Sunday, June 4, 2017

Saw my first . . .


firefly of the summer last night. Ok, it’s not technically summer, it’s called poetic license and I’m allowed. I get to make up new words, too. (The picture on it is terrible though. License pictures always are.)

I’m up at the cabin again, one new road later, (ouch) after the great Kerrs Creek mini-flood of 2017.



If you didn’t know better, you’d never know anything had happened. Well, almost.

The season seems to have already changed up here, everything is green and leafed out from the spring rains. 

Nothing’s been burnt dry yet by summer’s heat, everything around me is still ripe and full of promise. The rhododendrons and mountain laurel are blooming and it looks like it’s going to be a great year for berries.






Of course, everything can change in an instant. A few dry weeks at the wrong time and the berries will shrivel, too much rain – well, you’ve seen what too much rain can do. Just the right amount, though, and the coral chanterelles will pop up on the banks and the vines will hang heavy with wineberries and blackberries.

It’s all a matter of balance, but then, isn’t everything? I’ve been feeling particularly unbalanced these last few months, as have most of my friends. And this last governmental action, this pulling out of the Paris climate change accord, hits home especially hard here at the cabin. 

I’ve gotten used to the idea that I have to give this place up. Days go by when I don’t think about being up here, although one warm evening in town with the windows open and the sounds of noisy neighbors, lawnmowers, weed whackers, and cars driving by with their stereos turned all the way up brings memories of quiet nights on the cabin porch with only the sound of whippoorwills rushing back.

If I can’t live here forever on this mountain, I want someone else to have the joy I’ve experienced here. I want them to love the hot days and cool nights of summer, the beauty of the intense colors of spring and fall, the whisper quiet of snow in winter. 

I want this patch of earth to be loved as all the earth should be loved; cherished and taken care of. Not just for what it can give, but simply for what it is, and what it does to help balance not only our spirits but the planet’s ecosystem.


We need to cherish everywhere, the whole earth, for what it is, not just for what it can give us. I know this log cabin was built to last, and 50 years from now it will still be standing. I hope the beauty around it will also be here, loved and appreciated.