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Saturday, March 29, 2008

OUR GENEALOGY: A Day at the Beach



If ev'ry tongue was still the noise would still continue

The rocks and stones themselves would start to sing:




Tim Rice / Andrew Lloyd Webber






These are a few of the pages of our genealogy. Some of the pages are sterile and blank with almost no writing. Some of the pages that had interesting stories are long lost or ruined. But even now, there are still some pages – almost miraculous fragments – that preserve remarkable portraits of our ancestors and relatives.
























The story is not always straight-forward. There are unexpected twists in the plot.

If there is an over-riding theme in our genealogy it might be that life as a whole appears resilient, creative and enduring, but that life experienced more individually, say as an individual (or even a particular species) is finite and spans no more than a chapter or two – no exceptions.

We still don’t really have any solid evidence that there is any other life anywhere else in the universe. For all we know, this is the only world where matter learned the trick of eating food, growing, adapting to the environment, reproducing and writing Jack Handy style deep thoughts in web logs.

Given that we have all of our eggs in one basket (one earth - one cradle - one life support system – one brief window of geologic time) why is it that 6.6 billion people generally poop mostly into their own drinking water?





West coast salmon fisheries appear to be collapsing. Vast dead zones off the Oregon coast suffocate anything that can’t swim away. Some suggest that climate change may soon alter or affect established ocean currents. Such suggestions are seldom presented with positive consequent scenarios.

Given a speculative looming cataclysm in the food chain, it is always tempting to instead attribute available negative evidence to natural fluctuations in seasonal cycles that we hope are independent of human causation. It is just bad luck for salmon, we might rationalize, that peculiar dead zones, fertilizer polluted rivers, dams and overfishing combined all at once to wipe out this years run. Life goes on.







Presumably shopping for a colony site, thousands of Common Murre congregate on the ocean just off of Yaquina Head. It creates the impression that the ocean is still a fertile cradle for life. An indecisive breeze carries the raucous, almost ghostly screaming of seabirds across a quarter mile of waves to a score of huddled whale watchers assembled beneath the Yaquina Head Lighthouse.





“Hey, do you see any fish?”
“I think I saw one over here!”
“Where?”
“Where?”
“Where?”
“Stay away, that’s mine!”
“It’s mine!”
“What fish?”
“Mine!”
“I don’t see any fish.”

Translation provided by Monkey-cam






Below the lighthouse, the ocean waves collide with the headlands creating a magnificent rock tumbler which ought to be inhospitable to life.




Yet here and there in the chaos, life finds and latches onto islands of calm – moments of sunshine bracketed between storms.







Well now, evrything dies, baby, thats a fact

But maybe evrything that dies someday comes back


Bruce Springsteen




This Week's Song

'Hallelujah' is a word often used to express thanks to God. I don't hear it very often outside of church songs, so initially, its usage in this week's song is puzzling. These words seem to emmanate from a less than ideal situation - one in which love is broken - and yet, "the baffled king composing Hallelujah..." raises chorus after chorus. The song seems sad and hopeless, yet the determination to thank God, even if he cannot be seen, is carried through to the end. For these resons, I chose to juxtopose it with this weeks images of a creation that may be breaking, but which still holds so much beauty and for which there still is some hope.


Halellujah by Leonard Cohen - Allison Crowe live performance


Wednesday, March 19, 2008

THE SPRING SNOWMAN MIGRATION @ HAMILTON MT.

Sagging rainclouds took a sideways glance at me and pointed wet threatening fingers in my direction but ended up not touching me as I headed up the Hamilton Mt. Trail. In the distance I could see the Bonneville Dam stretched out across the Columbia, and as I gained elevation, this particular fruit of my species’ technology began to take on the semblance of building blocks - a child’s toys cluttering the living room (but never-the-less generating relatively cheap energy).

At about a mile and a quarter in, the trail meanders near a couple of waterfalls. Evidently, ultra eco-sensitivity has resulted in the construction of a nature trail that effectively keeps hikers from touching the water. Either that or trail manufacturers have been forced to build safety barriers geared to the public’s lowest common intelligence denominator. The end result is an ambiance that harkens to comparisons with standing in line at Disneyland.
At Pool of the Winds, the cascading water pours into a carved rock chamber of indeterminate shape, indeterminate because…well there’s a rail in front of it blocking access…


…but also, the volume of water pouring into the enclosed rock chamber (at least on this trip bracketed by rainfall) appears to create a pressure differential that pushes air out with considerable velocity (hence the descriptive name) making it unpleasant to stick your head around the corner (especially if you’re fond of the baseball cap you’re wearing).


Rodney Falls


Rodney Falls again



Walking through the woods on a nice trail, it suddenly struck me just how nice trails are. I noticed the densely packed trees functioning as warp threads for tightly woven ‘filling’ threads of under and over brush.


Without a trail, it would probably take someone capable of bench-pressing 400 pounds to have a chance at breaking a path through the forest.


However tall Hamilton Mt. is turns out to be just about where the viable snow-level was.



On nearby Table Mountain, snow gives the impression that it is retreating upward.



When snow melts and retreats to higher altitudes, there is always a danger that animated snowmen who are not paying attention may be trapped on small mountaintops unable to reach the permanent snowfields of the guardian peaks. Such a fate may have befallen the two snowmen marooned on the basalt outcropping pictured above. I admired how the two snow-people stoically accepted their fate. They seemed to stand in awe before the return of the color green. They stood side by side until the very end, seemingly confident in their belief that all snowmen will one day be resurrected when the temperature drops below 32 degrees Fahrenheit.



Click on image for slightly larger version



On rare occasions, it is even now still possible to witness the massive snowman migration that heralds the end of winter in these parts. Note the powder kicked up by thousands of stampeding snowmen.





Monday, March 10, 2008

Pictures on the Verge of Spring

Lower Lacamas Creek – Below the Lower Falls – 03-08-08






Pothole Falls – Lower Lacamas Creek – 03-08-08





A Rivulet of Lower Lacamas Creek – Under the Bridge – 03-08-08





Same Rivulet 03-08-08





Pluralism – Lower Lacamas Creek Trail – 03-08-08





Delivering Leaflets – Lower Lacamas Creek Trail – 03-08-08






The Point – Kelley Point Park – 03-01-08





A Single Cloud – Kelley Point Park – 03-01-08





Detail of a Tree – Smith and Bybee Lakes – 03-02-08





Awakening Iris – Smith and Bybee Lakes – 03-02-08






Puffy Thing with Bug – Smith & Bybee Lakes – 03-02-08






Ravaged Time – Lost Creek – Oregon Coast – 02-24-08





Time Capsule – Lost Creek – Oregon Coast – 02-24-08






Time Traveler – Lost Creek – Oregon Coast – 02-24-08





Three Tenors – Newport Bay – 02-24-08






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