The Narrative Image

  Ruby and Gemma celebrate the end of the world in 2020 In August of 2021, as Summer rounded out the year with its characteristic spurt of heat, Oregon wildfires decided it was finally time to make their bid for infamy and proceeded to scorch the sky by burning 10 times the acreage they burned the previous year. Then, also, U.S. COVID-19 deaths surged past the 600,000 mark (currently 1,127,152) a year and a half after Trump economic advisor Larry Kudlow reassured the public, “We have contained this, I won’t say airtight, but pretty close to airtight. We have done a good job…”   Owhyee Canyonlands in 2021 The Southeast corner of Oregon had long been enticing Kip, Uncle Rico, and me ever since our introduction to Steens Mountain, and though we knew the area was isolated and often desert-like, we also reasoned that triple-digit temperatures somehow seemed more wholesome in an actual desert rather than urban Portland. Shifting winds modulated the atmosphere from opaque to hazy to ...

I don’t know how it started for sure. Some intrepid band of Homo sapiens maybe walked over a land bridge from Russia or navigated the seas in functional watercraft. Maybe, at first, they followed the easy paths provided by beaches or slow-moving rivers, living on a wealth of migrating fish and fowl. Fueled by the discovery of other resources, they cut trails into the land’s interior. If they succeeded, others followed. The trails became roads. Some roads are stable, while others are erased by encroaching rivers, covered by seasonal lakes or interrupted by landslides. Due to the vagaries of economics, some roads fall into disuse while others are appropriated and paved. All roads are contingent on their usefulness. Like a network of synapses growing in a brain, roads link us to memories. At the same time, they stretch ever outward, allowing us to reach the edges of the known — where ghosts still whisper and discoveries can yet be made. Uncle Rico thrives in the margins where roa...