Woke up yesterday with murrelets again; ruminated on the way they bring the ocean to the forest in voice, in the anchovies they carry to their young, in their excrement’s marine remnants—fertilizer. Wondered if they notice the clear-cuts and eroded soil and tree-farm monocultures when they’re journeying between land and sea… Took a barefoot walk …
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This is a Mountain Quail in the G-O Road—a road that (note the toaster-oven sized boulder) will probably be drivable for just a few more seasons. It was cut in the 1980s, when the USFS decided that the extraction of 928 million board feet would be a productive use of the Siskiyous. But the high …
I’ve always been drawn to border places—the meeting of land and sea; salt and fresh; night and day… in physical as well as less tangible senses, they’re fertile grounds of shifting demarcations. They speak to me. Last week, Tripp (probably sensing I needed a respite from fires/record heat/the consequent emotions) sent me to a stretch …