Griz’s tender back is in highly tender phase right now and the weather guys are promising warming by Sunday, so we’ve chosen to leave ourselves snowed in. It’s an easy decision for us - a full pantry and freezer, a warm stove, lots of gas for the generator if needed, and assorted other little self-sufficiencies are a natural part of our lifestyle. Plus – there’s nowhere else that we absolutely have to be. 

We usually ship Tools-n-Gizmos orders the same day they arrive, but we posted an online notice indicating we won’t ship until Monday this time.  Most of our regular customers know we’re not a big operation. They appreciate the personal attention they usually get and are thus very forgiving about the occasional glitch. There’s great value in not pretending to be something you’re not.

In the quiet whiteness, I’m again thankful for the lifestyle we’ve arranged for ourselves. Solitude isn’t everyone’s cup of tea – many can’t arrange it, even if they want it. But for us - choosing solitude when we want or need it is an easy and extraordinarily valuable option.

I’ve posted more of this year’s snow pics on Flickr.

Climate change is almost a non-term here in Western Washington where the weather is so variable year to year, climate change seems almost normal.  Unlike the rest of the Northern Hemisphere, we’ve just had our warmest winter on record. Last winter we had our taste of the ice age.

But in spite of recent controversies which expose some extremely-careless or just-plain-bad science, there’s some good science behind global warming, too.  Weather extremes are integral to the theory, so discounting the whole idea because your butt’s cold today is definitely throwing the baby out with the bath water.

On the other hand, there’s some very smart people countering the theory and some very good science behind their counter claims. Ironically, the very reason we find global warming so hard to believe when our butts are cold mirrors the reason why global warming has rational skeptics. It really is difficult for us humans (including scientists) to stand far enough back from our tiny little lives to get accurate, objective perceptions. From a geological perspective, the global warming theory itself is just a report on what’s happening right now. Several decades of climate statistics do not necessarily make an arguable trend. Well, obviously it is arguable, but that’s not the same as provable.

But it’s the furor of this discourse that deserves applause. It means awareness of environmental degradation (whatever the cause) has whole-heartedly entered our public consciousness. A recent New York Times article pointed out that therapists are even seeing a trend in environmental issues as a significant cause for family discord. And as much I hate to see families in stress, the environmental dialog matters; and the things that matter most to us should be discussed (and sometimes argued about) in our homes.  An integral environmental consciousness – public and private – represents true progress.

I have warmist leanings.  There’s much more to the theory than whether you should be driving a Prius or a Hummer. But selling global warming as yet another variety of armageddonism is counterproductive and unnecessary. Extremes always create backlash. Most of the noise between warmists and their skeptics is not about whether humans are negatively impacting the environment,  it’s about how, what’s the timeline and what’s the fix.

Anyone completely devoid of environmental awareness at this point is either under-educated, living in impoverished desperation, or choosing to remain intentionally blind. Lack of education and impoverished desperation are both forgivable, and illiteracy and poverty must be addressed as part a holistic environmental dialog.  But intentional blindness, whether motivated by greed or just laziness, is no excuse at all.

But that’s another human foible, isn’t it – it often takes the noise of controversy to force our eyes open. It’s called awakening.

“When people generally are aware of a problem, it can be said to have entered the public consciousness. When people get on their hind legs and holler, the problem has not only entered the public consciousness — it has also become a part of the public conscience. At that point, things in our democracy begin to hum.”

- Hubert Humphrey

Stevens Pass, October 2008

October is my favorite month. I like autumn generally and (here) October is the month that finds the perfect balance between summer and winter. Nature is quieting down, weather is revving up. Humans are settling some, too (at least temporarily) – school routines are set and efficient, holiday frenzies have not quite begun.

I always prefer quiet to frenzy. It’s part of my attraction to solitude.

October is also my birth month. Birthdays provide a day of license to celebrate ourselves  – incorporate some self-indulgence into the schedule without apology.  More importantly for me they are the annual opportunity to reflect on another trip around the sun – that pivotal personal reminder of the grand balance between the clearly temporary and seemingly eternal.

There is, apart from mere intellect, in the makeup of every superior human identity, (in its moral completeness, considered as ensemble, not for that moral alone, but for the whole being, including physique,) a wondrous something that realizes without argument, frequently without what is called education, (though I think it the goal and apex of all education deserving the name) – an intuition of the absolute balance, in time and space, of the whole of this multifarious, mad chaos of fraud, frivolity, hoggishness – this revel of fools, and incredible make-believe and general unsettledness, we call the world; a soul-sight of that divine clue and unseen thread which holds the whole congeries of things, all history and time, and all events, however trivial, however momentous, like a leashed dog in the hand of the hunter.  – Walt Whitman

Autumn’s hush inhales

Through the long morning shadows -

Furtive, cool sunshine.

This routine thinning partially accounts for the western red’s success at growing big – less wind resistance over the winter. It may also be a factor in the cedar’s slower growth rate (compared to our region’s commercially-favored timber crops – western hemlock and Douglas fir). My experience suggests that when high winds do overpower the cedars, they are more likely than the others to relinquish only their tops (15 to 25 percent of the tree) rather than fall down. (Although even one-quarter of a large tree can wreak a bit of havoc in its flight path.)

Western red cedars, though not as large as California’s redwoods, were the giants of the old-growth forests in our region. They are called “the tree of life” by Northwest coast indigenous tribes who traditionally used them for lodges, canoes, totem poles and many other utilitarian, artistic and spiritual purposes.

Perhaps it’s my anthropological knowledge of their spiritual tradition, perhaps it’s just their quiet majesty, but I have something of a love affair with our big cedars, many of them 60 to 75 years old. It is impossible for me to stand beneath one and not appreciate its connectedness, timelessness, and endurance.

There is a certain innate wisdom in a giant tree. At this time of year, our western red cedars remind us to comfortably give in to nature’s flow – to routinely practice shedding the unnecessary (foliage, stuff, outdated ideas, bad habits, toxic relationships) as a path to reduce stress, promote health and prepare ourselves for the next round of buffeting winds.

We’re having what passes for a heat wave here in Western Washington – temperatures in the nineties and low 100′s, plus high humidity – a combo as rare here as home air conditioning.  We don’t need AC often enough here for most people to justify the expense and installation.  Of course, portable air conditioners are flying off the shelves this week. Weather – a sure-fire economic stimulator.

The oppressive heat is predicted to continue for a full week before that pleasant Pacific marine air finds its way back home. I know what I’m describing as “oppressive” is no biggee for you tropics and desert dwellers, and those of you where summer equals humidity – but we’re not used to it.

Griz and I adapt to heat the way humans have always adapted in their natural state: less or no clothing, get the chores done in the cool morning, cancel most movement in the afternoon, and rev up again in the evening after the sun goes down. We also have lots of water. The streams are dry, but the well isn’t. We can stay as wet as we like. Wet hair cools the brain.

This hot weather stategy has reminded me how lucky we are to live in seclusion with a schedule of our own devising. Solitude has many perks – spontaneous nakedness and freedom from clocks are this week’s stars.

A friend recently suggested I may be a bit too obsessed with the weather. I won’t deny it. In fact, I’ll readily admit I am a lot obsessed with the weather. I’m one of those people who susbcribes to a personal weather forecast for my lat/long. I regularly check for impending showers on the Doppler radar.

My friend’s suggestion did set me to contemplating why I’m a weather addict though.  I believe there are several reasons:

1. I live (and have lived most of my life) in meteorologically dynamic Western Washington. This area is a weatherman’s dream or nightmare. Big forces (Pacific Ocean, continental shape) combine with smaller, more immediate, geographical forces (Cascade & Olympic Mountains; Strait of Juan de Fuca & Puget Sound) creating weather systems which are channeled in infinitely variable scenarios over the dramatic geography.  Even in spring and summer, stable air masses are short lived. The layered look in outdoor apparel may have been invented here – if you are an outdoor person, you need to be prepared for almost any weather, almost every day.

2. I crewed, lived aboard and cruised on small sailboats for about 20 years - primarily between Puget Sound and Alaska. Take this area’s dynamic weather, add a small boat on the large sea, and you up the ante on your weather obsession. Although I did crew on a couple of sailboats where the standard policy was “no-matter-what-the-weather,” I tried to avoid that Deadliest Catch weather whenever possible. You avoid deadly weather by giving yourself a flexible schedule, educating yourself and by staying in tune – not just listening to forecasts, though they become elemental; but also watching the clouds, sea conditions and barometric pressure. I believe weather awareness becomes innate to most long-time boaters – on sailboats it’s even more critical. Wind is your primary propulsion – to use it, you have to be out in it. Watching the weather becomes integral and habitual – a hard habit to kick.

3. And now – though Griz and I have a perfectly comfortable house and a large heated shop – we live in the forest. It is a rare day when we are not outside for projects or pure pleasure. Weather continues to be integral to our lives. Keeping an eye on the forecasts and the Doppler radar allows me to take best advantage of the day. I admit, weather is rarely as critical now as it was when we were living aboard. We hardly notice some big storms that set people talking – after all, how big can a storm be if it doesn’t move your home. But there are some weather risks associated with living among tall trees. We expect periodic power outages and it really isn’t very wise to go for a casual walk in a big wind. You also have to be cautious in moderate wind – one reason old evergreens get so old – they shed unnecessary branches to reduce their sail area for the big storms. Big limbs can be just as deadly as a whole tree if you aren’t alert. Unless it’s very calm out, I leave the iPod behind on longer walks. Listening for that distinctive crack (or unexpected rustle) is just part of being forest smart.

4. And the most recent development in my weather obsession comes from many years of a life outdoors and many years of life in general. Mid-life brings with it little reminders of every injury and repetitive stress in your history. Many of those little reminders seem accentuated by weather change. My body’s more sensitive to voluntary abuse than when I was younger:  I’m more uncomfortable in (and resist tackling the hardest jobs in) extreme heat or cold. Fortunately, I can still do most things I did when younger – but my body makes more noise in the process and with some activities, it’s wise to pace myself. Keeping an eye on the weather allows me to set that pace or if necessary, take a day off.  Wisdom of us ancients: “Nothing wrong with a snow day – even in the middle of summer.”

Living in nature can be demanding at times but the rewards are abundant. Staying spontaneous enough to stop all else and relish such serendipity promotes my sense of  personal balance. (Photos are icing.)

I’ve been thinking about that movie a lot the last several weeks – not about the resolution of the mystery, but about the many vagaries of snow – the varieties, moisture content; how it falls, lands, rests, melts, refreezes, compacts; how snow impacts what it rests upon and a lot of other variables I have not previously had the opportunity to observe.

I’m not a big snow sports person (too many people funneled into a small area). What skiing I have done involved a series of cross-country day trips; and although the quality of snow, terrain and potential avalanche danger made big differences in my cross-country pleasure (or lack thereof), I was always unfamiliar with areas I was traversing, so I was more focused on getting from point A to point B, less consciously focused on the snow itself.

My newly developed sense of snow comes from watching it and shoveling it (repeatedly) on this landscape which I know very well in all seasons. It’s been a sometimes arduous, but revealing adventure – a new opportunity to learn something about nature by being in it.

We still have 5 inches of snow in open areas with some potential for more this evening before warm temps and solid rain move in to send us back to normal.

It will take the plow piles a week or more to dissolve. Many of our non-indigenous shrubs are emerging from the snow weight looking worse for the experience. But now we get to watch (and maybe help) the recovery.

And as much as a sunny respite appeals right now, I’ve actually been reminded of why I make a lousy tourist.  It’s more than just my reclusive nature. I’m not a person who enjoys hitting the highlights of a locale – seeing the stationary thing you’re supposed to see and moving on to the next thing you’re supposed to see.  I prefer to stay, work, play – even reside in an environment – long enough to observe and attempt to understand  – to, in some way, become a part of the process.

I’m naming the current flood expansion Lake Griz.  If  Griz could find a way to arrange it,  he too would only come out and socialize about once every 15 years (other than for poker, of course).