nature – EEC Forest Stewardship

Snoqualmie Valley Flooding

December 12, 2025 EEC Forest Stewardship1 Comment

It first showed up on the radar as a ghostly horse head- lurking off our Pacific Coast, gaining speed and intensity over the ocean. Western Washington was already experiencing some rain, with atmospheric rivers projected to arrive the following week. This satellite picture was taken on December 6th. Then on the 8th, a full white horse head struck. I’ve used this animal metaphor along with the satellite shapes to track the history of this monumental flooding. It’s a once in a decade “100 year” flood, with record breaking rivers jumping banks, levies, and bridges across the western part of our state.

Our landscape legacy is temperate rainforest, which was designed to take in vast amounts of water, hold it in dense networks of tree roots, layered debris and downed branches accumulating over thousands of years. So, when European Colonial progress came and clear cut the land, pushing out the tribes of people living there, along with the plants and other animals that had evolved in harmony with the ecology of this place. Now, there is catastrophic flooding and homes threatened or destroyed by water that should be stored in centuries old groves and free to meander across floodplains we egotistical humans sought to dam, canal, trench, levy, and drain- unsuccessfully. Colonial legacy has left a river floor strewn with barns, farm houses, machinery, and the manifest destiny to keep plowing the rich bottom land of a forgone era. The floods will keep coming, 100 year floods are becoming 10 year events, and in my lifetime, 5 year or even annual events. That’s exponential growth folks- keep reminding yourselves that this climate change is exponential.

This is our high road out of town- blocked by still rising waters of sdukʷalbixʷ stulʷkʷ (Snoqualmie River)– named after The Snoqualmie Tribe, which still thrives in the upper and lower valley today. I’m starting my learning journey in place names around this beautiful valley, which is called cək’ʷdup ʔə tiił sdukʷalbixʷ (Valley of The Snoqualmie). There is a great webpage on the tribe site to learn more here. The Snoqualmie People have lived with the flooding river and surrounding waterways since the end of the ice age, and probably long before that too. They did not build long houses in the flood plain, or clear the forests and log jams out of the complex natural river meandering terrain that would be found in an intact river system. Logging companies brought rail through their clearcuts to haul out timber and haul in more supplies and workers for other industries that flooded this valley, and all the others at the turn of last century. Progress meant clearing out wilderness for a “god given right” to do with the land as men of a white European background chose. That dominion continues to this day, and farmers struggle to keep a foothold on the land, land which is now polluted by runoff from development, sewage from outdated septic systems and overwhelmed city treatment plants.

People are choosing to continue their lives in the flood plain, and it’s time we take a hard look at our poorly designed colonial agricultural systems that are outdated and soon to be swept off the map by human induced climate change. These storms were forecast several days out. Horse head storm came Monday and Tuesday, then another front I like to call bear head came and dumped an unusual amount of hard rain- we’ve been having harder rain events here for about a decade, and that’s what pushed our stressed river systems to the brink.

By Wednesday evening, the rivers were jumping banks and evacuations were in place. Our main road in and out, Woodinville-Duvall road, was still open into that evening, everyone had a chance to move equipment, pack up and head out of their homes, and get livestock to emergency safe space, like The Evergreen Fairgrounds, which offer free stalls and dry space for livestock. I watched a news segment about a dog shelter in Everette that was scheduled to flood, and they found foster care for every animal there after a public plea for support. Still, some people have chosen to stay home, and they are now being evacuated by emergency services, which have to put their lives on the line needlessly. This is important to reflect on when you think you’ll just sit tight in a projected flood warning- you are putting other people at risk when you don’t heed evacuation warnings. So, on Thursday morning, December 11th, some people were still shocked to find the city cutoff by flooding.

It was not a surprise folks- and we’ll be an island for at least tonight and most of tomorrow, then a break before another round of rain will potentially raise the rivers again- hopefully not as catastrophically as today, but flooding will continue throughout the winter, along with landslides. That’s what happens when it rains a lot around here. Since today was indeed a special day of extremely high flood waters, I did take a few hours to explore and document the water works in the valley. Lots of other folks had turned out- school was canceled, and a lot of folks could not drive into work this morning because of the flooded roads. Duvall is an island right now- in the sense that no public roads are open due to flooding. But it was a great day to get out on foot to see the water level rising and celebrate this some what rare event for the town.

There were all kinds of strange sites to take in- from flooded playgrounds to loads of water over roadways. Our river was almost unrecognizable without clear banks, and waterfowl was flying in from all over to enjoy the banquet of washed up worms, plant life, and insects. We saw fleeing voles, winding snakes in the water, and graceful swans overhead. The eagles were chirping eager meal calls as fish swam into shallow fields and pastures, obfuscated by mud. There was a smell- some what organic and definitely sewage in nature wafting from the currents. I heard a mother tell her child not to put his hands in it. Agricultural runoff is a major problem in our valley- and any crops touched by floodwater cannot be sold for human consumption. Think about that for a moment. Yet a few people had their shoes off and were wading in- hmm… raw sewage anyone? Further up stream, on the other side of the valley farms runoff and city sewage treatment plants, the water smelled fishy, rather than poopy, and ran clearer.

The sound of the water reminds me of it’s power, even shallow over the road here. The current was peeling the tar off the mending strips on the road. Grass and other debris floated by, and the off white color of the road strip tells me there’s still silt and other microbial things floating in the current. But the sewage smell was gone, replaced by fish and other river smells you expect to encounter in clean running wild water. It was over topping the highway and running into a cattle pasture on the other side. Though the cows are gone now, their manure is still on the surface of the soil, and will be carried off into the river and on down stream. This river connects with another further north, then they braid into a third and pour into slews that eventually connect to x̌ʷəlč (Puget Sound). You can find more place names in Lushootseed here, which is the native language shared by The Snoqualmie Tribe, and other tribes of areas surrounding The Salish Sea. I’ve found that at least hearing the native place names of the area helps me to begin acknowledgment of the people that have lived here in relationship with the waters and land since time immemorial.

Flooding like this is why most native tribes paddled canoes to get around. These floods would not prevent much transportation if it was all by boat as it once was. One of many reflections I had standing on the shore looking off into the watery abyss which swallowed the roads. I heard one woman ask a police officer, “when is this going away so I can get out?” to which he replied, “Oh I don’t know.”. The forcast last weekend was clear- it was going to flood, last night I knew the roads would be cut off by morning, and still, some people were clueless- perhaps because weather and flooding is not the normal day to day around here- and in most places. Come the rainy season, which is actually late in arriving this year- we are still 8″ behind in rainfall this year, flooding does happen, and landslides, which closed are two main east/west routs in and out of Western Washington. The road were looking pretty treacherous this morning, and with flood waters rising throughout the day, it was not going to get better over time.

What a great day to sit back and enjoy the ride- and thankfully, the farm, animals, and people at EEC Forest Stewardship were dry and safe on the hill. To be clear, flooding is a scary thing, and there are many people right now in low lying areas that are frightened and in a panic about what to do and where to go, but we have to acknowledge that flooding is a cyclical part of life in this area. The warnings went out days before, and help was available for those in need. Those who asked, received it, including on the spot rescue when people chose to cross road closed signs to push through and got flooded in their cars. Again, rescue crews were put in harms way because of selfish egos. Please respect road closures and warnings from public servants in your area. It might also be smart to keep one eye on the weather near you to prevent surprise catastrophes. If you are looking at buying property near waterways, check flood histories first and understand the risk of living near water of any kind in the Anthropocene.

The morning adventure around the flooded roads of our town was epic- with pictures of all the cutoffs due to water over the roadways. This shot of the 124th bridge shows how much water is over the road. This access was flooded out on Wednesday, late morning. I was just driving back from picking up some paperwork in South Seattle, and had to take a detour up the road to Woodinville-Duvall rd., which is now flooded. At that time, the road was only just underwater, but now, no one could get through, no matter how jacked up their truck might be. On my way out of this area, I watched a guy launching a boat from the roundabout. That was surreal. We were not sure why they were launching into a major flooding river, but did not stick around to ask. Let’s hope it’s not another cause for rescue workers to be out trying to save people that had no business being out on the water at this time. Again, the best thing you can do in an event like this is stay out of the way and not try to be a hero. We parked in a designated parking area to look-y-loo. We did have to turn around in the middle of the road that was closed on north hyw 203, but there was no traffic, and we did not try to forward the road into the water- others did, and that’s what will get you swept off the road and into trouble. Please think about the other people who will have to come get you if your antics fail.

Now, the storm is letting up, and I can still see a horse head throwing its weight around in the atmosphere above, though now it’s facing out to sea in a farewell. I’m going to keep calling this horse head storm. This might not be the only post I make on this flooding, but today’s adventure is fresh in my mind, and I wanted to get these pictures out there for folk who are curious about what’s happening in our small valley during a 100 year flood. Thanks to all the rescue workers and civil servants spreading clear communication about safety, flood dangers, and where to seek aid. The weather folks have been clear and concise, with lots of great updates as the weather continues to change. Thank you to everyone who stayed home, came out on foot to share the majesty of our local waters, and kept out of the flood to keep others safe too. Another rain event is scheduled for early next week, hopefully by then, our valley is drained out and back to normal flow so it can buffer this next storm without cutting off the access. However, it’s always an adventure when Duvall reaches island time.

Ulster County, NY Reflections

November 17, 2025 EEC Forest StewardshipLeave a comment

Being back east is always a trip- both in the actual day long travel by air, as well as driving hours into the real wilds of an old New England woodland. While back east, I had the wonderful opportunity to visit some friends who bought land near New Paltz, NY. They finally got their house built and were able to host me for a few precious days of good reunion. Whenever I am in a landscape, my vision of what is and what was comes to life. This place has a long history of colonial influence and change, with little left of the original landscape to go by. Even in what is now a rural part of upstate New York, the evidence of human induced ecological genocide is all around. Thankfully, land can heal, will heal, with or without people helping, and it’s important to remember this whenever you encounter degradation. What might look like a typical hard wood forest, it a legacy of over-harvest, erosion, and chaos at the hands of early Dutch settlers trying to make a home in a place far from what they knew back in The Netherlands.

We have to first acknowledge the original people of the area, like all parts of America, First Nation’s were here before colonial invasion. The Haudenosaunee people, known as The Iroquois Confederacy, call what is now New York State, and much of the area around it, home. These tribes are still alive and present, both in their native lands, and in communities around The Country. Though we European late comers rarely see these people around, and often think they are gone, the tribes are active and aware, still seeking to be recognized and respected as the original tenders of this space, place, and time. Let us speak these tribes back onto the land, and carry their original instructions of land stewardship and community in our hearts as we stand now in the places they call home.

New Netherlands was New England’s big brother in the rush to settle The New World. Newness has a ripe quality of untouched, unspoiled- words of industrial opportunity and willed aggression. There’s enough out there about this struggle of European dominion over wilderness, played out in The Old World and still felt there today. I’ve written often of the environmental cost of colonial industrial resource extraction and how it plays out in our world today, and this post is no exception. See it.

I stood looking down the sharp slopes, off the ridge that drops dramatically down to the creek below. Erosion hit this place hard after the initial clear cutting of the woods. It’s been cut at least twice, with no sign left of the old growth stumps. Such relics were burned, pulled, or slowly ground down under the hooves of overcrowded livestock. After the trees were removed, rains and melting snow came roaring down the gullies, carrying off rich topsoil and the seeds that would have germinated into new forests. In this particular landscape, now parceled into several properties of a few acres each. The Dutch grave stones tell of one family’s attempt to settle and manage a cherry orchard, shipping the fruit along the canal established in the 1800s, which connected to The Hudson River from Pennsylvania, and offered a direct water rout to New York City, once New Amsterdam. The building materials, coal, and agricultural products that left this landscape for the big city took quite a toll on the living world, but people made a lot of money, and progress was made. The farmers here were encouraged by the profitable markets, and set about straightening the creek and draining this marsh to create more arable land for production. Below you can see the creek and its unnatural straightness. I’ll also share a terrain map to see this creek compared to it’s untouched sister over the next ridge.

The family that settled here came from an ancestry of lowland dwellers; sandy bogs, tidal marshes, and expansive fens bordering the ruthless North Sea back in Europe. They were industrious farmers that reclaimed land by draining it, and that’s what they did here, even though it’s a far cry from tidal shore. Still, there is good soil in wetlands- peat moss and layers of rich organic material that can grow anything. Once drained, the land could be tilled and planted, or turned into good pasture for animals. Dairy was huge in this area of Ulster County, and with the advent of pasteurization, milk could be shipped by train. The area was booming economically, and maximizing anything off your land was paramount. I can only imagine the mud and muck labor that went into digging out these wetlands and establishing the cherry orchard.

By then, most of the American Chestnuts were killed off by blight, and the entire forest makeup shifted. Millions of animals would have starved to death without that crucial abundant nut source, and what was left by the mid 1800s was shot and trapped for meat and the dying fur trade. I say dying because fur trapping had already wiped out the prized fur bearing species like otter and beaver, fox and martin. Without the balance of predators, forest habitat, and healthy genetics from a thriving population, wildlife in the area. crashed, and what we see today is a shadow of what once was. What there is a lot of now, is ticks. I was constantly pulling them off me, shaking them out of my cloths, and checking everything that felt like the tickle of squirming insects on my skin. The ticks carry Lyme disease, and you don’t want it, trust me.

Another imbalance in this wrecked ecology is the age of the trees. There are no young seedlings or saplings in this landscape, well, a few beaches and crabapples, but no pines between germinated two inch seedlings and still maturing 80 year trees. I’ve encountered an ancient Eastern White Pine on the corner of a property in NH once, its diameter was 8 feet at the base. The branches of that majestic old growth pine are the size of the current mature stock in these woods. It’s hard to see what is not there, but young pines are a huge missing piece in this woodland, along with other young trees like oak and cherry. I tried to capture the amount of germinated stock that is present, as well as where it’s missing all together. On a drive through the area, I was able to see younger pines along the roadside in some places, so they should be present in our woods, but they are not. I hazard a guess they’re being eaten each winter by rodents under the snow, but that’s just a guess.

The leaf littler is slowly building up again, covering the ground to protect it from erosion, but there is still damage being done, and ruts of lost soil are growing every year. At the same time, there is attempted healing, as the erosion pulls down the banks, the trees fall in too, making mini dams and slowing the water on it’s way. In time, log jams will cause the creek to jump it’s banks, flood the surrounding lowlands, and in many more centuries of work, restoring the wetlands that once were. It will take more than vegetation to do this work, the native wildlife must return, and with it, the detail work of eating and pooping that disperses seed, churns up soil, and adds vital micro-nutrients to the soil for long term forest health. Vanished species like elk and the billions of birds that once darkened the skies on migration are necessary to return this landscape to what it once was, but this dream will not be reached, so long as people continue to develop and squander the land, rather than working with it, and returning the space to habitat for wild living things.

Like the small steps we’re taking at EEC Forest Stewardship, the small steps in Upstate New York can be pivotal to starting that rewilding. Replanting native vegetation, slowing and sinking surface water, allowing space for wildlife to live, seek shelter, breed, and raise young. Accepting we are only one small part of the complex living earth is the first step to seeing what you can do in your own small way to help return the natural world to a balanced state- and that state looks different to everyone, so finding common goals in your community helps tie together the end goal in conservation and restoration. As I’ve shared with these beautiful friends back in New York, your local conservation district is a great place to start. Most counties in The US have them, so look yours up and support them- invite them to your property if you steward land of any size, and if you don’t have land, you can still volunteer to help protect lands that are in the care of your conservation district, which is still making an important contribution to conservation in your area.

The adult pines are still dropping their seeds into this forest, making space for a new generation each year, and in time, with some help for land stewardship practices, younger trees can begin to return, and a wetland can be restored. Imagine the possibilities once a landscape is back on track to becoming whole. Well, you don’t have to completely imagine, here are just a few examples of active restoration work that has saved wild places all over our country, and the world. Coming back around to this little forest and stream in upstate NY, I’ve shared a vision of BDA (beaver dam analogues). Slow the water, meander it into the wetlands to sink in, and allow the natural habitat to restore over time. It’s a small step in the right direction for a landscape patiently waiting for some TLC.

The people that settled here in early colonial pushed inland to exploit natural resources were caught up in economic schemes for personal gain, and to be clear, that’s still a thing all over the world. But you can stop this cycle by not participating or supporting thoughtless exploitation through voting for progressive conservation minded politicians, donating time, treasure, and talent to your local conservation organizations, and spreading the word to family and friends. Though the legacy of our ancestors has left a lot to be desired, there is always opportunity to change out ways. Please join me in working towards restoration, it’s the best way to heal our earth and ourselves through re-connection to our own rewilding too. Much gratitude to this wild earth for continuing, especially those white pines still dropping seed each year for a new grove of young trees that might one day come. Thanks to all the original people of this landscape, who remain, and keep asking for better stewardship and land back practices that help return our lands to wilderness for a future where people, plants, and animals all thrive together in an intact natural world.

Lake Heather Adventure

October 11, 2025 EEC Forest StewardshipLeave a comment

In early October, 2025, a couple of friends and I took an adventure day in the area of Mt. Pilchuck. Earlier last spring, I had climbed most of bəlalgʷəʔ before encountering snow. On the way up, I’d seen down into one of the steep draws and seen a small lake. My friend, hiking with me, commented that it was Lake Heather, and that she had made that hike with her family many years ago. The trip is about 6 miles in total, with 1,200′ of elevation gain on generally gradual terrain. I read up on the description on Washington Trail Association, and noted the warning of primitive trial through some large root systems and cascading hillside seeps. There were old growth trees a few miles up the trail, with second growth forests, and water features along the way. The trail would then circle around the lake, allowing 360 views of the mountain and ridges above. I looked forward to viewing the hike to the peak above, after viewing down to the lake where I would soon be. Perspectives like this give a glimpse of scale, and I appreciate the vast wilderness still available no more than a few hours from my front door.

As we began from the generous parking area, complete with state park facilities (compost toilets). A well marked trailhead, located across the street, held the common advisory board, including trail map and any hazard warnings. Things looked good, and we began our trek on a well graveled, recently upgraded first mile of the hike, enjoying new gradual steps on steep rises along the mountainside. The new gravel led us into a false sense of security, making the road easy and neat as we ascended. Then, quite suddenly, the trail maintenance ended, and an epic climb truly began. It’s not that dramatic, just suprising to be in a scoured landscape, where a canopy of forest remained, but the ground was mostly gravel, roots, and some active water moving down the slope.

It’s hard to fully capture what the trail eventually devolved into, but we managed to follow it, and, short of a few 3 foot lifts to get from one level of a drop to another, we had a relatively pleasant climb into beautiful intact groves of forest that were truly enchanting. There was a stark difference between the lower part of the trail and the upper. Some areas seemed scoured, and the group hypothesized about what might be going on. There were endless exposed roots all over the hillside on one part of the climb, far beyond what you might see on an overused trail needing repair. The restoration of well loved trails is a continuing process, with higher elevations becoming primitive in some places through continual use and nature’s entropy. One theory we all enjoyed was a flood of water from the lake out-pour. Water could easily create this scouring effect down the hillside. You’ll see some moss, but with all the ambient light, plants should take hold, but the lack of soil prevent rooting. The trees have taken desperate hold in areas once clearcut. Further up the trail we would encounter a much more lush environment where soils remained and more level terrain allowed topsoil to establish, even with frequent flooding.

In the picture below, a second growth cedar lays down hill on a slope where scouring has occurred. Roots lay bare, branched from windfall scatter the ground in seemingly arranged piles all facing the same direction. Following the downhill flow of flooding, the ground cover sweeps in the flow that still trickled down the peak, creating cascades of small waterfalls and flowing lines, directed by solid rock foundations of a long extinct volcanic magma chamber. Millions of years cultivated an old growth forest, ranging from temperate rainforest at the base, to sub-alpine spruce stands along the alpine lake, skirting scree piles laid down by uplift, fault shifts, and the dynamic landscape of The Pacific Northwest.

The shift from slope to generally even ground signaled the formation of wetlands. The lake’s outflow was a vast delta of forest, willow edges, and transition from cedar to spruce. The older trees were not so large, having to navigate high winds coming up the slope, or pressing down off the peaks in a northern gale. Fallen giants lay as testament to the storms that form off the towering ridge lines above. The weather that day had foretasted breezes, and that means gusts of 30mph or more, which would be adventuresome on this trail, in this ecology. We had entertained canceling the hike, but the forecast shifted to milder calm transition, so we went for it and lucked out with mostly dry hiking and only one brief downpour. The sun managed to flash a few times, and clouds held off long enough for us to get a few photos of the towering ridge lines supporting bəlalgʷəʔ ‘s out of sight peak, several thousand feet above.

The trail loops around the lake, on a well constructed boardwalk in stretches that cross the wetlands. The south side of the lake hosts some impressive boulders, craggy enough to have fallen from above in the last few thousand years. Glacial erratics will usually have obvious rounding in places from the ice that carried them along and shaped the whole region of Puget Sound. River rock around here was still impacted by ice about 10,000 years ago. That’s when the last ice sheets from the north retreated. bəlalgʷəʔ was already formed by tectonic uplift, and millions of years before that, it was an active volcano in a shallow sea archipelago, or so one theory goes. I love picturing all this change as I walk through, understanding why the layers of rock are here, how they were shaped, why there is a wetland, and how continued flooding has scoured the current slope down from the lake and valley above. This drainage basin gets clogged by flooding down steep slopes of rock, the lake’s wetlands sponge up as much as they can, but the running rivulets spill over the confines of the shallow plateau. Mountain torrents are not uncommon, and to see the evidence of this erosion chaos on the mountainside signaled the dangerous potential for hikers ill-informed about the mountain’s conditions.

On our way around the lake, we also found some nice mushrooms. I’m always on the lookout for some edible delights in the mountains during The Mushroom Spring. Our group hunted passively, but still managed to spot enough boletes to fill a couple of zip locks. That’s some good eating to take home. Spruce forests yield boletes, specifically porcine on this hike. It was a pleasure to group find and then send one runner (me) over to harvest. They were prominent around the established camping areas, through at this time of year, no tents were present. The mushrooms added a little extra flavor to our hike, and there were some https://lnt.org/good observations about a number of other fungal friends we encountered along the way. We were harvesting near the trail, which is important to remember when you are in a high impact area. Please try not to go far into the un-tread areas of the woods if there is a clear trail, especially in more remote areas with established ground cover or wetlands. Your tracks into the deeper wilds will soon lead others, until there is a new established trail cutting open the last habitat structures for our beloved wilderness. Trails and access is planned, constructed, and well marked to keep us off the sensitive terrain, and to allow wildlife some space. It’s another reason leashes are encouraged, so our pets don’t stress wildlife or disrupt habitat with scent, which deters wildlife. We are guests in nature, and when we are good guests, nature remains intact and enjoyable to visit, when we are bad guests, trash collects, latrine abuse abounds, and trails sometimes close all together.

Our original plan had been to hike to Lake 22, next-door to Heather Lake, in the neighboring plateau, but it was closed for maintenance through the week, and we had to change destinations. I’m glad there is funding and labor to fix these trails. There had been massive reconstruction of the lower part of our trail earlier in the summer, and that hard work was evident in the smooth hiking for about a mile at the start. This mountain is becoming a very popular daytime destination for folks living in the greater North Seattle area. As development continues to boom in the surrounding towns, the nearby ecology will have to bare this influx of outdoor enthusiasts hoping to get a little R&R in their backyard wilderness. That’s why I live in Western Washington, just close enough to Seattle for the airport and economic boon, but also far enough away to be within an hour of most local hiking and wilderness adventure spots- enough to keep me busy in nature connection and learning most of the year. To continue that enjoyment, and the access, we all have to do our part in being good guests in the landscape, and mindful of how and when we recreate to avoid overtaxing the precious natural world we wish to explore and be in.

Gratitude for the opportunities to share outdoor adventures with friends. To the weather that day being agreeable, trail approachable, and our safe accent and decent. Thanks to the nature all around us, the beauty of a growing and ever changing world, and our place in it. Joy in finding wild food, mushroom abundance, and friends to share it with. The Northwest continues to be home, teacher, adventure, and cultivated community, what a life!

Red Skies

September 11, 2025 EEC Forest StewardshipLeave a comment

There is always a feeling of uneasiness when smoke drifts into our air and hangs ominously overhead. We breath in the microscopic soot and toxic particles floating into our lungs as we labor. Why not wear a mask? The breathing is even more difficult, and when I’m doing heavy cardio, shoveling the manure out of the barns, it’s impossible to get enough air in with face coverings and last for more than a few hours. At the end of August, 2025, I awoke coughing in the early hours of the morning, my windows were open, and the smoke had come in from the south, where a forest fire was burning on The Peninsula. ICE agents took two of our brave firefighters out of the field while they were on site working to extinguish the flames. The fire keeps burning and I keep breathing toxic air. It’s not that bad, only moderate air quality, and I don’t have per-existing health conditions that would stifle my general function. On some days, my throat gets a little sore, but I’m more concerned with the long term effects of living in these conditions. I watch the animals and ask myself how their lungs feel, how the wild birds are coping. I see how much land is burning and start to wonder if people understand what is happening, on what scale, and for how much longer this will go on.

The full moon rose with the stains of blood red light, shining down on all our mistakes, giving a reflection, a warning of our actions, how far too far might be. I think by 2050 we will have learned, again, that we are small animals running around in a very complex world we little understand. Our god head ideas of order out of this chaos can only carry us so far, then there’s this physical plain we’re all living on together, and how that living world we’re woven into, it unraveling. Our actions change the rules of survival to match our warped truth, that we have some kind of dominion over all things. Radical right leaning conservative christian rhetoric is embracing the rapture, and will have a reckoning, but it’s not going to be Jesus on a white horse. That white horse is death, pale and looming, with a glowing red eye, arching across the sky. A little too gothic horror for you dear readers? I’ve let the mood run away with me? Perhaps, but cataclysmic change is fast approaching, might I suggest a recent song I’ve been humming? Johnny Flynn’s Wild Hunt carries a rhythm of merriment through the unknown, and the lyrics by Robert Macfarlane pitch and roll listeners through the hedges and obstacles of life in old time cycles of birth and death that all life shares in this world.

That seems to be the feeling of our current times. With continued destruction of what’s left of nature, habitat, wilds, whatever you want to call space where people cannot or have not yet developed, we are rushing over the cliff like lemmings. Wait, that’s a wrapped Disney view. We’re parading over the cliff in joyous melodies not unlike the song I mentioned above. The hounds are loose upon the world, hounds of war? How can a few acres of forest farm in Western Washington come to reflect on these global issues and wax philosophically while the world burns? No, I’m not playing a fiddle and dancing because things are on fire. I’m dancing because that’s how I choose to make my way through this life, when I can. Dancing and laughing, for tomorrow we die. With intention, each day a place with meaning, not a chore to be gone through and discarded like a plastic cup. But is that not what we strive for today with our conveniences?

When I work under a red sun, the light casting orange light through the windows and onto the floor, more bustling in the hedgerow, is all this a distraction from what really matters? What does really matter? Family? Friends? Nature? The nature of things? I’m picking abundant harvest, drinking clean well water, and have fresh air- most of the time. The rains are returning, life keeps going on, and my place in it does not change for another day. There is much to be thankful for, and grateful in, that in this western state, there is bodily anatomy, a belief in science, and a boat load of technology. About that last one… Home of Microsoft, host to Alphabet, both companies that happily do business with autocrats and authoritarians with the same gusto while aiding genocide. These companies are making spyware and algorithm to measure all citizens worth and risk for long term profits. How can we make you a debt slave addicted consumer? How can we own you? It’s in the fine print. But seriously, your phones are now tracking collars we’re all wearing for commercial enslavement. We are bought and paid for with every online order or streaming service.

The land of EEC Forest Stewardship may not be under direct attack, but right now, tens of thousands of other land stewards in this country are being forced out of farming after being led down the path of subsidies and fixed commodity pricing. Family farms are about to be no more. Most are gone as it is, but the few left, still bought in to buyouts- not handouts. This after the main sources of agricultural workforce was deported by ICE and no, there is not anyone else showing up to pick the crops folks, so food is rotting in the fields. Farmers are begging for cold hard cash to get through this year to offset tariff troubles. Pay attention now please, this is crucial to taking off the blindfold, our industrial agriculture is failing. The romantic notion of small family farms is gone. You can make investment in small farm land on the chopping block with Vice President JD Vance’s company AcreTrader right now. Oh wait, he is selling opportunities to foreign investors, not Americans- so it’s foreigners grabbing the land, like back in the late 1400s on here in The Americas. This is real folks, the fleecing of America is rampant under the current administration, and it’s on a level the general public is not quite catching up to yet- if ever.

I’ll argue that we’ve been on a narrow path of madness for a while, and our self-made leadership now reflects the carelessness with which this country has been operating for a long while. We’re just finally seeing the full spectrum of stupidity cultivated through years of not caring or knowing. Ignorance is no excuse, and there will be no silver bullet to reconcile this monstrosity of a misstep. Red moons and orange day glow are just a friendly reminder that we’re on this ride together, and there is no getting out at the next stop- we left the last stop and are heading full steam ahead, into what? I’ve got a barn full of hay for the winter, and sheep eating a final growth of grass that flushed after an inch of rain. Mucking is half way done as I race to pick fruit, haul manure, and prepare for a new LGD puppy who arrives next week. The chores and duties never stop, but that’s what I love about this work and lifestyle. There is also a lot of dedication and personal discipline, which I could always use a bit more of. Sanity stays where a heart rests in a warm and happy home. This home is happy, as much laughter as can be in a burning world. It’s been happening like this since the world began turning, or so some other singer poet wrote. He also claims we didn’t start it, but we did.

Each of us is a light in the darkness, with a chance to shine and share gifts we alone posses. Often, because of our isolation at the behest of individual consumer marketing strategies to sell more, we feel lonely. Our very nature is community. When we band together and find common ground, we achieve great things. This can look like bureaucracy, but that’s how complex systems are best managed. I think it’s why people have so much trouble comprehending the natural world. It’s not just what we see with our eyes, or even the microscope, it’s billions of years of evolution, and if we are part of that product, imagine what the other species posses? As a whole, this planet is phenomenal, and very rare, as we know more and more about each day we look up (usually through highly engineered telescopes for best picture) and we’re still only on the doorstep of the universe, which is most likely ever expanding. This is the closest to that god head so many cling onto for some kind of comprehension and connection to something greater, but it’s not needed when you accept yourself in something that is truly great on it’s own, in this moment, for the brief time we have to enjoy and comprehend some part of it, can’t that be enough?

But I’ve run away with this writing again, and passed far beyond the boundaries of the little acreage this blog represents, and one woman, trying to keep her place with original instructions that linger a few pages back in our evolutionary development as a species. We were living by the grace of the land, following complex celestial calendars that did have continually predictable outcome, through extremes came and went. Seasons compelled boom and bust cycles of the planet, and over time, with the belief that we were made in some higher image, floating above all this terrestrial mishap, would guide us toward dominion through pacification of desirable traits from nature. Cows that give endless milk, birds that lay golden protein dense miracles on demand, and the grains of genetic modification to match. We turned naturally selected into industrial production and powered mega development and technological advancement of incredible ability- from our own limited perspective.

My daily ritual of feeding raw grains and mineral mixes to chickens for their eggs, the alfalfa for pregnant ewes, whose lams feed local families, that work, for basic needs (food), grown as cleanly and ethically, environmentally and restorative for future generations to enjoy, that is my original instructions. When I am practicing this craft, art-form, skill set, employment, best life, I am not lonely, though I am alone a lot of the time, and I know that without the two listed inputs from above- grains and tons of dried legumes, the domestic stock would drop to numbers small enough that the land could host them year round, but only feed me. I buy the inputs to scale my production up so others can buy what I need in cash to pay my bills and taxes to keep the land. I use the whole property as a canvas for restoration and productivity. Temperate Rainforest is the original make of this landscape, so I am working to slowly send it back in that direction, with a few minor shifts in plantings in an attempt to adapt to the climate crisis we created by living beyond the capacity of our lands. Look at most collapsed civilizations for this key oversight.

We’re continuing to repeat this historically proven misstep in our survival, and when you keep repeating the same thing again and again, you have insanity folks. The human species keeps tripping over itself for immortality, and that’s not part of the finite planetary cycles in store for a harmonious life and death that offers such beauty in being. Am I going too far outside the limited subject of agriculture? Farming, the civilization buy in for food production and land ties for human survival are being subjugated by corporate greed and slavery, in that people no longer have place, we’re all renters and nobody owns, just corporate conglomerates that overcharge for continued interest in dividends for their circle of investors (only 10% of the country). The stock market sits below like dangling marionettes, where investment opportunities trickle down into 401Ks and the petty games of individual trading by people who think they are independently controlling their money, but black rock and the banks they leverage, really call the shots when it comes to global wealth opportunities.

These wealth agriculturalists are predominantly white men, and so it is that perspective the rest of us live under in our day to day lives. Often called The Colonial Gaze, this is the lens we’re all circling, but many are seeking to turn away from this gaze, to see outward from themselves, instead of inward at a stagnant same. I think it’s a balance of self, in the center, and looking outward, past the close circle of immediate relationship- family and friends, to well beyond into a much greater circle that becomes vast and incomprehensible. Now, many of us will not venture further past the inner spokes of our understanding because of things outside ourselves we cannot control. The less able you are to venture out of your center, the more limited in scope your comprehension. Or is that so? Those who can reach beyond a central ring of limited ability and understanding, can explore and learn, meeting newness and differences with curiosity, rather than fear at not knowing. I will insert here that trusting on faith works in both directions, you can have faith that the unknown is possibly just that which we have not yet learned, or that we prefer a limit, a wall we cannot go beyond and so, we have to worship an invisible white male gaze concept of subjugation? Wait, how is this helping me get my food? How does this directly impact a small forest restoration dream or your retirement?

AI is teaching us how little we know, but with a white male gaze. That gaze looks over this landscape and tells me, on a small slip of paper that comes in the mail each year, what my soil is worth, and what my structures are worth, then puts it together within a tax system that should be DOGEed (by the way, a super white male gaze). I have to come up with the cash each year, and like so many- most adults in this country, at least, pay the government what I owe to be a citizen and enjoy the ease of interstate travel, global military dominion through war, which drives the military industrial complex we still buy into. I also get some great libraries, subsidies to help support the overall movement of goods and services I’ll never be able to fully comprehend, but I do know much of it is being stripped right now, and that I’m now also funding domestic terrorism in the form of those ICE agents and National Guard holding American cities under military occupation. American freedom, like our ecology, is crashing.

I grow food without chemicals and restore the lambasted environment that was left by generations before me who wanted to make a living cutting trees and making a little homestead for themselves. They did not think about who might have been there before them, why the trees had been left to grow for so long, and that having to remove that stand to make way for more people might not be in the best interests of humanity as a whole. The industrial processes that are used today, even on USDA organic farms, still treats the environment in a way that make me, my stock, and those families I feed less safe over time. Well, we’re reaching that time, and red moons, orange suns, and extreme weather will continue to remind us that there is a higher power, her name is Mother Nature.

Cooler Aloft

August 10, 2025 EEC Forest StewardshipLeave a comment

Another opportunity to get into the alpine wilderness for some exploring and lake swimming found me up in DNR land just outside the tree farm with an awesome mentee. We hiked in to three lakes I’ve written about before to enjoy some cold swimming and wading on an overcast day. In a wet suit, these lakes are swimable, but if you don’t have a layer on a cloudy day, it won’t be long before shaking takes you out of the water. As clouds brushed over the ridge peaks around us, the wind picked up, pulling at the surface tension to create ripples across the reflected gray sky. There was no rain coming out of those clouds, but the cover kept the hot sun away, but made it hard to keep warm in the water. Drying off soon after our aquatic attempt, the flies began to gather and we packed up fast. Moving is the best way to avoid insect encounters, and as we bushwhacked back towards the trail out, I appreciated the breeze that had been chilly, but was now overpowering the flight of small gnats and no-see-ems.

The hike out was peaceful, with swainson’s thrushes echoing across the mountainside. On the way in, it had been silent, and I wondered why the birds did not start singing until later in the afternoon. Many birds are nesting right now, and a few flushed from their nests in agitation as we went by. The other occasional vocalization from nature was a pika. The chinchilla sized dark gray rodents thrive along the scree fields in these high mountain ridges. It takes the eye a moment to find them amongst the boulders with patches of lichen in similar shades of brown, black, gray, and white. This incognito persona protects them from predators, especially those from the sky. Can you find the pika in the picture below? It’s standing full broad side, head facing right. It’s making an alarm cry, and if you look to the left of the taller slide alders in the foreground, you might see it.

Besides the wildlife and water features, this hike goes through some rather special plant communities that specialize in rock faces and mountain seeps. From bear grass to tall bluebells, the plants are off the hook out here. My guess on why this once logged area is still so diverse has to do with allowing the original seeds of the place to germinate and return. When we clearcut, spray, replant monoculture, spray, and cut again in less than 40 years, it degrades the landscape and does not allow seeds to recover in a year or two. Once the plants are removed, only the original seeds can bring them back. In the active logging farm, none of these rarer wildflowers, herbs, and shrubs can be found. Here at elevation, the logging was not worth the trouble after a one time lesson, so the land has been left to its own recovery, and the vast native plant diversity is on show. The orchids were hard to get in focus, they are so small. Wetland plants are sensitive, and because people have been draining wetlands for so long, we often miss the beauty found in these delicate, rare ecologies.

Even through it’s a lot dryer this year in Western Washington, the Pacific Ocean still banks it’s evaporated moisture up in The Cascade Mountains, where this wetland, and most of my mountain adventures take place. The water then cascades down the slopes of these rising peaks, lifted by the tectonic activity of subduction along The Ring of Fire. This complex geology and dynamic landscape are often out of mind in our more recent timeline of human settlement, but the oral history of native tribes often tell of great upheaval in recent past. Geologists studying the layers of sand and plate movement confirm these vast changes caused by the plate movements. I am grateful for the mountains that form out of these tectonics, but also have the threat of earthquakes in the back of my mind.

A spring trip in May 2025, took me to a recent erupted strata volcano in our state that you know might know as Mt. St. Helens. Loowit, as she’s know by the locals- aka, tribal people who have lived in the area for over ten thousand years, had an eruption that was considered minor, but did a heck of a lot of damage which you can still see evidence of today. Mt. Tahoma is my closest strata volcano, and no, it’s not about to blow, at least not yet, but rumblings do come and go, and our understanding of eruptions and predicting them is still evolving. The Central Cascades, where I was hiking on this adventure, is not volcanically active, but is in an area of dramatic uplift.

These impressive granite ridges were once melted magma deep under the earth’s crust. The amalgamation of magma chambers cooled in time as the ground continued its uplift, and after a few million years of glaciers grinding and retreating back and forth along the northern part of the continent, magma chambers, now granite, remain the backbones of much of these nearby peaks. Back down a few hundred feet, towards where I park to hike into these cooler elevations, the landscape is dominated by basalt cliffs of lava that cooled and formed on the exposed surface. I’m still trying to wrap my head around the formations and timelines- and I think a lot of professionals are still debating and forming their own theories too, but the point here is, this rock is old, and the exposed granite can best be found by climbing up into the elevations. The rock is cool to the touch, even on a warm day, and seems to lock in the cooler temperatures that remain at elevation. When the clouds come in, wrapping the whole place in mist and wonder, I am so thankful for the chance to get up into these mountains to bathe in 10-20 degree cooler temperatures that the mountains provide.

Working Waterscape

March 27, 2025 EEC Forest StewardshipLeave a comment

We’re all about passive systems here at EEC Forest Stewardship. Earthworks projects on the farm revolve around water catchment, redirect, and slow/sink intentions. Out of such work and planning, water, which we sometimes get a lot of here in Western Washington, has a good place to go for long term investment in drought resistance.

Our swales are one of the most simple ways to slow, sink, and store water. Above you see a swale at work with recent rains. The water can sit and slowly sink into the ground, moving down hill towards the young fruit trees establishing on the mound down hill. Other than initial earthworks, done in a few days after a year of planning, this system is self sustaining and crucial to keeping the forest alive as it slowly returns. This water will also make it’s way down into the aquifer, which feeds the well on this ridge. With all the housing developments down the hill from this farm, much of the water that used to sink in on this ridge in the once complex old growth temperate rainforests, which are now completely gone, now spills down and away along road ditches to the ocean beyond, lowering out potable water table until wells run dry. The housing developments below are unconcerned, because they rely on city water- like so many today. The corporate nation dreams of the day it can fully privatize water, which, though a fundamental human necessity to survive, would make a great commodity on the markets- already does in bottled water. Our utilities are becoming more and more expensive, with less and less investment in the infrastructure and care needed to sustain the expanding construction to keep up with housing shortages. So, it’s good to keep a well and work to keep the water where it falls- or nearby enough to support the living vegetation also crucial for our survival as a species.

When there are major rain events, like the nearly 1/2 inch that fell the night before these pictures were taken, the water sometimes sits on the surface “day-lighting” for a day or two. Our sheep and chickens, as well as the geese, enjoy the fresh water to drink and play in. Some of the water is directed into catchments. There are a number of pipes under driveways and gardens which lead to our central water feature- the pond. With years of observation come smart design with nature. After reading the water running across the land for many seasons, it becomes easy to make a smart water plan for catchment. I’ve even added more design over time, after the initial implementation of earthworks. Having a machine do so much of the digging at the start is helpful, but takes some planning and investment. The rewards are endless, because once you’ve set the design in place, the rest of the work is passive and free.

One of the most recent redirects implemented at EEC goes from a rain garden wetland habitat, down a driveway, around the back of the pole barn, and into the pond. For almost a decade I watched a stream of water heading down the driveway and on down past the barns, along an access road to the back pasture. It was starting to cut into the road as it picked up speed down hill. By redirecting the flow at the top of the hill, the erosion was not only stopped, but more water then went to the pond during major rain events. We’re now catching even more surface water to slow and sink for the aquifer, and forest below. The pond is not sealed, so water can slowly seep into the ground. The pond does remain year round, and there are fish living in this modest waterscape. The system has yet to fill the pond high enough to actually top the outflow, but having two input pipes should bring us closer to that goal. Stay tuned for our next major flooding event.

Transitions

January 16, 2025 EEC Forest StewardshipLeave a comment

Pacific coastal rainforest is lush and full of activity, even in January. It’s also been a mild winter by the start of 2025. Snoqualmie, the river moon valley, ropes through ancient glacial lake bottom in echos of evergreen forest, now twigs and matchsticks more often than old growth. Still, a wide, deep river sister follows a signature ice groove along a managed forest with minimal setbacks bordering erratic boulders and cement rebar bridges, which I drive on this vantage, overlooking salmon dreams, whispering needles, scaled harmony. Poetic bliss, if the fish were here, historic numbers are a song on the wind. Oral history told by important kin to the fish nation, and I wish them well in their defending. Water, life giver, purity and quantity, though still deeply rooted in a cycle, became a hostile combatant to man made disruptions. Snoquamie Falls is the natural dam of this fork of flowing water that floods human endeavor and becomes a monster. It’s only our own projections, along with construction of our own egocentric ambitions to monetize the natural cycles of crucial complexity we prefer to destroy. A destructive lineage tracing back to those mammoths people are talking about resurrecting. But I love to digress- or transition?

There is this place, where water brings abrupt frocking, these transition zones are all part of wonder in nature, scaling upward, a few thousand feet from mere home ground 4-600′. An alpine lake reflect that hint of robin’s egg blue, and bird song echoing the winter quiet into melodic texture of branching twig cracking under the tire turning my box of metal ride up a final steep climb and into that white track of temperature trigger of physical form. Ice at the root of such garb, on a molecular level. Not like the lake, which rippled invitingly, etching the elevation in charcoal, navy oceans of deep stone trappings. There’s actually a quarry, right at the final turn around the climb and gaining a last look at the tranquil, the truck, pup, and I raddled along the very stone taken from the abrupt change, yet another transition, quick, and then gone around the switch back, and the next bend into daylight’s shining embrace.

Roads stretch flat, a pure white water, yet also still and sharp, like my mother’s linen, the folds of time, layers of second and third dusting, There is not enough to ski, slick, in full sun, soft to the step, but shallow; scraping of an oil based product I’m also heavily wrapped in as a final shell of protection from cold habitat, crisp in step and hiking upward in a steady climb across clearcut, with recent replanting- our “plant a tree” farewell songs of loss for commercial gain, and home grown, local; part of the effort to fold in recycling and our waste systems… but I digress, I guess, again, as one wheel in the universe of life- I can’t start musing on what is without what for. Therefor, Boldly choosing to move forward and literally climb into the first peaks, it was a delight to park, let the dog out for some good snow time, and let my body fall into rhythms of ancient tellings, smells you only get outside- even if they are tainted with traffic exhaust and the smell of oil cooking, sloppy grease traps, or the sour sick whiff of freshly spread manure from industrial agriculture, not to mention build up of us, the settlers. Less than aware ancestors cut old growth hillsides over one-hundred years ago, then another generation got the second growth with the understanding of a last good harvest. In my lifetime, by third growth, commercial development of the valley below into the cities at mouths, deltas, or filled in wetland from here to the sea, inland waterway often clogged with meth shellfish, motor traffic, diesel, hydraulic oil, ballast putridity, and the last orcas evolving to tolerate the conditions we the people have rendered uninhabitable, all the transitions are still part of the the same living network of collective survival, technology cannot bring us closer to said resources without destroying them, and our very beating hearts.

Every important piece of ecological functioning uninhibited, deepens purity of the sources; from the water sheds, to an even more crucial system of long term filtration. The ground is not being poked here for intentional deep well disposal of industrial shit. Our needed comforts, like my synthetic sports wear, still produce these unwanted waste chemicals, and even the wash water from my laundry, and in many homes, the petroleum based detergents, will end up in our water. The heavy metals in all our systems, even personal digestive tracks of the many billions carry these toxins, gaining them at first conception, through genetic marks they leave on us, our biorhythms, leading to cancer, or signaling our lives as having gone too far into comfort as a magical remedy to the realities of life? How am I coping? Maybe I light up a joint, take a drive into the mountains to move and observe, reflect and grow into place with purpose, driving into the edges of wilderness, pushing out a few deer, squirrels, snow shoe hare, and countless other beings already fully immersed in themselves and their place where wildness is required for long term survival. I did leave the truck a couple of miles back, hopefully it remains dependable as a ride home.

The survival rate varies form species to species, but our race, the human populous at large, would not last long out here alone, but together, with enough others, you can transition beyond mere castles in the sky longing, and into community building. Building is what got us here, or so I’m told by the western centric narrative of “U-S-A” chanting idiocracy we just voted in a second time. What a transition that will be. Look! The rabbit’s made the sign of the cross- nature is protected! I recall Magic The Gathering, in which, I’d cast the card Circle of Protection White, and the next four years would be shut out, returning me to reality after the tornado, house dropped on the witch’s sister, and a yellow brick road we’re all still following towards The Emerald City. Pay no attention to the man behind that curtain and keep clicking the red slippers repeating, “There’s no place like home.” This was not what I was thinking as I climbed at the time, but something triggers in the back of my mind at the thought that these lands that I walk are stolen, by our own negligence and people. We’ve taken the bait, hook, line. and sinker. Now, past the tipping point, while walking in fast melting snow, the waters that would have to keep our wells wet and the animals, all of us, alive through hotter and hotter summers. This is something I now think of with each drive up. But look at that view, and the bought access and freedom to some here, so American.

The clear cut gives us this lovely view looking back down the draw I’ve been ascending, a reasonable road hike to about 1200′ of elevation gain at a modest slope and a couple of stream crossings- over bridges. This is the private commercial timber products operation, which literally built (and still does) the civilization enveloped in a beautiful transition of cloud, water in a most haunting, yet crucial part of temperate rainforest ecology. Beyond the inversion, jetting peaks of The Olympics rise into a well named National Park of excellent wilderness, and beyond, the Pacific coast. Layers of so much nature you might be lured into the false sense of abundance in natural resources and the basics for survival, but it’s not enough to sustain this population, and that’s another thought tucked away in the brain, which sets off alarm bells, but the temperate rainforest is where I want to be for the best chance at survival if the comforts were lost through unpredictable happenings of this earth.

I reflect on L.A. right now, and what mental health workers are calling immediate steps in transition, encouraging victims of fire to plan in small graspable moves, get food, water, shelter, the usual survival drill. I do not mean to say this tragedy is simple or usual, though it is man made. Development greed and continued denial of human overstep wherever and whenever we want. As I watched and listened to the governor of Cali proudly say he would wipe ecological restrictions out of rebuilding requirements, I could see the lineup of future fire destruction in these overpopulated places and grieve. When temperate forests dry out in prolonged drought, fires will happen for us too. Rain is good, waters must run deep to keep us safe from fire’s consumption. Before I share with you the magical tail of temperate, I’ll anchor my wander in the picture of this aspect, under the veil, and you can see the developed world at work.

It is a city in the clouds, and a micro-macro in computer technology, the birth of such spells and casting now ruling our consumer, social, and soon to be political personalities far off, as though in a distant land. It’s like that here, what a privilege, in a private acreage, admiring the spectacle, and being one at the same time. Wait, what? Let me draw your attention to the patchwork quilt in the rolling hills and valley below. That’s where the farm is, and where I sleep. There are still some standing groves of second and third growth, maybe some that might be left for a few generations before falling into manipulative speculation or castration of wildness for all. I’ve cut trees, asked and paid others to do so on the landscape I sometimes curate with my own ideas of stewardship transition, of wandering as a right, possession of pace and space, wherever my feet are planted.

Brave little wetland setbacks that have been granted, in more recent tending of this land, a common thread in developing, to build, taking is the order of business. Order, tight squares in neat harvesting, these hills could be rice fields, no, we have not cut our jungle usefulness as a resource that can be swiped, bundled, and chopped into board feet. Left face of this rise out of the Snoqualmie Valley and Rattle Snake Ridge beyond, where there are timber investments from LMNO alfa-beta medatronic meta-gaming. Metagaming mother nature, for those of you more hip techno-files out there AIing the you know what out of finite, as I type, or hike, loosing steam, but looking back at the time and space passing, appreciating where and what I can be doing to transition. How about casting a spell?

Spellbinding, movement, frozen, liquid, bubbling chatter under thin ice. Here, the freeze is only skin deep. Snow is blanketing the open space, but where the stands of uncut forest remain, there is open ground, and a wall of sun catch for the south facing hillsides. Still, erosion pulls at the road cuts, scabs put down to give people, like me, easier access to the first peaks left behind ice flows a mile deep in memories compressed into stones, layers of boulders and pebbles give way to allochthon signatures, vaulted granite base with volcanic wedded basalt linger. Not quite spires, but no less towering in formation, the scent of alpine spruce has overtaken cedar and fir domain with the stiff bristled hardy stands at the edge of the commercial boundaries, beyond, more transitions of mountain scree, frozen alpine waters that, in high summer, offer beauty of turquoise depth. Seasonal transitions aside, on this day, a return to my evergreen chariot and drive through grey daylight, home in time to check stock and bundle self into hearth before the frost comes down in it’s own quiet spell into night. The pale rose hinting at setting, pearl globe bouncing off the edges of uplift, calling the evening chorus of those birds who will wait out the night in thick needle beds, perched under down and comfort in the light breeze that sings her balanced little heart to sleep before dark sets a web of mist from mountain clefts to farm’s edge.

Grounded environment, yet change apparent, ever encroaching on the peace of mind, yet the beauty is still there, she painted her subtle hints in breath and sky, along the cold parts of skin where no cover let the light in, along tailored edges, where this transfer of power, from self to source, ashes that will one day plant another tree in the forest of our enchanted societal normalities, whose plot am I gleaning from in the classic sunset image, tire tracks and all. Clear cuts offer space for a mind melded to technology, even without bitcoin. Smart phone, computer whore, and a gasoline consumer wearing her own death suit in water proof apparel. Transition out of these wet cloths.

Tree Island Build

December 24, 2024December 30, 2024 EEC Forest StewardshipLeave a comment

It was a late fall day and I had a bucket of native plants that needed a new home. A few days earlier I’d been on my driveway pulling up all the young alder trees to re-home them away from main thruways. Now I had a combination of canopy and understory plants that were ready to put back in the soil in there forever home. I’d been eyeing one of my worm cities as a possible location. It had some good legacy stumps and banked fertility in some piled compost of sheep barn bedding which had been cooking down for over a year and was ready to host new plantings. I was going to shovel the whole thing into the bed of my truck to transport across the property to another raised bed that needed some topsoil. Then I thought about how much work that would be, and decided to bring the plants there and make a nice tree island.

A tree island is my name for a small cluster of trees holding a little island forest habitat, surrounded by open pasture. One might call it a grove, but I like the idea of an island of raised habitat on the landscape. To prep the “bed” I turned the surrounding soil up onto the old pile until there was a substantial mound. Then I planted the shorter understory plants on the south side, mulching them with some shavings. It’s important to keep track of young plantings if you can. I use bright orange flagging tape to show where things are. I also snuck a couple of oaks in for long term growth. On the north side of the mound I transplanted the red alders from the road. They are already over head height in stature, and will easily keep above the smaller plantings as everything sets. It certainly transformed a muddy stack into a beautiful bed of young native plantings that are sure to add layers of vegetation, diversity in ecology, and change in terrain for the eye, to name a few benefits of establishing a tree island.

This is also a berm, well drained in flood months, yet mulched to keep summer sun off the soil. More layers of animal bedding that is nitrogen cold, will be spread in lower outer rings to be turned into more compost as soil builds. alders will be thinned and even pleachered to allow sunlight north of the mound where other swales and more established tree islands are set and growing for a decade. The south facing hillside gently slopes on the north end of the property, so I’ve planned sun isles through the future standards that will litter the upper pasture and main living area of the land. Oaks will eventually be harvested for wood heat, some acorn production similar to native hazel, and savanna silvopasture with deciduous nut and fruit trees dominating the canopy.

This tree island will host 20-30 years of alder and oak growth, while hosting long term hedge and shrub species for pollination and further starvation food wildlife habitat. Our chickens will use the young stands as shelter and as summer clutch rearing habitat until chickens are phased out of restoration plans for EEC Forest. Though chickens are a jungle fowl, avian flu and other bird carried pathogens in our area might cause the necessary culling of flocks if infected. Leafhopper will comply with any state mandates, but if our animals are slaughtered, we will not plan future production livestock and phase towards total rewilding sooner in the 60 year lifetime plan of my direct work with this landscape, in hopes of cleaner air, soil, and water for future generations of all living things.

These tree islands will thrive and grow with or without human tending, in a succession stand of oak savanna, the most successful forest in this soil, with the glacial till drainage, and sloping topography. Layers of slide alder, hazel, and in seasonally flooded areas of the land, willow to root long term understory deciduous drought resistant hundred year canopy return. There are enough maturing trees already on sight to produce native coniferous species as long as current climate allows. That’s where I try not to scry the future few hundred years with too much confidence. Soil building takes thousands of years, in which time, for this rather active geologic web of tectonic sudden upheaval and strata volcanic presence invites. Paring that with exponential climate instability with the not so subtle storms of wind and water, drought and fire to uncharted ferocity akin to fears of AI.

The weather is happening in real time, and when it’s privatized by that shadow cabal known as prosperity to the few at the cost of the many, we’d all earn some ancestral wisdom in looking up at the sky, watching the light, clouds, wind, and colors of seasonal shifts and nature’s language of entropy, which is usually experienced by us as slow and uneventful- most of the time. Hopefully the trees survive into some forest cover, and nuts offer food source that even humans can eat. This tree is fire friendly, drought tolerant, and could fend off blackberry with chemical warfare. They are spaced well from the long term establishment of understory shrubs planted in the island ecology. Mock orange and service berry are drought tolerant, also friends of fire, and offer food, materials, and medicine. Together, these plant companions will establish a long term cooperative adaptation, and provide layers of abundance and regeneration for the landscape through all of nature’s change.

Woods Weekend

December 13, 2024 EEC Forest StewardshipLeave a comment

My hunting mentor invited me to be his support on a black powder late deer season hunt. This window of four days allows one final chance at a deer before the season is over. It’s short and sweet, so you have to use all the waning daylight you can to be in the field. I took my shotgun to watch for grouse, but my main mission was to learn from my mentor. Time in the field with this accomplished sportsman is worth it, and a rare gift of his time with me. We were in The Snoqualmie Tree Farm for the whole hunt. Though we did not find any deer or grouse, many good things happened, including a lot of learning for me. Thanks to the people who take time to teach and offer opportunity for others to learn.

The weather played a big part in making our hunt difficult. This may surprise some, because the sky was clear and the sun was out- but blacktail deer sleep away bright days, and become more nocturnal. They get too hot in the sun with those warm winter coats coming on. Rain and clouds are what bring these deer out, so we saw very little activity, in fact, none. No deer showed it’s self the entire four days we were out, and we were covering lots of ground. My mentor thought it might also be the uptick in chemicals being used on the tree farm grounds. They spray herbicides in the young plantings, and spread treated sewage everywhere. The deer are repelled by these unnatural applications in their landscape. We could not find any brows or tracks in these chemically altered spaces. My mentor ever said he might stop coming here to hunt because of the disruption.

The views of our surrounding mountain ranges was quite magnificent. I’d not seen a good panorama of The Olympics for a while. In one of our spots, we were high enough to see just above the teenage plantings to our west. I spent some time scrambling along a recently logged off ridge line to get a picture. While picking my way through slash and slope, I picked up on a fresh set of deer tracks that went in the direction my mentor had gone. He would pick a place to hunt and I would stay on the opposite side of the road from where he went in. That way, he would know what direction I was in, and I stayed out of his hunting ground. Black powder guns don’t have a long range, but having a plan on where everyone is to keep out of each other’s line of fire is an important part of safe hunting. If my mentor wanted to change position, he would first meet me back at the truck at our planned check in time, and then make a new plan so we were always on the same page in the field.

My hunt for grouse was fruitless. There was not a bird in sight where we were. Was there any wildlife at all? Yes! We had an amazing encounter with a young bobcat. While checking out a quarry for deer- “a quarry?” you ask, yes, a quarry, where deer will sometimes look for mineral deposits in the exposed layers of earth; Wes saw movement just before I picked up on it- I was driving. We stopped the truck and watched a bobcat slink across the road and into the woods. That’s usually how you see a bobcat, briefly crossing the road. But this cat did not go too far. Moments later, as we got out to look around, the cat popped back out on the road and gave us another show. We began to observe the animal together, noting its dark morph and unusual behavior. My mentor guessed it was a young animal that had not learned to fear people yet. The encounter was magical.

Bobcats have amazing camouflage. Can you see it in the picture above? It’s crossing a log right to left, about center in this photo. I only knew it was there because I’d watched it moving for a while. My mentor and I were happy to stand and observe the animal for as long as it chose to be around us. You might be wondering why we didn’t hunt it. Well, we didn’t want to. Bobcats are not good eating, and the pelt market is not something I wish to participate in. We had our small game license, and could have harvested this cat, but that was not our intention. We were appreciating the opportunity to observe and learn form a shy, mysterious animal. The cat seemed to pick up on our intentions, and came out a few more times to show off it’s unusual dark morph and how athletic it was. I got a great series of photos as it ran away down the road.

It was a gift to watch the bobcat for so long. Sometimes it’s good to pause in a hunt to let nature show you a few things. I was glad my mentor wanted to take the time with me to watch. That was a special moment for both of us, and we cherished it. Time in the woods can slow way down. Each day there was a series of adventures. There had been a recent wind storm that knocked down a lot of trees. Many roads were impassible, which shrunk our hunting options, but there was still much ground to cover, so we did some driving, a lot of scouting (looking for recent tracks or brows) and my mentor took a few walks into recent clear-cuts in hopes of getting a deer up. They usually lay down to rest during sunny days, so you have to go into the open places and try to spook one up from it’s lay. My mentor is in his 70s, and though he is still in good shape relative to his age, he went slow, and had to take breaks between each wander. The relaxed nature of this rhythm helped me relax and enjoy the days too. I was often on a road keeping a safe distance while watching for a grouse. Not even a wing beat was heard.

I did find mushrooms, chantrelles were on the menu each night when we got home in the dark. This year, mushrooms have been off the hook in these woods. I would carefully hunt the ground, keeping a sharp lookout for any golden treasures, and I usually found them, quietly waiting on the edge of a tree line, or half buried under the needled of a fir tree. It was wonderful foraging, and rewarding to find some almost everywhere we went.

The golden light towards the end of each day was also beautiful to watch. Though on our last evening out, the weather was changing, and a thick mist rose up from the valley below to blanket us as the light faded. My mentor was a little frustrated, because it closed our last day of hunting a little earlier than we had hoped. Once the light is gone, even if the hunting hour is not over yet, you can’t shoot what you can’t sight in. Though the mist was welcome earlier in the evening, as a motivator to move the deer around, it soon became our shut out. I sat and documented the change in light as the fog set in.

Things got dark and still faster than we realized. As I waited, I thought about how quickly the conditions change in the higher elevations where we were. Even with the influx of moisture, the deer remained illusive and we ended out last evening without harvesting any animals, but I still got a handful of mushrooms.

When my mentor came out of the hunt to rejoin me at the truck, I was amazed at how well he blended into the landscape with the added shroud of mist. I took a few photos to show how hard it is to see someone in this kind of situation, burning the images into my memory. Late season black powder does not require hunter orange. You can see why knowing exactly where your hunting buddy is prevents confusion or worse, a fatal shot at someone. Never point a gun at something you can’t see clearly. There was a moment when my mentor’s movement first caught my eye, that I thought he was a deer in the low light and poor visibility. I continued to sit still with my gun across my lap, sorting the visuals that told my brain one thing, while my wisdom said remain still and just watch.

Hunting has taught me a lot about what our eyes perceive, versus what is really before us. For the rest of my life, I know I’ll have moments like this, thinking I see one thing, when it’s really something else quite different. Learning not to react with sudden impulse in these situations is a key safety skill. What a lesson that day. Again, so much gratitude to my mentor for inviting me on the experiential learning adventures. Of course, I’m also there as additional brute strength in case there was a deer harvested. Having a buddy to help get it out is always good. Though we did not receive a deer in this hunt, I got some priceless in the field dirt time with a man I have a deep love and respect for. I hope to pass these experiences on in my own mentoring, and look forward to more time with others in the hunt. So much gratitude for all the opportunities to learn and be with good teachers, who are also continuing to learn.

2024 Year of The Maple

April 19, 2024 EEC Forest Stewardship2 Comments

In February, 2024 our elder Big Leaf Maple began a final bow to the ground. The upper branches of this giant wove into other surrounding trees as it fell, slowing its final decent, for now. Hoping the root ball was still connected, I have chosen to leave the tree as is to allow spring bloom, summer leaf out, and fall drop before trimming some of the branches blocking the access. No part of the bridge was harmed, though a beefy branch did fall onto the bridge and needed to be removed. Much of teh debris that came down fell on the banks of the stream, building a natural mesh of organic matter to help hold the steep wall of clay and gravel. So much of the original stream bed of our creek was eroded away after two rounds of clear cutting, and without more restoration down stream, flooding and erosion will continue to damage the landscape.

Allowing trees to fall and stay where they land builds fast forest floor and water retention, encouraging resiliency in the face of drought. Along with all the wonderful restoration rolls a fallen tree offers, our maple also gifted us with edible flowers. As the cascading blossoms unfold, we took and afternoon to harvest a bag or two for the table at home. Since the branches of this tree are now in reach, we had an easy time picking this spring feast from our grove.

For my first taste of maple blossoms, I added some nettle, butter, and salt, then mixed into a greater fried rice dish with egg and pecans. Just a sprinkle of summer sausage and the full range of flavors came through in this delicious dinner. To eat from our trees, fed such nutrition from the land, this is the dream. Finding feast where they land enables a deeper connection to our ever changing woodland, reminding us that even falling trees are full of treasure to enjoy.