FEARFULLY MADE: Notes from the Field

The Fearfully Made presentation went off pretty smoothly. Friends and family, some unexpected, sat through a whole worship service to see this audio visual foray on a beautiful sunny day (which offered lots of other recreational temptations). I was touched and honored by their support. I've incorporated the live recording of Shirley Brendlinger's piano arrangement (from Sunday's presentation) into a video version available now on YouTube.

Curious to know where some of the pictures in the presentation were taken? Unsure of what some of the pictures are? This annotated timeline might prove to be helpful.

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EARTH DAY, APRIL 22nd, 10 AM @ REEDWOOD FRIENDS CHURCH

Beauty from Chaos has been the working title for the presentation of images I’ve assembled over the last month, but the thing that sparked this endeavor in the first place was the night the Eagle Creek Fire sprinted down the Columbia Gorge with the capriciousness of a tornado, obliterating some treasured landmarks while leaving others unscathed. Standing in the smoky darkness atop the Cape Horn Viewpoint, I was awed and horrified all at the same time. While I knew that lives and the works of lifetimes were hanging in jeopardy, I also knew that beauty, whose loss I was mourning, was itself a product of volcanic ‘disasters’, geography altering super floods, tectonic-plate-level seismic events, and countless fires through the eons. Indeed, from a cosmic perspective, life was born from stars and it has contended with fire from the very beginning.

The Reedwood Friends have posted the publicity for FEARFULLY MADE: Notes From the Field on their website:

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FEARFULLY MADE: Notes From The Field is the second audio/video collaboration between photographer Scott Dietz and pianist Shirley Brendlinger. Scheduled to premiere on Earth Day, April 22nd, at Reedwood Friends Church (during the worship service), the presentation utilizes Scott’s images of the Pacific Northwest and Shirley’s classical music arrangements to explore a suspected correlation (albeit a paradoxical one) between chaos and beauty: Does beauty spring from chaos? Is chaos beautiful?

FEARFULLY MADE: Notes from the field

I was sitting at a funeral reading the verses to the Sending Hymn (sung to the tune of Beethoven’s Ode to Joy). “Field and forest, vale and mountain, flowery meadow, flashing sea, Chanting bird and flowing fountain, teach us what our praise should be.” And I thought to myself, that’s what I was trying to explain to Dwight, except that with Dwight, I was relating the story of a Catholic nun who was explaining to me that there was another gospel, the testament of nature — the Artist’s brushstrokes (as I’ve said before).

Implicit in my title, I’m suggesting that the pictures I’ve taken are my notes from the field (of study). I began with an assumption that beauty arises from chaos, but after reviewing my notes, I noticed that this does not always seem to be true, especially for some individual trees. So, in an effort to follow where the data leads, I’ve picked a title that I hope allows for the emergence of beauty from chaotic scenarios, but recognize (from my limited perspective) it’s not a sure thing.

I’ve divided the presentation into four segments. The first segment deals with Cosmology. I have to say that, on my budget, it is extraordinarily hard to take pictures of the beginning of the universe. I had to use lentils as stand-ins so technically, some of my ‘notes’ are re-iterations of other people’s notes. My intention, though, was to establish the context of our world by sharing the narrative that stretches from the ‘Big Bang’ to the development of human consciousness. It’s a fascinating story that stretches 13.7 billion years. I had to leave a few parts out.

The second segment deals with geology broadly, and volcanoes in particular. From the lava vents that repeatedly flooded Central Oregon with molten basalt, to our temperamental strato-volcanoes (all fueled by the activity of migrating, earthquake causing, tectonic plates) volcanism has played a significant role in the shaping of the Northwest as well as dictating how our environment works today. The land we stand on, the weather we experience, and the water we drink are all keenly related to the formation of the Cascade Range.

The third segment briefly touches upon evidence of Ice-age floods. After the land was in place, water and ice went to work sculpting its face. The failure of ice dams repeatedly allowed the sudden entirety of vast Missoula Lake to pour across Central Washington creating the scablands, incredible scooped out coulees, and hanging waterfalls. Much of the distinctiveness of the Columbia Gorge is dependent on these episodes when the river’s peak flow-rate was ten times the combined flow of all the rivers in the world.

The final segment centers on fires I’ve seen in the Columbia Gorge with some examples of what occurs in the aftermath.

It’s a conundrum. The world is unbelievably beautiful. And if you aren’t careful, it will kill you.

I have a confession. Sitting at funerals, I sometimes have a suspicion that my dead friends are truly dead — that there may not be a life everlasting.  As one who values the fruits of a scientific worldview, I long for evidence or proof. Out in the field, with my camera, I see hints. The repeating, renewing cycles of the seasons and perhaps even the cleansing, refining work of fire are patterns that suggest Nature is constantly recycled. And though I would like to fit into this pattern personally — to be renewed — I am afraid it is likely to be quite painful.

I have camped on an island that has all at once tried to exhaust, freeze and drown me. Alternately, the same island has cradled me in a warm summer evening while providing me with all the oysters and berries I could eat. It’s the same island — only my experience and understanding change. I guess that’s why, when my loved ones lie in their final repose, I sing (Well, O.K., I don’t really sing – I follow along in the hymnal) those relentlessly optimistic songs. It is an exercise of hope. It is faith that my unbelief will be helped. I latch on to the conviction that, “Brothers! Above the canopy of stars, must dwell a loving Father.”

In the meantime, the world is unbelievably beautiful.

Finally, I’d like to point out that I am not technically a Quaker and I would be remiss if I didn’t point out that the synthesis of ideas presented in this article are my own and do not necessarily represent the views of Quakers, real scientists or members of my family.

According to a very old story, God makes a wager with Satan and calamity soon befalls a good man named Job. Abandoned and in considerable pain, Job asks questions that occur to him, like why do the wicked go unpunished? There follows considerable debate among Job and his ‘friends’, but eventually, God speaks from out of a whirlwind and berates Job with a flurry of rhetorical questions.

Where is the home of the east wind?

Who cuts a channel for the torrents of rain?

Who laid out the path for the lightning?

Who makes the rain fall on barren land,

in a desert where no one lives?

Who sends rain to satisfy the parched ground

and make the tender grass spring up?

God seems displeased that Job has questioned his wisdom. God’s strategy seems to be to direct Job’s attention to His creation. “Where were you when I laid the foundations of the earth?” He asks.

In Fearfully Made: Notes From the Field, the audience will see the channels cut for the torrents of rain, the barren land where no one lives and the parched ground where tender grass springs up. What do these landscapes shaped by cataclysm reveal about the creator?

When I revealed the title to my presentation, I promptly received two emails from my Mom asserting that it’s, “…fearfully AND WONDERFULLY made.” She didn’t explain why this distinction was so important to her, but I suspect she wants to counter my emphasis on the fearful part and remind me that God is good. So without further ado…

My "Personal Relationship" with Smith & Bybee Lakes

Paint a man’s house and he’ll have a nice painted house for about four years.

But teach a man to paint and he’ll be able to make his canoe look like a fish.

-Old Chinese Proverb-

“So…” devil’s-advocate-Scott leads off, “…how do you have a personal relationship with a wetland area?”

“Well…” I reply, “…it isn’t quite as complicated as having an imaginary dialogue with yourself, or believing in an invisible living God who was executed (briefly) in a political dispute with first century Romans…but…I guess what I’m really describing is a certain familiarity with a physical area developed over time.”

“I see,” says devil’s-advocate-Scott (hereafter simply Rational Scott or R.S.), “you’re simply anthropomorphizing the wetland area.”

“I wish you wouldn’t be so dismissive.” I say, sensitive to the smug tones accenting Rational Scott’s immediate conclusion. I continue, “This metaphorical framework for relating to an ‘area’ as an organism may not be entirely unfounded – that is, it may lead to knowledge and understanding – I mean, it’s not out of the question…entirely?” The certitude with which I began my speech slowly dwindled away under Rational Scott’s scrutiny, his eyes laughing beneath comically furrowed brows. Sadly, what I hoped would be a statement finishes as a confidence-less question.

At this point, a wise man would probably just drop it…but it’s me after all, so I keep on talking.

Chris preparing to perform a magic trick – he’s going to make that beer disappear.

I guess you could say it all started when Chris stood up in his canoe to take a piss and tipped over into the water. This made him considerably less enamored with the canoe, and he ended up trading it for my Atari Jaguar, Sega Genesis, and 80 dollars cash. Those particular game consoles date the transaction to approximately 1995.

That’s about how long I’ve known Smith and Bybee Lakes.

That’s a pretty long relationship for me.

Metro’s kayak launch path – almost wholly underwater.

Over the years, I’ve become familiar with their many moods…and come to understand how they are affected by the seasons. For instance, right now, they’re burning the candle at both ends during these longest days of the year, and putting up with a serious water retention issue.

There’s a nature trail that loops around a short peninsula that juts in-between Smith Lake and Bybee Lake. This observation structure on the east (Smith) side of the peninsula is up to its handrail in water.

…and the path leading to it is also submerged.

When the region's winter supply of water is still tied up in the mountain snowpack, the trail looks more like this.

But this spring, melting snow and endless rain have resulted in a path that looks like this.

The bird-blind on the west (Bybee) side of the peninsula is also standing in water.

Comparison shot

Invasive species continually vie for dominance in an eco-system beset by the challenges of being in proximity to vast numbers of people. Despite weeks of flooding, purple loosestrife manages to keep its head above water.

Last year, some channels were completely clogged with it.

And other plant species worked at converting all the water to biomass.

As the importance of wetlands has become understood – its capacity for filtering and cleaning water, its contributions toward flood control and its ability to support diverse wildlife – Metro has made enlightened efforts to impose the seasonal variation of water levels on the area through the installation of a water control structure. While not a perfect science, they do their best to mimic the natural rhythms of seasonal wetlands.

This piece of ‘designed’ wood brings me the message that the water control structure is currently not exercising much control.

The water control structure is completely submerged on my 06-25-11 visit.

Water was already rushing into the lake from the Columbia slough as early as

04-02-11

In August of 2009, water levels were considerably lower.

One of the characters I met at Bybee Lake.

He used to tell better stories in his younger days, when he still had limbs for gesticulating.

Another invasive species – the yellow flag Iris.

These things may look delicate and fragile but are every bit as resilient as those broomsticks in The Sorcerer’s Apprentice.

The Force is strong with this one.

I think this is beautiful.

But I don’t know why I think it’s beautiful.

I used to wonder if maybe preferences for landscapes (lakescapes?) were written into our genetic code somehow – perhaps some instinct that leads us to environments rich with life. I tried to research it a little, but the general consensus is that, given our origins, we’d likely be attracted to landscapes that resemble Africa’s savannahs.

But then again, we have the capacity to supplement our ‘instincts’ with the memory of our experiences (plus those memories available to us from our cultures) and we can play the ‘what if’ game, like, what if I had a fishing pole, or what if there are deer trapped on that peninsula or …remember that last time I caught a big catfish…wasn’t it on blue water as smooth as this where startled carp slapped the bottom of the boat, just like they’re doing now?

The sun presses against the back of my neck with almost tangible fingers, intent on tanning my hide – that is, intent on converting it to leather. I paddle in-between the wading trees and float in the cool air beneath the forest canopy. Here where the trees respire, I feel as if I partake in the breath of life.

Volumes of air move purposefully across temperature and pressure gradients as the sun withdraws its face.

I look for the ribbon that marks my route through the trees to the shore.