EEC Forest Stewardship

Thank you to my friend Peg for sharing this amazing story with me. I now share it with you, that we may all let the film from our eyes fall. Gratitude to The Tlingit, for offering this important lesson, art form, language, imagery, and connection. May all First Nations People continue to survive and thrive in the face of colonial acts, which continue into the 21st century.

Gary Snyder also wrote an inspired folktale, related to his relationships with Tribal People. I offer this academic reflection of the writing here. These are the places I can come from around such impactful story telling, in a language I will never fully understand, from a people holding wildness, something I long for, but will forever be apart from through my own ancestry, and the choice to keep the film over their eyes. Survival can be a difficult thing to wrestle with. We are compelled by it, yet lured into false narratives of co-existence, which only works through a series of domestications. Acts of setting down our own harvesting tools, not seeing the richness of animal dung- signs of abundance, enough for all, rewards of fullness. Where is togetherness? We return to a village, the people await to celebrate. When our carelessness becomes habit, we drop the basket and blame the other. Something that does not look like us, still carries the same wants and needs. A fine home, lush furnishings, favorite foods- all these things bring comfort. Do I take out my gun to shoot that other? Threats are real- grizzlies could kill you, take a gun. But wait, when there are plenty of berries, everyone is full. What happened to the larder? Where has abundance gone? I keep cycling through this story, and recognizing all the concerns I’ve been carrying. When there are no more berries, everyone starts packing a gun. We shoot her husband, wait, the bear led her into comfort. Was he a sorcerer? I don’t know- the lineage is not my own people, though maybe it is.

Pete Castle grounds us in yet another tale of The Woman Who Married A Bear. There is song and dance that goes along with the story, in which the bear is killed yet again. Though a far cry from Kent England, there are similar messages of gender, custom; parts of the experience I gravitate towards through first hand experience, berry harvesting, being distracted, frustration and cursing the other. Myself, already separated in this current cultural melting pot, without facing genocide, I woke up and all the berries were gone. It was not just a hard winter and late frost culling young blossoms, the rains were full of microplastics, and we all kept looking at our phones.

I sat last Fall, looking at bear sign all around. I sat with a rifle, asking what the bear wanted- seeing his place, wanting to be lived by it- a part of wilderness. I took pictures with my phone- and maybe a selfie. I had not brought any basket for harvesting. My intentions were to wander, seek out his attention. What am I looking for? Kindness, fierceness, a willing to sacrifice, can I not find this in myself? I have put on a bear skin-worn it, lifted the heavy weight of that once living creature, curiosity. I’ve been in the presence of bears, mostly black, and still compelling majesty. The skinned carcass- once brought to my house for pressure canning, salvaged from a hunter in the woods near my home looks like a child. The frightening resemblance in shape and deed, putting on the winter fat, storing enough, that we step in its rich excretion. Our fall comes in negative thought.

Being out in the nature of things, breathing forest, trickling showers orchestrate mossy ribbons of shimmering obsidian. When an elk antler hits the edge of fire glass, striking off the blade to cut through generations of harvesting. When we had claws, and tore at the earth, looking for insects and learning the diet of our ancestors. There could be so much healing. In looking at the small things, we see ourselves most perfectly attuned. Violent strikes in the everyday quest for subsistence. What does it feel like to be gluttonous? So much salmon, grass (rice), and seaweed from our ocean home. Tides recede, but the table was taken apart, relocated to a boiler or some suburban chicken coop. Avian bird flu and pandemic depths, reoccuring nightmares of starvation- it’s happening close to our own neighbors, or in ourselves, at least spiritually.

Friends are weeping at the loss of our table, there is not enough left in the larder. Do we go back down the same path looking for berries? Our bear husbands will follow us, still stalking in the shadows, casting spells of enchantment- or just embracing our willful blindness. When the other is gone, there are no berries left in the forest. His shit carries the seeds, plants new larders, and completes the circle of life that lifts up the trees we build our shelters from; but we made so many like ourselves, we’ve cut down all the forests, replanting them in mono-cultures, like our own legacies, pencils stuck in rows upon rows. When I look longingly into wild places, the shame of my willful blindness hurts generations to come.

How do I come back from this? In the tree farm, there are still berries, I can pick them, pull together people from many different backgrounds for a feast, light fire and tell stories together. I can reach back into the human condition, and work slowly to understand what is unraveling at one end, only to weave a new basket at the other, this cycle, and my place in it, comes in each breath, heart felt lesson, and a willingness to keep on learning self and other, allowing all strands here today- speaking of witch, I’ve been referencing white guys, which I am a product of, but would like to recenter the narrative about woman, still told by men. Enter Laura Grizzlypaws, and her incredible BEAR DANCE. Healing happens through dance, can I take up the British story and dance in a new way? Riding wefted age, spinning slowly into being. Am I wrapping my arms around a bear, shitting gold, or calling to my friend, asking her to focus? I think I want to have the gun, be the friend, have my mind set on feasting together back in the village, wrapped in community that celebrates what they live within.

Women are together at their best, they are harvesting the future, looking forward to the people gathering, awake to surroundings and speaking blessings to abundance. As I watch Grizzlypaws reaching, jumping up into the air, I see the bear harvesting bounty for the people. May the bounty return with good stewardship and the retired legacy of distraction and self-deceit. We are stronger together, listening and watching led to understanding. There are still blind spots, even the friend thought the woman was dead. We still cry for what’s lost. Condolences must be said, actions speak volumes, and words frame the music of all our dancing. May your movements be a revelation, and try not to slip in bear shit.

This is my little t-rex army. They produce nice healthy eggs to eat, decent meat on the bone, beautiful feathers, and countless daily tasks to bring fertility to the soil here at EEC Forest Stewardship. Chickens are always a gateway livestock animal for new farmers, and I encourage everyone with the right land to get some. The key is feeding them the right diet, so what they are spreading on your landscape is good organic matter. Though people complain about the expense of organic grain, it’s worth it to keep our pastures healthy with the right balance of nutrients to grow healthy greens for healthy animals and people. If the birds were on a conventional diet- that would be what they would spread all over the land, and cooked pellets are nutrient poor, and not good for the soil. I think farmers often forget what goes in will come back out again, and so, to keep up affordability, they buy the cheaper stuff, but it will reflect in the health of the land and the birds themselves. I don’t offer my birds any other inputs- the organic scratch and peck layer mash is all they need. It includes oyster shell, trace minerals, and no corn or soy.

The birds reflect this good diet, along with the free ranging they do on healthy pasture. I’ve never had flock issues like plucking, pecking, or bullying of certain birds. I think this is partially diet, and also number of birds in the flock. I never go over 30 at one time. This is the magic number for flock health, and keeps everyone feeling like they have the space they need, while allowing two well behaved roosters to cover the hens. It is suggested you have no more than 15 hens per rooster, so 29 hens and 2 roosters works perfectly. I highly recommend this flock size for a modest farm or homestead. Yes, commercial flocks are much larger, but usually, when you’re looking at industrial chicken operations, you’re also looking at confinement on dead ground, because a pasture must be tens of acres to host such flock numbers full time. Commercial flocks also have lots of plucked feathers, pecked hens, and generally unhappy birds that don’t move around much. My birds come running to greet me in the morning, and work all day to glean, scrape, and till the soil.

A happy flock makes happy eggs, and a happy farmer to care for the birds. I don’t have to fight off angry roosters, wrestle with hens on the nest for eggs, or worry about a bird getting beaten up by the others over space or food. I also don’t have to train the birds on what to do at the farm. They are diligently gleaning pest bugs, moving raw dirt around to make sure it’s well aerated for future planting, and they spread nutrient dense manure all over the upper fields, where our fruit trees and berry bushes are in need of extra fertilizer. The guano is priceless, as the cost of inputs continues to rise, we’re glad the birds are putting down good poo in the fields- and spreading it too, so no machines are needed. In commercial fields, they have to mechanically spread manure, and spray crops to keep bugs under control. Not so at Leafhopper Farm, but again, scale is important. We are not supplying our local grocery store with eggs, we now only sell directly to our clients, by word of mouth. Monthly subscriptions are offered during the summer months, but in winter, laying slows to a crawl, because my hens do not get put under lights to artificially keep them in full time production.

Following the natural biorhythms of the flock ensures their best quality of life, with a break in winter to let their bodies rest and build up some winter fat to keep warm. Could you imagine eating eggs only during the warmer months? Well, that would be true seasonal eating. You can pickle eggs, and I know why you should if you want to enjoy them in bulk, year round. That’s right- a lot of people don’t know that to keep eggs coming year round, birds are put under lights to keep them producing. This stresses the birds, and certainly shortens their lives by several years, but commercial birds are only kept in production for a few years- five at most, most only three. Then they are slaughtered and put into animal feed or sometimes soup stock and what not. You will not see layer hens wrapped up in your local supermarket- they don’t have the meat frame to carry enough edible muscle mass. That’s why meat birds are a different animal completely. Though here at Leafhopper Farm, we’ve been selectively breeding for a more duel purpose bird, with egg laying and some meat to the bone. Duel use birds are more of a heritage thing, because that industrial bird is bred for one thing- eggs or meat, and never both, because that would be a waste of expensive inputs for less output.

Duel use animals have to compromise somewhere- so they lay less eggs overall. and will never fully bulk out like a meat animal would. That works just fine here on our small farmstead, as we feed all our poultry the same great organic grains and accept that not all the hens will lay an egg every day. I think that would be exhausting, and not much of a life for the animal. Quality of life for all things growing on at our farm remains a priority. I want all my animals to get good pasture time to move about in their natural state, as well as healthy, well rounded diet that includes as much fresh veg as we can provide seasonally. In winter, the hens still peck around in the frosty pasture, and remain active year round in the fields. This keeps the fertility banking in the soil for future planting. We don’t need to put supplemental nutrients in our pastures to keep the soil viable. One expensive organic grain purchase covers all those other bases. Even the much needed lime is there from ground limestone. Our other major soil amendment, magnesium, is also in the layer feed, so the soil gets the extra nutrients it needs from the organic feed. I wish more farmers knew this, or even thought about it. One expensive input carries everything our pastures need to remain productive and sound. And our birds spread it, till it in, and all without an ounce of fossil fuel for the labor.

Imagine if industrial farming could pick up on this simple solution to getting the birds fed, fields fertilized, and the farmer’s mind at ease with reduced costs all around. The land here reflects this smart system of small scale production, and it leaves me feeling good about my livestock practices, as well as producing a happy, healthy flock of birds. So, next time you hear the phrase “bird brain” give the chickens a little credit- they are working hard each day without any need for pay. They just get a good organic meal and all the pasture they want to wander in. I get the best eggs you’ll ever taste, good pasture care, and piece of mind in knowing what I’m eating was eating the best it could before coming to the table to feed me. That’s worth the investment- and how!

It’s early May, 2026 and the pond is waking up with a flush of new koi fry. I’ve been waiting to see the young fish come up from the bottom, where they overwinter in a sort of hibernation. It’s been warming up fast here, and the fish are finally kissing the surface once more. I love these suprises on the land, though I expect it at some point, things vary year to year, and this year, the fish were a little later in surfacing, but here they are, and oh how they are thriving.

I don’t feed the fish, they survive off what comes into the pond naturally, from bugs to small frogs and other aquatic life. The koi have been living on their own in the pond now since they were introduced in 2016. Because the pond is completely isolated from wild water, it’s ok to bring in fish. If this pond drained into the creek below, we could not put fish in it. That’s important to remember when you are bringing in a new aquatic species. Make sure your domestic water is not connected to any wild outlet, or what you introduce can spread to the wild, and that can be a very bad thing. Carp (the foundation species of decorative koi) are invading The Great Lakes, and out competing a lot of yummy eating fish. Carp are great survivalists, which makes them a good candidate for farm ponds, as they can survive in much warmer water than a lot of our native fish. Our pond also has an aerator, to keep the water oxygenated. Oxygen in water is crucial for fish survival. There are several places now in wild water, especially off the coast of major rivers, where “dead zones” have formed. These are currents where nitrogen is carried from agricultural runoff into the ocean to eddy about. Nitrogen starves the water of oxygen, thus suffocating any life in that concentration space. There are global maps of the worst areas, most near industrialized farming along the coasts.

Putting an aerator in the pond keeps enough O in the H2O scene, thus helping the fish get a little extra boost in their habitat. But the water in the pond is not crystal clear. That’s partially due to all the fish swimming around up and down form the bottom, but it’s also about bird traffic. The geese love the pond, and prefer being in it when they can. I’ve begun regulating their use of the water feature, as they can really muck it up. Waterfowl are messy, and too many birds can fill the pond with experiment, disrupting the PH balance and inviting bad algae blooms. We had a bad algae breakout a few years ago, after I raised about 20 runner ducks, which found their way into the pond. It took some serious filtering to clean up the aftermath. Point is- a pond needs a lot of tending and protecting, especially if it’s a closed system without much inflow or outflow. This pond is spring fed, along with rain catchment from the gravel drive above. swales and pipes redirect surface water into the huge pond basin. It still has not crested at the outflow yet, but every once in a while there will be a bad storm that dumps a lot of rain. That fills the pond to almost overflow, but it still remains below the overflow system. There is an additional catchment basin next to the pond, in case it overflows. If you build a pond, you should have at least one overflow catchment, or more, depending on size and water retention. We had an engineer come give his blessing on our design. I wanted to make sure that even if our pond berm failed, the water would not be a threat to downhill neighbors, and it’s not at all.

Over the years, I have also made sure to keep the banks relatively clear of brush. There are a few young willows I keep for shade, but they are trimmed back each year to prevent overgrowth. I want to be able to see the surface of the water to monitor cleanliness. Yet fish do need shelter from the hot sun, and a place to lay eggs. The small fry also need a place to shelter from bigger fish, and there are some bigger fish in the pond now. I tried to take pictures, but it’s hard to tell size in them. Some of the more mature fish look about 6-8″ long, but I have not captured any to officially measure. I will try putting a pole in later this summer. I think some of the fish are large enough now to harvest and grill up for eating. Carp are bony fish, but make excellent soup stock. Is this aquaculture? Not really, but it’s a great passive system that does continue to produce fish with no extra feed. That’s certainly production, though on a small scale.

The fish survive cold winter by sleeping on the bottom, and this pond is deep enough to protect them through the cold months. If your pond is too shallow, which most koi ponds are- so you can see and enjoy the fish, you need a heater for the winter. This pond is certainly deep enough, so no extra heat is needed. Imagine paying to heat a pool you never swam in? No, we won’t be heating the pond, only oxygenating for now. And so, we have several generations of koi now, with more on the way. Imagine when the long term survivors get to a mature age and size. I look forward to seeing the unique markings of the fish as they grow larger. For now, it’s just hints as tones other than brown- though many of this young fish are mud colors- that’s the carp genes coming back in. If we don’t eventually put more koi color genes in, the fish will all revert back to brown carp colors.

So, as we enter into the summer months, it will be exciting to see how many fish are getting bigger, if there are any eating sized yet, and how many we’ll loose to wild birds. Yes, great blue heron and kingfishers visit the pond once in a while. I’m sure they get quite a feeding, but that’s what the pond is there for. I did build it for the herons, and any other wild bird in need of a quiet place to hang- though our barn cats would pressure any nesting around the water. We also get raccoons once in a while, and they are not great neighbors for our fish or the chickens and geese that the farm does raise. With the poultry now sequestered being portable electric mesh fencing, the pond can thrive with fish and other wildlife that wishes to partake. So much gratitude to water, fish, and self-sustainability.

We’ll, another afternoon up in the peaks and I didn’t pack my snowshoes. The hike didn’t start in this snow drift, but I had planned on snow as I ascended on my journey into The Alpine Lakes Wilderness. About a decade ago, I drove up to this point with my mentor, but it’s grown in quite a bit, and some more recent edge collapses along the ledge make the road a trail from now on. I’m happy about that, because it means nature will come back into her own a bit, and the land can slowly heal. I’d like to spend more time getting to know this area, and so, on a sunny afternoon, I hiked up into the clouds. It’s not something intuitive for most- warm sunny day in the valley, clouds banking in up above in the mountains, most people would spend the sunny day below, but I was craving the last of winter’s fading glory, and so, I took another quest to the snow line, and then beyond.

Acres of plantation forest fly by as I take each switchback methodically, at some turns, the trees open up to reveal Snoqualmie Valley below. Both the upper and lower expanses are visible from this ridge-line, though today, I was at the northern side of the property, so I had a glimpse of my own home ridges and hillsides far below. Some of the angles between peaks can be a little disorienting. At one point, I had hiked a ways in and turned to see the clouds lift, revealing scars on the slope. This part of the tree farm hosts a recent burn. The ridge went up in October, 2022 during The Lock Katrine fire, which was started by people. Here, the fire damage was up close, and I wondered at what had survived. The ecology of this region is built on sudden change, from landslides, earthquakes, volcanoes, lahars, glaciers, flooding, and general tectonic activity throughout the west coast as a whole. The Ring of Fire is an epic place to call home.

Wildfires are one of the more common and devastating seasons here in The Pacific Northwest. 2022 was a particularly hard year, with fires catching close to home in two areas to our east. The Bolt Creek Fire was another frightening blaze that had burned for months along a major highway, threatening many towns. The Loch Katrine Fire was in an unpopulated area, and was allowed to burn a more natural course with rains in the forecast. It did go on for a few weeks, and was a smoke menace to several parts of our valley, but the blaze ended in late October, and the start of the wet season smothered our fears of flame. The scars are still quite visible along the slopes, but nature will return to her own once more, and the plantation mono-culture has replanted for future timber sales. Not all the stands of forest are lost in these burns, but a lot more stand green in the wilderness, compared to the tree farm monoculture. Wild forests keep their biomass through the centuries, and build up a sponge of material at their base which holds rain and banks it in the soil, even on slopes. This creates resiliency to fire throughout the forest, and more stands survive to reseed a new forest after the burn. Much of the ground cover still has its roots, as the soil dampness prevents hot burning fires that scald the topsoil. I’ll have to plan a day to hike over there to compare the recovery.

The picture above is a burn scar across a ridge line in The Alpine Lake Wilderness. Below is a map of the fire, and that second red patch on the right is where this burn happened. I was standing on the ridge line to the left of DIV N on the map, on the other side of Lake Phillippa. From that vantage point, I could look all the way through the valley there, in the draw from the lake down to the North Fork of The Snoqualmie River. I had started my hike from roughly where the DIV T type is on the map below. The extent of the fire had taken me some time to fully comprehend, as I’ve only been able to see the left hand part of the burn from the roads I’d approached form in the tree farm. Now I was getting a broader picture, but the clouds continued to veil the full extend of the fire’s wrath while I was in the snow.

I love being “lost” in the clouds high above. There are moment without and site beyond the trail and a few trees. I use my OnX ap to assist with directions to make sure I don’t take a wrong turn. There are a lot of logging roads up here, and any one of them could take me for miles across the mountains. I enjoyed walking the 4 miles round trip along this elevation, and had a few moments of blissful dream like surroundings in the swirling clouds. In one of the saddles, wind carried white gossamer over the treetops, arching back down the other side of rocky impediment and down towards the valley below. I could occasionally spot sun in the patches of farms and clear cuts below. My sunglasses came on and off a lot on that hike, as the snow became blinding white when the sun broke through the clouds. I wanted to reach out and catch the mists by the tail for a moment. The elemental change continued, but no rain would fall. These clouds were banking up along The Cascade Mountains, and would slowly break up as the day wore on. I was glad to get a little cloud cover while hiking. It kept me comfortable in my climb, and a light breeze was welcome on the decent back to the truck.

If you listen carefully in this video, you’ll hear the varied thrushes calling from the forest. These birds are in their mating season, and sound off like magical whistles throughout the woods. It’s great to catch the timing of these delightful birds as their song echos across mountain tops. I find such sounds so relaxing. I found myself walking through the slick snow in meditation, each step carefully placed away from the steep edge of the trail. At one point I was weaving through a willow patch that was slowly overtaking the path. In a few more years, it might be good to come back and cut the branches back a bit. Trail maintenance is always needed in these transition zones along the edges to keep access open. But if it does grow back in, that might be best for the environment beyond. Though there are not a large number of people coming up here through the tree farm, wilderness sometimes needs a break from human intrusion, and I’m glad keep visits to this beautiful place minimal.

As I descend back to the lower hills, the snow melts away again, and young ground covers bloom out of the damp soil left behind. I was enjoying the time travel, back to early spring. In the valley far below, plants were fully leafed out and far past blossoming. Up here at elevation, many plants were just popping up from the ground. Catkins hung on leafless shrubs, and a few flowers were out with the sun. Melting snow dripped down the rocky cliffs trimmed in velvet green mosses. The gravel on the trail spoke of shallow seas, muddy marine clay, and volcanic basalt. The tectonic uplift that brought this ocean floor into the sky are still moving and churning the layers of crust which float atop the liquid mantel of our planet. I’m always looking for these legacy reminders of a mountain’s makeup. At a bend along the trail, I came across a huge blue boulder protruding from the slope, it rested on what looked like a gray clay layer in the rock. I’ll be scouting that again once the snow is fully melted. The chance to find a natural clay bed would be exciting indeed.

By the time I got back to the truck, a different bird call was echoing through the hills. Grouse are also enjoying the spring mating season. The males find a prominent place with good acoustics in the woods, and beat out their rhythm of love in a deep humming drone. When I first heard them on The East Coast, I though someone was trying to start a generator. That’s my best description of this noise in the woods each spring. We don’t hear it where I am in the valley, though there are rough grouse in the woods nearby. You need enough continually forested habitat to host these wild birds. I think their numbers continue to slowly decline, though our Fish and Wildlife Department seems to think it’s just less people hunting them– that seems to be their reasoning, rather than the continued loss of habitat and more people pushing further into the forests on e-bikes. I look at the east coast bird counts as a reference, because if it’s happening over there, it’s certainly happening here too. I’ve seen some birds, but not a lot on my adventures in these woodlands- especially during hunting season. Maybe they are getting the memo on when to get the heck out of here once the guns start going off in September.

I found one hit by a vehicle along the road on my way up this morning. I moved the hen off the road and into the woods to give her a little bit of peace. Trucks carrying the logs out don’t stop for anything if they can. help it- they’re on a strict schedule- time is money. One little bird or a whole load of fresh wood products to be sold? Just buy your upland game bird tag and shut up about it. There are plenty of grouse in those woods for you to harvest, be grateful you have access. The tree farm may not be public lands, but it’s connected to them, in a patchwork of degraded habitat that’s pushing out wildlife and welcoming treated sewage, herbicides, and moncrop plantations of Douglas Fir. I’ve been recreating in this vast commercial timber property for almost 15 years, and there is a noticeable decline in deer here too. Seems the animals don’t like all the chemicals being spread across the clear cuts. However, I don’t have scientific data to back it up, so take my opinion as just that. I guess one could also say, it’s my experience in these woods.

As soon as set foot in the wilderness, there was a noticeable uptick in species diversity. There is also no legacy of chemical controls in this soil, so the understory indicators like oval leaf blueberry return, along with a great adaptive pioneer plant, fire weed. Both provide edible food, and play important roles in pollination, as well as larders for wildlife. False Hellebore, a sensitive wetland plant, also makes an appearance along the old road. There were also fungal friends along the way, with some orange witches butter blooming on a rotting stick. All these lovely plants vanish once I’m back in plantation land, where chemical spraying along the roads to keep them clear makes all the native edge plants disappear. Keep an eye out for this in areas you might want to harvest plants. I even came across an old spray flyer by a recent clearcut further down the slope. These markers are good reminders of the industrial legacy we’re leaving in our neighboring forests. The chemicals get into our water systems, ending up in the rivers of our valley. It’s also going to start showing up in our drinking water eventually. The natural world is a closed circuit, with no understanding on where the spray lines are drawn on maps or from satellite imagery. But don’t worry, you can safely re-enter the spray areas within 48hrs. I hope the wildlife can read this and feel better too.

This journey was about reaching the snow line and exploring an old trail into The Apline Lakes Wilderness, which I thoroughly enjoyed. I got out of the bright sun and into magical cloud cover, saw a larger swath of fire burn scars, identified a lot of good native plants, and got some good movement in for me and my pup Val. She was joyful in the snow, and together we had a great morning adventure in The Central Cascades. Gratitude for this access to wilderness, and the continued observation of industrial harvesting in forest plantations to understand a small part of the consumerism I participate in daily. Thanks to all the wildlife that showed its self in track, song, and even the dead grouse on the side of the road. I was able to observe a healthy hen and better acquaint myself with her markings, size, and habitat. She reminded me of the impermanence of this life, and to appreciate each day as it comes. Thank you to this ecology, and it’s resistance to human control and devastation. Our careless handling has evolved towards conservation, and the wilderness should be safe for many generations to come. Or so we hope.

It’s another tough truth we’re forgetting in all our commutes, industry investment (your 401K), and flying. Those are the top qualifiers, right off the bat. And yes, I get on planes and drive, but I divested- maybe you can too. The other amazing way to fight climate change is by not buying industrial agriculture if you can. Local CSAs, a back garden, or cutting fast food out of your diet wins some spectacular CO2 reductions as well. I have a Dick’s burger every few years- but I have not been to McDonald’s or any other major chain like it in almost 30 years. That is a huge difference made in one act, by one person. Try, try to see how you can reduce your expenditures. Stop buying individually wrapped bulk items, find organic sources, stop online shopping all the time. Look at all the little things, they add up.

We’re watching it happen- the loss of our environmental safe guards. With that, democratic instability sets in, the current administration was born out of many edges, social is directly affected by environmental. Americans know starvation, and will again the way things are playing out in our commercial agriculture and the military industrial complex. Community gardens will be paramount, so invest now if you can. I’ll be selling starter flocks again this year- and if you have some acreage and a freezer, buy some local lamb and fill up the icebox before next winter. Invest locally, because soon, it won’t be affordable to order out. Get to know a farmer, or two, or three. Start learning about what your community is doing about food insecurity, and volunteer to help. Volunteer to do anything- it’s a way to give time if you don’t have treasure. Talent is also valuable, so use your gifts well.

Alive, awake, alert, and enthusiastic- that’s a good mantra to take up. I’ve been using it for years- and its worked very well, especially in moments of stress building. How do we cope? Our planet shifts constantly, and it will adapt to fast changing constraints, but those changes will not be palatable to the human race, and might also not be survivable. We cannot fully grasp exponential, and some outright deny it all together. When I watch 30 years of glacial retreat, and see the speed up in the last 5-7 years on all the glaciers around the world, I see the global collapse in real time. It will only get faster. These 80F days in April and May will turn into the norm, and I’ll experience it in my lifetime. Weather fronts will draw out, bringing more heat domes and grid failures, often enough that we might not be able to recover from one before the next, these overlapping crisis will slow down our adaptation until we go extinct.

The frustrating thing is, we know what’s happening and still, the train derails as we head right over a cliff. I fear more for the future generations facing the worst of this cataclysm. In not having children, I did what I could to prepare. In mentoring young people, I see the hope and the grounded understanding, while many are checked out, preferring screen time to acting. What would they, could they do now? There are always options, but the slim chance of survival might be a little overwhelming for some. I could add in gun violence, discrimination against anything not strait, white, entitled male, de-funding of education, and the list goes on. Our children know what’s happening, and the sloping rise of mental illness says it all. Yet some how, a graduating senior non-binary young person assures me they have a future, a life of infinite possibility, and I am awestruck. At the same time, I see the last ice melt as sea levels engulf the majority of densely populated coastline around the world. The kids are still in the moment, that’s a super power I envy, and learn from. Thank you young people.

This is the view south from a ridge line just north of EEC Forest Stewardship. We are not on a power-line cut like this, but they offer views to help us appreciate the greater landscape we reside in. From the tops of my 80 year old Cedars, you can get the view of Mt. Tahoma, cloaked in winter glory with that classic strata volcano form, a hulking hunched pressure valve for plate tectonic action in the north west corner of USA’s lower 48. Washington has 4 of these strata peaks, and Tahoma is called Rainier in Colonial tongue. It’s the nearest to home, but we are far enough away in a “safe direction”

Western Washington is an epic place, that’s why I live here. There’s so much ecology, geology, and topography to explore and learn from. It’s also got a stable freshwater source, temperate climate, and evergreen mega-flora and fauna that’s still present in my backyard. Yet there is also a recent legacy of colonial resource extraction mentality and white entitlement we have yet to talk about as “a great nation”. The high tension power lines stretching out form hydro electric dams that are over a third of the state’s energy production, including both tech and aerospace engineering that props up the hollow shell of lumber and fishing, reduced to timber plantations that now hide our city sewage, and obscene hatchery spending.

To go much deeper on hatcheries and our west-coast salmon populations watch this. Here’s a little snippet-

Part of the tension eluded to in the title of this writing, revolves around power. What a loaded word. The Salmon declines are due in part to damming, for cheap power, irrigation for agriculture, and further residential and commercial development, hand in hand with the military industrial complex. With our use of chemical fertilizers, combustion based technology, and simplified systems of imperial management hierarchy, we remain in decline, along with our fish populations, the wilderness required for human survival, and the spirit in shared living experience.

Screen time runs high, and we think we’re connected and aware of what’s going on, but we’re not. Pinging phones do not actually give us the latest news. That can only be gauged by going outside. Mother nature gives us a play by play of the day, including bird song, vitamin D (a crucial aid to our survival), and a measure of our health compared to the health of the environment we live in. I think a lot of people prefer to ignore this reality, and focus on a never ending news cycle, which carries all the tension a person could ever want. Screens are also giving us something beyond our control, or so it seems, but all you have to do is turn it off, turn off the alerts, turn off the addiction by placing it on a tale and walking away- at least for a few hours. I was at a gathering last night and someone wanted to “share” something with me through my phone. When I told them I had left my phone in the car, they were taken aback. I’m glad I’m not like that. Now, some of us believe we have to be available at all times, and that’s what pagers used to do for us. If you are that kind of person, get a pager and enjoy that tension instead.

Another aspect of tension, especially regionally, are those strata volcanoes. I mentioned Tahoma earlier, and Duvall, the small town I live in, is at the very edge of the known ash plumes and nearby devastation measured from this volcano through geological mapping. The 1980 eruption of Loowit is etched in local memory, and the landscape of southwestern Washington. That mountain is rural, but Tahoma and Kulshan are much closer to heavily populated areas, and deserve our attention, and respect- especially living in their shadows. There are large signs of past eruptions and destruction of both these volcanic peaks. The Osceola Mud flow into The City of Tacoma is a more geologically recent episode of Tahoma’s instability. These volcanoes live on active fault lines, causing quakes on the slopes of these uplifted towers of unstable rock and magma. But geologic time is something hard for humans to grasp, and the generations of people who are born and die between major tectonic and volcanic activity makes these mountains of chaos, more often quiet than not.

The dynamic nature of this landscape makes it regenerative, when given the space and time to do so. This is important to me, psychologically, because I see how much of the old growth forest was cut, and remains absent from this spectacular landscape. I know, because I will not see it in my lifetime, that it takes generations of people to grow a forest back to old growth magnificence. To see trees wider than cars takes lifetimes to grow, and people can barely plan seasonal events, so they don’t think about the slow development of a forest over time. This landscape can rebuild itself over decades, but people can’t wait to buy the next big ticket item, brought to you by a box store direct delivery system of corporate sales based on population consumption addiction. We’re all watching something, checking a screen, looking through it to document limited time on this earth. How many generations back to we have to go to relive the tension in our necks from staring at a screen?

The electrical grid grows tired of our drawing, like the water table in much of the world, depletion continues. Finite resources are going to run out. Technology builds a farcical reality- just update your profile and continue. Log in, blog out- yay this writing, exhale of consumption anxiety. Technology and nature are not compatible in the long term. I sit with this tension daily, checking email, most of my communication, and keeping up with what’s going on outside my little farm and garden bed, what laws will change to make farming harder? What might alleviate some of the strain on our local ecology, to help bring back clean air and water, soil and food for the future. That’s the vision in this life, a calling. There’s an electric mesh fence pulsing just down the hill, keeping sheep in while they graze, preventing them from eating the fruit and nut trees, or native replanting beds around the edges of the pasture. I’m using an electric oven to cook some lamb right now. The sun is catching solar to offset my energy use, but mining those components to make the panels, that was the wrong kind of organic endeavor.

Pick some dandelions and crack an egg. Two bright yellow flavors of restoration progress. Big leaf maple blossoms hang heavy, pluck a few and fry them up in a little animal fat, sheep or dear will do. Crafted livestock and wild hunted abundance from the land. Grazing turns to a protein source main stay. I can sell lambs, but not venison, investing in both sides- domestic and wild, helps keep sustenance abundant. Simple, small solutions for everyday needs remains a focus here at EEC Forest Stewardship. We’re keeping our flock of chickens at 30 or less, and that number might shrink down to 20 in the next few years- mainly because of the cost to organically feed these birds. It’s no longer going to be effective as a money making business to sell eggs to cover grain costs alone. Though eggs are the easiest product to sell from the farm, they are not going to remain affordable as the cost of grain keeps going up. I’ve got a lot of land to supplement the flock during the growing season, but winter feed prices continue to climb. That’s an economic tension I know a lot of us are feeling right now, and it’s a sign of things to come.

Domestic stock may not be possible down the road, at least not for public sale. I can keep a few birds and sheep for myself on the land, without hay and feed inputs, but then I’m not growing food for my community any more. These are some of the most immediate tensions facing the farm, and I’ll continue to mull these challenges over in my mind. The land here keeps getting lusher and more diverse, so fodder remains available for enough animals to feed myself. That might be the future, but I don’t spend too much time looking ahead, beyond a clear vision and intention to keep planting, plucking, and rotating to build fertility and diversity on this small acreage of restoration work.

Where do you find tension in your life? Is it helping or hindering you? How can you adjust to tension? Where is it working in your life like a tide, flowing in and out, increasing and decreasing depending on external factors? At some point, just like the fault lines here, something has to give, and it can be a catastrophic shift, something far beyond your ability to control. Learning to be nimble and flex with change is the best way to address tension in your life. Experiencing tension can be a great part of life, but letting it bind you into a state of constant worry will shorten your life over time. If you are able to engage in movement, walking, hiking, swimming, or even stretching at home, all are worthy ways to keep your body limber, and your mind working on something other than a news story for an hour or so each day, that’s a great tension release. We may not be able to control the weather, or the volcanoes, but we can be prepared, aware, and connected to that natural world that will ultimately compel us, whether we choose to step out of the cave and into the light, or not.

I’d though there was no new cardboard out this year, so I was not keeping a close eye out for mushrooms. Then, overnight, they sprung. We had great rain for a day, followed by a cloudy, cool day to bloom, and these mycological miracles of the soil came forth from none other than the cardboard forms for the cement feet of my solar instillation. Yes, that’s right, the sonotubes of construction brought us a great harvest of morel mushrooms.

I’m thrilled to say that today’s lunch will be a modest serving of these bright little gems in butter with a pinch of salt to taste. Really appreciative of the complex living soil here on the farm. Great hosting of this import through the disruption of the soil around the foundational feet of this great power station. In the month of April alone, we produced 2,000kWh, with 6MWh for the year of 2026, so far. The morel production was certainly a side benefit, and we’ll take every abundance in food production here at EEC Forest Stewardship. Morels are an annual surprise crop, usually blooming out of old cardboard mulch in the gardens or orchards. It’s a usual April tradition here, and with any abundant rain event, I keep my eyes peeled for mycological mischief in the grounds around here. We’ll not see any more rain for at least a week, so I think this flush of mushroom feasting is a one off for the year. I’ll check back next year, and put out some additional cardboard to encourage more in future.

Sun, soil, and water play crucial roles in the production of Leafhopper Farm, and the restoration of the ecology in process at EEC Forest Stewardship. There is a great deal of reward in spring bloom, and these mushrooms are another affirmation that the ground here is healthy, wealthy, and wise. Cherry blossoms have timed their arrival after the colder weather this month, and our pear trees are looking good too. The early apples also delayed long enough to skip the last frost, so I think we’re on for a decent fruit season again this year. The Asian pear tree was not well timed, coming on too early and missing the pollinator awakening. Bees are buzzing about now, and the swallows are darting across the sky chasing all matter of flying insect. Most of the native trees are leafing out now, and the smell of maple blossoms, red flowering current, and camas fills the air. This is the time for morels to be out, and it’s Spring all around. Gratitude for this awakening time of year, the splendor of green, bloom, swelling of leaf and stem into full production. All the abundance comes to light in this early growth. May it feed all of us in our own return to outside warmth and sun.

This amazing pair of Cotton Patch geese have hatched all eight eggs the goose laid this year. It’s a wonderful feat- or so I was told. The more I let these two wise birds take charge, the better their hatch rate. Some of the goose hatching instructions out there are so intrusive, but I guess if you are betting the farm on your geese alone, there’s a lot of documentation for assurances. I think if I got in the nest every week to weigh and check eggs, my goose would leave the nest. During her brooding period, I was in to feed and water daily, but never approached or caused her to lift off the eggs. Also, while she was laying, I found an egg just outside the stall where she was building her nest, so I picked it up out of a rain puddle and set it in the nest. All of her eggs hatched, so even the lost one outside recovered. That’s impressive to me. Taking the eggs to incubate separately was a nightmare too, and I lost 3 out of the four I took. The 4 I left with the goose hatched with no issues. The one that hatched in the incubator was not healthy, and he died soon after I introduced him back to his parents and the nest. In short- let the goose alone.

The goslings are healthy, waddling on the move with mom and dad all over the front pasture grazing, and down swimming in the pond. This environment seems to suit the birds well, and the young family easily maneuvers around the other animals, including chickens, a herding dog, and cats. None of the other animals would dare take on an upset gander. The white male with blue eyes bulks up and hisses loudly at anyone coming too close. Lady gander gathers her young and scoots them along while her hubby keeps direct eye contact with threats. Though these geese are protective, they rarely lash out, and certainly have not chased anything or any one on the farm. This is a more unique trait of the Cotton Patch breed, as most geese are considered territorial and aggressive. Still, I have received wing beats on the shins and it’s not fun.

On their 6th day of life, I began my first attempt at documenting each gosling. The marks they are born with show what dimorphism of the breed they posses. The subtle differences in coloration are hard for my novice eyes to grasp, but I am starting to see the white tip on the wing of goslings that are pied carriers. I’m also noticing which goslings have no dark coloration on their necks, indicating pied or saddleback. Once these goslings grow up, the subtle markings are gone, and you’re left with white or nearly solid white ganders, while the goose has noticeable grey patches or a saddleback. The top left gosling looks like a male coloration, with the white wing tip indicating the pie carry trait. These differences help track genetics, and keeping the dimorphisms alive in the breed. I’ve got a long way to go in understanding these markings, but in time, I’m sure it will all make sense.

Because Cotton Patch are a rare heritage breed, there’s not a whole lot out there about them. Living with these birds has been the best teaching for me. In this third season of hatching, the lessons reflected well in eight healthy chicks. There were five last year, with two eggs never hatching, and one gosling drowned in a water bucket later that summer, leaving us only four to reach maturity. I slaughtered them, because I had not properly documented their markings to know the sexual dimorphisms, and I was not ready to keep more or sell. This year, I hope to have all that well accounted for to offer a few of the goslings from this clutch for sale. It will be important to reduce my flock numbers before late summer, as hosting 10 mature geese on this farm would be a little too much. It would be great to sell a pair of males for another beginner to test them out. I like to try out a breed before fully investing in breeding stock and going year round with a livestock system. Buying young animals in the spring/summer, then butchering them in the fall, gives you a growing season to get to know how you like the breed, but a way out in case it does not work.

Can you tell which of these goslings is solid light? Don’t worry, I’m still getting an eye for it too. The first one, top left, is a gander with solid coloration and pie-carrying (the white tip on the wing). The rest seem to have breaks in their color at the neck and/or chest. This signals they are all saddle back/pie coloration and most seem to also have the white wing tip, meaning they are carriers too. The top left bird also has lighter coloration, indicating male, it was noticeable to me when I was banding them. I’m going to make a chart for this, and try to get clear examples. There is some literature, and I’m studying what seem like obvious traits in description, but again, my new to it eye struggles. I’ll have another couple of weeks to look over these special markings, then the geese will grow out these minor differences and all start to look either male (white) or female (mostly grey with patches or saddle and a white belly). I love this learning adventure!

Whenever I get a chance to get some tracking dirt time in while visiting my home state of Oklahoma, I wander off into a side ditch or washout to see what’s moving around in the area. At my Dad’s, there is a lot of wildlife, so the damp clay rarely disappoints. It was March on my last visit, rains had come recently enough to turn the soil into perfect shape catchers. I’m always so humbled by this substrate. The evening light was perfect for seeking out tracks on the ground, so I took off over the barbed wire fence and into a neighbor’s field. This parcel was clearly shaped by post dust bowl swale work, done as part of The New Deal, to protect what was left of our rich topsoil for future generations of farmers. Well, this sloped space is not ideal for row cropping with large machines, but there is an old oil pad still on site, with decades of fossil fuel extraction, and all the spills of pollutants around. It’s at a high point on the landscape, surrounded by oak scrub canyons and eastern red cedar groves skirted by sumac and wild rose.

Across one of the swales, where trucks had driven through in recent months, an old access has become a wash, with brilliant trails of coming and going caught in the soft mud. Sun baked clay set the shapes in sharp relief. Here are a few of these beautiful lines I tried to capture and share in the photos below.

It’s often hard to fully capture a picture of tracks to share online. This red clay and dirt seems to be the most photogenic. There was so much going on, testament to the wilderness still surviving in a landscape now riddled with extraction wells, injection pumps, human development of all kinds, including overgrazing of domestic stock, which is painfully evident on my hour long drives to and from Oklahoma City. As I leave the built up industrial and old migrant farmer neighborhoods on the outskirts of town, cattle spread into wire fence checkerboards, decked with gravel pads of oil and gas reservoirs. A whole ocean of fuel we’re still tapping and capping for future use. Will the aquifer disappearing below our feet, the last of these tracks persist. There are many missing from this hillside. Ones I knew as a child, and creeping towards a half century later, they have vanished from the plain. Painted box turtles used to grace this landscape in the tens, once thousands, long before my European ancestors settled here.

The Wichita Tribes named the places from Mexico to Canada, all along this vast wide plane. Caddo migrated in from their homelands to the east, The Great Raft was cutup by river greed, waterway captains of industry, looking for longer inland routs to trade in people and goods. So the Caddo followed The Washita River up into what is today Caddo County, where my Dad lives. The area here has a lot of forest and water, for Oklahoma. It would have been more lush and thriving as an environment before men brought in cattle and overgrazed it. The “Green Revolution” in chemical agents to tame the land, killing unwanted pests, including the eggs of reptiles like the turtle, and birds. DDT was sprayed liberally to remove weeds and sterilize planting fields for new GMO crops. Cotton, peanuts, wheat, and alfalfa consume every corner of cropland, while in dry, vulnerable places, cattle roam and consume what’s left. Our neighbor has taken cattle off his pasture, redesigning it, with heavy machinery, to be more accommodating to wildlife, so people can pay to come and hunt there, and camp, and enjoy curated wilderness, but at least he’s restoring some of the native flora and fauna.

One of the biggest missing pieces of fauna on this landscape is The North American Bison. These native grasses are best suited to huge lumbering herds of heavy, bovine action. The deer don’t really forage on them, they need a specialized animal relationship that evolved over thousands of years. I can’t imagine what this land would be like with Bison, I’ve never seen them here. The cedars would be gone, taken down by huge roaming herds rubbing against most any small tree or shrub until it’s crushed down beneath the great bull’s weight. But the bison would not have been standing around long enough to destroy all the foliage. Wolves would be pushing them along, chasing the herds into smaller groups to pick out the young and weak. Big cats, like mountain lion, and smaller cats like bobcat, would be dropping down out of the trees to ambush smaller calves. In prehistoric times, I can see box canyons being good traps to drive herds into for atlatl hunts. Early humans living in this place must have experienced a paradise of ecological abundance. Water would have been present, lush marshes to support millions of animals.

Now, the landscape is a shadow of what once was. Not many people can imagine it’s glory, but I see it, and wish for its return. Instead, I’m tracking the vanishing lives scrolled in the mud crusts in far flung edge spaces. Catching glimpses of what’s left, eying the decline of this environment. Will we see yet another dust bowl? Are we not already dust to dust in this place? I’ve got another reflection coming soon to speak more about this. As the ecological basket unravels, so too do the people living in it. Today, a lot of folks talk of technology fixing things for us, like a god head from days of old, but putting off the saving onto someone else will not help us. We have to help ourselves. This looks like many things, all of them graspable. Being conscious of what you’re consuming, that’s the best place to start in measuring ways you can make a change in your own life to support a more ecologically minded. life. Avoid the AI craze- it’s pushing us faster towards the edge. Eat locally, and try to produce something yourself– even indoors in a small planter.

About a century ago, the landscape picture above was barren and sandy, stripped bare in The Dust Bowl era. It was a time we the people had a hard lesson in what ecological collapse can look like. The wheat craze at the turn of the century pushed agriculture into a bender. People flocked into The Central Plains to till up some soil for a wheat crop. We’d already killed off all the native Bison, and removed The Native People to reservations. Now the land was ripe for sewing, and mechanized agriculture tilled up the soil that had been built up by Bison and native grasses that rooted down tens of feet in the ground. It did this because it knew the effects of long term drought, a common occurrence on The Great Plain of North America. In hot, dry years, the grass stayed alive by reaching deep down to the Ogallala Aquifer. Conventional wheat does not have this ability, and when harvested, leaves a field barren and vulnerable to erosion. Since The Great Plains has a lot of wind, most of the good soil was picked up and carried off. Most went into The Gulf of Mexico and The Atlantic Ocean. With the loss of soil came a collapse in nature, countless plants and animals suffered through The Dust Bowel, but we often get so caught up in the human suffering, we forget the wilderness we destroyed.

How we’ve missed these lessons of ecological impact over time, I do not know, but it’s taking it’s toll in my home state again, only this time, the threat is coming from the energy market, and not just fossil fuels. AI data centers are slated to take up what’s left of this ecology. This last visit might be a final snapshot of what might soon also become shadows and eventually, distant memories. I grew up catching horned toads, box turtles, and American toads. None of these animals remains today in my backyard. With the loss of these indicator species, we know the ecology is actively in collapse. But it does not matter if you’re already building something else to make money on, as long as someone is making a profit from place, nature can step aside. We took away the people, the plants and animals, and now, only machines will thrive. I look at the skunk, bobcat, coyote, deer, and rabbit tracks here, wishing them all well in their short lives. Mine will stretch on a little longer, to see them disappear, and the loss of future generations in this place.

Sorry for the downer, but it’s important to recognize when something is disappearing like this. It’s happening all over the world, because we are in, what scientists are calling The Sixth Mass Extinction. Things will continue to accelerate, so if you can, start taking walks in your local wilderness, park, or green space. Enjoy the wildlife you have connection to, it could help you care more for their environment, and in turn, protect it from future degradation. We have to be the change now, each one of us has to stand up for the natural world. Acting is the only thing left to help form effective change. Donate now in time, talent, and treasure to conservation. What non-profits are you connecting with to save your local environment? What world work can you fold into? How can you better educate yourself about these issues? If you can, document what you are seeing too. I take pictures every time I’m outside. What’s the weather doing today? How are your plants looking? Is the forest up the street doing well? Have you seen the neighborhood coyote recently? What’s missing from your environment? Where and when did it go?

History helps build the framework for where we are now. My understanding of the missing bison in Oklahoma bridges many missing parts of the whole of The West. Understanding the native plants of an area also grounds us in what the climate has in store for our future. The world has been in chaotic climate change before, so there is history to glean from regarding what could happen as change speeds up. I’ve recently teamed up directly with another neighbor in gardening. She’s got a great setup and needs help, I need to turn my garden for a few years to get rid of a morning glory infestation. Helping a friend and supporting a great veggie garden is a great thing if you have access and time. Community gardening can make the task a little easier. Established infrastructure exists now in a lot of communities. If there’s not one near you, can you help create one? Take a deep breath, this is change, we adapt as best we can, knowing life is short, so make sure to get out and have a good time. Find a set of fresh tracks and follow the trail, find the adventure in little things all around.

This small fly landed on the back porch where I sat reflecting on my tracking earlier that evening. The land was quiet, almost still, except that there’s always a breeze in Oklahoma. This small insect is making a life, and so are countless other animals, plants, and people. Resiliency persists, making it possible to dream of the world to come where restoration occurs. Nature has been sideline in many cases, but we can center it back where it belongs, keeping us alive and thriving. Be aware of what ecological collapse means for you and your environment. Act now while you can.