Size matters, I’ve been told. But also, I hear that quality matters, such as standing tall and firm, well protected on the outside, full of vitality on the inside, able to last for a long time. Still growing, sending out seed, a healthy specimen that gives and gives. All of these matter. But size is distinctive all by itself, a treat for the eyes, and talked about by all who come into its presence to share in its delights. That’s what each of these trees shares with us here o

I grew up a short hike from North Beach in Seattle. My brother and I would walk there alone from the time I was three. My dad took me there on dead-quiet winter nights if the tide was low to scoop up Dungeness crabs, the waters lit by a hissing Coleman lantern as we waded along the shoreline. Through my adolescent years, my friends and I hung out there frequently, telling my parents, “We’re going to the beach…” and that’s all they needed to know. We would throw rocks in the w

After a long 4th of July weekend and being far too busy with our various projects, Kath and I needed a break. So we took off for a four-day adventure vacation. We wanted to go hiking in the Olympics somewhere, and explore a wild beach, too. After wrangling about which hikes to take, we chose to start by climbing Mt. Townsend on the northeast side of the Olympics. I had been there a few times with my kids, but Kath had never been there. She loves deep forests, alpine meadows,

Do you remember the first time you did something or went somewhere? Do you remember the first time you kissed someone besides your parents? My first time was in the living room of my first girlfriend’s house, with the smell of rotten potatoes pervading my nose. Another notable first time: walking into the old Sick’s Stadium in Seattle as a seven-year-old, seeing the bright lights at night, the brilliant white lines, the perfectly green grass. And the first time the ground hea

Can you name the volcanoes in Washington? Don’t peek at the next sentence. Did you peek? That’s okay, you know the peaks: Baker, Glacier, Rainier, Adams, St. Helens, and Beacon. Wait, what? Beacon? Underneath the northwest corner of Oregon is a weak spot in the Earth’s crust. Over two million years ago, lava erupted in various places around there, creating calderas and volcanoes. It is a volcanic feature geologists call the Boring Volcanic Field, named for the town of Boring,

Do you have olfactory memories from childhood that linger with you into your senior years? Smells that instantly transport you to a different time and place? I have several, including the lilacs hanging over my parents’ fence from our neighbor’s yard and the hillside of scotch broom growing next to my elementary school. Spring fever infected the schoolyard, the pungent odors calling us to get outdoors, now — it’s May, and summer vacation is nearly here! My parents had a tree

This is a tale about trees, trails, turbulence, and time. It’s about today’s news and tomorrow’s hopes. It’s about what we bring and what we leave behind. John Muir once said he walked with trees and felt taller. Kath and I walked a trail with tall trees this week, and I felt smaller. I felt like a blip in time, a shrimp in space, and fodder for the next generation. But at the same time, I felt refreshed, empowered, emboldened, and more alive than ever. How is that possible?

Before it was Big Rock, it was Yudwasta. Legend has it that there was a woman who lived in the land of the stars with her husband. But she needed to flee her unhappy marriage. Her older sister helped her escape to Earth by lowering her on a rope through a hole in the sky. When she got to Earth, the older sister dropped the rope. Its coils formed the rock Yudwasta, which means, “in the heart.” The woman later gave birth to a son, Star Child, who would grow up to light the wo

My high school marine biology teacher, Mr. Quackenbush, looking up a critter at a rocky beach on one of our field trips. Yeah, that's me on the left, sitting on my butt in my hip waders When I was a teenager, my best friend wanted to be a zookeeper. He raised snakes and frogs in his bedroom, and crickets and other critters to feed them. On a high school field trip to Sucia Island one spring, he and I slipped away at night to find more Pacific chorus frogs for his growing mini

Up from the mud it arises "I read in a book once that a rose by any other name would smell as sweet, but I've never been able to believe it. I don't believe a rose WOULD be as nice if it were called a skunk cabbage." — L.M. Montgomery No respect. It just gets no respect. Skunk cabbage is one of the earliest plants to announce that winter is nearly through. Along with osoberry flashing its white flags of flowers, skunk cabbage rises from the mud long before bees have returned

The Na Pali coast of Kaua’i Island is famous for its sheer razor-sharp ridges eroded over millions of years from the old volcano that created the island. Movies such as Jurassic Park, Avatar, Tropic Thunder (which my kids loved), King Kong, Pirates of the Caribbean, and many others have taken advantage of these cliffs as a tropical backdrop to their stories. An 11-mile hike along the Na Pali shoreline is famous as one of the more challenging and certainly more beautiful hikes

We're used to garden-variety frost and ice this time of year. Starry winter nights often lead to slippery winter mornings. Frost is familiar; it occurs on cold, clear nights, forming when water vapor freezes into ice crystals, coating plants and lawns with a sparkly sheen by sunrise. However, frost has nothing on the wondrous tendrils of delicate "hair ice," which requires even more specific conditions. What is hair ice, you ask? It's not just frozen water... This fragile and

“And is there enough magic out there in the moonlight to make this dream come true?" – Dr. Graham (Burt Lancaster), Field of Dreams Sixty years ago in Seattle, when the tide pulled back on a crisp, calm winter night, my dad would round up my two brothers and me to hunt crabs at the beach below our house near North Beach in Ballard. Sea pen (not my photo) In our hip waders and winter coats, armed with two large buckets, a fishing net, and a bright Coleman lantern hissin

It’s the big dark. Dark heavy clouds blanket our skies, our hills, our spirits; rain turns fields and trails to mud; trees hang brooding above us, dripping, dank and damp, shielding the sky from view. We had a chore to do near Oak Harbor, and it was low tide, so Kath said, “Let’s go to the beach!” The heart of Oak Harbor revolves around its waterfront, from Freund Marsh stretching all the way around the bay to the Oak Harbor Marina. We parked in the middle, near the modern se

December 30, 2025 I break tradition Sometimes my tries Are outside the lines We've been conditioned To not make mistakes But I can't live that way, no I'm just beginning The pen's in my hand Ending unplanned Reaching for something in the distance So close you can almost taste it Release your inhibitions Feel the rain on your skin No one else can feel it for you Only you can let it in No one else, no one else Can speak the words on your lips Drench yourself in words unspoken L

The holly and the ivy, When they are both full-grown, Of all the trees that are in the wood, The holly bears the crown. Since medieval times in the Old Country, holly and ivy have reflected a Christian symbolism, expressed in the Christmas carol "The Holly and the Ivy", in which holly represents Jesus and ivy represents his mother Mary. If they only knew the negative implications both represent on our side of the pond. What’s Wrong with Holly? Yes, the winter berries are re

Rain poured down as I walked Murphy around the block in the predawn dark, a southeast wind tossing the treetops above us and tugging at our coats. Then the sun rose, the clouds parted, and Fidalgo Bay shimmered with whitecaps against the deep blue water. In the afternoon, the game changed. As predicted, the winds strengthened as they veered to the southwest. Fidalgo Bay flattened out, protected by the hills of Fidalgo. Blue skies still stretched above us to the Cascade foothi

Winds rattled our windows; rain pounded the roof. Perfect conditions, I thought to myself. An hour before sunrise, I rose and drove toward Bowman Bay. Limbs, branches, and even a tree trunk littered Rosario Road. Monstrous Doug firs still danced drunkenly above. Entering Bowman Bay’s roadway, I could hear the surf crashing on the beach long before I got there. Clouds were scudding wildly out of the west. Waves rolled and smashed into the logs lining the shoreline, pulling sev

November 30, 2025 As our moon brightens into fullness this week, it becomes the Samish “Moon of the Elders,” the S7elálexw Moon [S--el-AL-uhh], a time to gather indoors with friends and family during these short days and long nights, to sing, tell stories, exchange gifts, and celebrate the close of the year. S7elálexw Moon (Samish Moon of the Elders) One of those elders, another dear friend, passed away unexpectedly this week. He had lived a full life, full of gentleness, ful

The doctor told me when I was a child that I had a heart murmur. I had no idea what that meant, other than that it made a quiet whooshing sound along with the steady beating. Murmurs are like spreading rumors or pleading prayers, done in whispers, except by lots of people at the same time. But not just people; animals spread rumors too, and not one by one but seven by seven, a thousand by a thousand. And not with a whisper, but with the beating of a wing or a fin, a change of