Living in a Nurse-log Moment

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? Let me explain.

Kath suggested we hike at Northern State Recreational Area, just beyond Sedro-Woolley. The trail system here has grown to magnificent lengths and variety, with the original historical trails now expanding into forests and fields that offer experiences in nature not to be missed.

The day was warm, with rain on the horizon but sunshine overhead. For a Friday afternoon in April, I was surprised at how few people we encountered. Kath and I had been working hard the past few days at various projects, so this hike was a way to get out, unwind, and enjoy some peace and quiet while stretching our legs.

We parked amid the historical buildings of the old hospital and walked east to Dovetail Bridge and then north to the new trails that meander along Hill Creek. For some reason, neither of us had brought a day pack. I immediately regretted wearing a puffy vest on this perfectly comfortable day, and then immediately regretted not having a pack to put it in. The only water we had to share with Murphy was a cup that Kath kept upright in a grocery bag. Sigh. The ten essentials were down to what we could carry in our hands and pockets: a cup of water, a small bag of treats for Murphy, and my phone. Onward!

We followed the trail along Hill Creek for fifty feet, and then the magic cast its spell.

It wrapped itself around us in the songs of finches, the warmth of the air, the murmuring of the creek beside us, and the fragrance of fully-fledged spring. All our must-do lists and plans and busyness melted away. We just stood there among ancient alders, maples, and cedars, humbled by their well-earned majesty and splendor. We touched their six-foot bases and looked up 200 feet to their tops. We walked in hushed awe past dozens of these sentinels, which were standing here long before a new nation declared that all men are created equal.

I was overcome by the presence of these gentle giants. I decided to photograph an example or two of each species, a sample of the diversity and immensity of those who live here.

And we couldn’t help but notice their fallen friends beneath, now hosting trees already far older than me. Stumps from long ago became home to huckleberries and even hemlocks.

The trail winds like a carefree ribbon through it all. My thoughts wound the same way, carefree, and yet cognizant of these life forces that support our lives, and their deaths so clearly serving as homes for new life.

By the time we reached the trail’s end, the words of the woods had already begun to translate into something larger — a way of seeing our own moment with a little more clarity. The forest isn’t just scenery; it speaks to the times we’re living in. It doesn’t wait for perfect conditions to adapt. It grows through disturbance. It regenerates through collapse. It uses what falls to feed what rises.

We are living in a nurse‑log moment.

We’re living in a time where the canopy of old systems is thinning — institutions cracking, assumptions failing, the pace of change outstripping our understanding. It feels unstable because it is unstable. But instability is not the opposite of growth; it’s the condition that makes new growth possible.

Much of what we built in the 20th century is decaying in real time. That decay isn’t just loss; it’s nutrient release. Ideas, movements, technologies, and ways of relating that couldn’t survive under the old canopy suddenly have light.

In this chaotic civilization, the most grounded stance is not “How do we save everything?” but “What can we lay down that will nourish what comes next?” That might be wisdom, restraint, humility, or simply the courage to live with integrity when the world feels unmoored.

The next generation won’t grow because of us or despite us, but through us. Just as a nurse log becomes part of the architecture of the next tree, our choices, even the small, quiet ones, become part of the scaffolding the future depends on. Our task is to live in such a way that what we share is not debris, but nourishment.

Forests burn, flood, rot, and regrow. Civilizations do too. The question is whether we can meet that chaos with steadiness, imagination, and a willingness to plant something we may never see mature.

It all works together for good, in patience and steadfast persistence.

For further inspiration and information:

Watch the four-minute video to immerse yourself among these trees and nurse-logs at:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6BdxMbm5Wak

Learn more about Northern State Hospital at https://www.northernstatehospital.org/

Learn more about the trails at the Northern State Recreation Area, including trail maps, at: https://www.skagitcounty.net/Departments/ParksAndRecreation/parks/nsra.htm

How can you help with the trails? https://skagittrailbuilders.org/ 

How can you help change the world? This is our moment.