeased with our presence and flew overhead squeaking in their rusty gate voices, so we didn't stay as long as we might have. On our way home we clambered closer to the edge and were treated to a view of the keyhole in the cliff that we usually only see from far away on the other side. Sometimes seals can be seen from above chasing schools of feeder fish into the narrow cleft below and trapping them for easy pickings, but not that morning. The bull kelp is getting very dense so that may be a deterrence.

 It was a nice outing, but by the time we bushwhacked back home even the dog was tired. We are lucky to have natural beauty and plentiful exercise in such easy reach.

Small mercies

Christmas is slowly leaking out of the house as I get the tree and decorations down, use the clear space to bring in the ladder for tall window washing, and try to prepare for another year. The weather has been windy, rainy and chilly in this deep dark time so I am regretting (a little) the cheerful lights I am I winding up and stowing away. Yes, the blahs have got me. Nothing seems interesting and even the daily crisis of the news is as empty as the wind and just as controllable. Having been in this place before I know it will pass, probably in direct proportion to the increasing daylight as it ticks on toward spring. In the meantime small things catch my eye. Today I found a fallen branch in the driveway so encrusted with fantastical lichens that it looked like a different world... a tiny wonderland of delicate beauty tossed at random into my path. Complaining seems petty when such jewels are strewn at my feet.

Fairy woodland in the far northwest

We spent yesterday walking in the local woods with our son and his partner Michele. We went to the high point above our house and looked out across the Salish Sea to the Olympic Peninsula. It was a warm gray day with flat skies and calm water...no bird activity and only intermittent noise, muffled and distant. The crunch of our feet in the dry leaves on the trail and our own occasional comments were our accompaniment as we walked to the viewpoint. Having absorbed the vistas and tried to identify the islands we could see from our perch, we returned to the woods and wandered through the fir trees and madronas to lower, more partial views. On our way we happened upon a secluded glade under a twisted madrona where people had built a series of fairy houses out of sticks. It wasn't hard to see why they had chosen this particular place, since the tree had created a sense of shelter on a shelf of rock set a little apart from the its surroundings. Some of the houses were open and airy, and some were almost subterranean. There were little plastic animals or dolls tucked into a few that made me think of Saskia and the household of the Old Bird King. 

The deep quiet and the sense of having happened upon these little dwellings by accident created a pause in time while we contemplated the things we so easily pass by. 

Later that night a thunderstorm crashed out of the clouds and the rain poured down. We don't get many thunderstorms here, so we were enthralled. The lightning flickered up from the south (the direction out of which we get most of our weather) dimly at first, and then in full and startling brilliance, punctuated by the loudest thunder I have heard in years. A day of subdued colors and sounds ended with an explosion.