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October 30 2021 Work Party
The ground is saturated again after a dry summer spell, strewn with fallen cottonwood branches and leaves. The Big Leaf Maples have cast down their own humongous fall foliage, sending sky messengers to ground to be devoured by yellow spotted millipedes. Sporocarps are everywhere, disguised by mulch, the bark on fallen branches, in the nooks and crannies of nurse logs and stumps. What was once alive is being returned to the earth to be born anew from rich soil co-created by death. And we are here, witness to and participant in this endless, beautiful cycle of decay and renewal, practicing being human together. With gratitude for all things, until we…
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August 28 2021 Work Party
When a young human wants to show you something–go. Go see the world through their eyes. You won’t be disappointed. Until next time, with gratitude for all of you.
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June 12 2021 Work Party
Knotweed dug and cut. Cardboard spread and mulch hauled. In gratitude to the earth for abundant gifts freely given, it is the very least we can do.
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we needed to be outside
Outside the warmth of the sun reaches my core, birdsong delights my ears, clouds—my heart sentries—drift in the sky. My child’s mouth hurts from the joy of the season’s first salmonberries. We needed to be outside to be feel what it is to be home.
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April 24 2021 Work Party
Let Me Begin Againby Major Jackson Let me begin again as a quiet thoughtin the shape of a shell slowly examinedby a brown child on a beach at dawnstraining to see their future. Let me beginthis time knowing the drumming in my dreamsis me inheriting the earth, is morninglighting up the rivers. Let me burnmy vanities: old music in the pines, siftersof scotch, a day moon like a signatureof night. This time, let me circlethe island of my fears only once thenlive like a raging waterfall and growa magnificent mustache. Let me not ever bethe birdcage or the serrated blade orthe empty season. Dear Glacier, Dear Seaof Stars, Dear Leopards…
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April 10 2021 Work Party
Nothing Wants to Sufferby Danusha Laméris after Linda Hogan Nothing wants to suffer. Not the wind as it scrapes itself against the cliff. Not the cliff being eaten, slowly, by the sea. The earth does not wantto suffer the rough tread of those who do not notice it. The trees do not want to suffer the axe, nor see their sisters felled by root rot, mildew, rust. The coyote in its den. The puma stalking its prey. These, too, want ease and a tender animal in the mouth to take their hunger. An offering, one hopes, made quickly, and without much suffering. The chair mourns an angry sitter. The lamp, a scalded moth. A table, the…
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March 27 2021 Work Party
Little hands do important work. They find the smallest friends nestled in the soil and insist on safe haven for them. They stay present and persist and with determination dig roots longer than they are tall from dark, rich earth. They are filled with wisdom. I help, but work mostly to stay present to their journey. It’s an important one. And important for me to practice simply being alongside another–witnessing. Birds call to each other around us, clouds pass through a pale blue sky, robins engage in territorial dispute, a downy woodpecker stands sentinel. For some blissful moments that stretch to hours, it feels like we might just be all…
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February 27 2021 Work Party
We’ve started removal of a second large patch of Himalayan blackberry at Wallace Swamp Creek Park! What satisfying progress can be made by small, dedicated groups of people. What a balm such kinship is during this pandemic time. We found gifts in every bit of earth reclaimed–Oregon grape growing all this time under the thick blackberry bramble, brilliantly orange witches butter on the side of a decaying stump, luscious green moss blanketing a fallen tree. And then a walk to the creek revealed another gift: a pair of hooded mergansers, surfing the riffle and then coming to rest in a pool created by sediment deposits, just being themselves, seemingly unaware…
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resting with the earth
I’ve been feeling sad these past days, so I went to Wallace Swamp Creek Park to ground myself in noticing: The roots of the Himalayan blackberry, so much in appearance like the arteries, veins, and capillaries of our own bodies, stubbornly holding life deep in the soil, waiting for the warmth of the sun to call it to the sky. The heat in my body generated by the work of digging and cutting and pulling. The rain cooling my skin. A round of robins skittering across muddy earth, red breasts carrying forth resilience and hope. Reed canary grass laid down in wetland water. Snowberries, oblong and opulent, dripping from delicate…
