Bill is one of those friends always up for an adventure. After a fine dinner with him last night, I was reminded of a story from a few months ago… It’s 27 degrees outside, and although I yearn to go sailing, it doesn’t seem like the wisest idea. But maybe I should reconsider. After all, on at least one of the occasions Bill and I rounded Cape Horn together, the waterfalls were frozen; so it must have been pretty cold then, too. That day, like many others, we were driven by unknowable forces to leave the couch, break away from our electronics and experience the raw elements. Read the rest across the jump at Three Sheets NW.
I was a foolish young man in 1996. That’s when Tom Horton, published An Island Out of Time. A Memoir of Smith Island in the Chesapeake, a fascinating book that documents the time he and his family lived on a tiny island full of locals. Continue reading “Sea Reads: An Island Out of Time”
I’ve long been possessed by the beauty and strangeness of sea creatures. They float, they swim, they disappear suddenly. Continue reading “This Whale Eats Stories”
At least once every year my biking buddies and I end up on the dry side of Oregon. We drive from the wet Willamette Valley to ride on those rolling, grassy hills in the central part of our state. It takes a couple of hours to get there and back, but we do it willingly.
If Portlanders consider the dry side at all, they don’t think anything is in central Oregon. If you press them, they may mention that they passed through there or that people grow wheat there, but few, if anyone has actually set foot there. So why do we go? Continue reading “Go East”
As a daily bike commuter, I work hard to be noticed by cars. It seems that even with my dorky reflector vest and light system, cars still don’t notice me; it’s scary. If that’s the case, I began to wonder why so many bikers don’t use lights at night… Continue reading “Light Up the Night”
Because I can’t say it better myself, I give you the words of E.B. White:
As long as there is one upright man, as long as there is one compassionate woman, the contagion may spread and the scene is not desolate. Hope is the thing that is left to us, in a bad time. I shall get up Sunday morning and wind the clock, as a contribution to order and steadfastness.
Sailors have an expression about the weather: they say, the weather is a great bluffer. I guess the same is true of our human society—things can look dark, then a break shows in the clouds, and all is changed, sometimes rather suddenly. It is quite obvious that the human race has made a queer mess of life on this planet. But as a people we probably harbor seeds of goodness that have lain for a long time waiting to sprout when the conditions are right. Man’s curiosity, his relentlessness, his inventiveness, his ingenuity have led him into deep trouble. We can only hope that these same traits will enable him to claw his way out.
Hang on to your hat. Hang on to your hope. And wind the clock, for tomorrow is another day.