A Palm Victory at Hand

An important victory over palm oil is so close we can almost touch it.

Two months ago, I blogged about the Sumatran Orangutan Society's (SOS) Rainforest Home campaign, which seeks to raise funds to buy a strategic piece of land and restore it from palm-oil plantation to native rainforest. SOS broke the fundraising for the $1.1 million purchase into three phases. They hit their first two installment goals and now need just another $350,000 to secure the land. Check out the video below to learn more about the campaign.



As mentioned in the video, the plantation SOS seeks to purchase has strategic value even beyond its boundaries. Of course, the plantation land will benefit from restoration and give native species more room to live. However, the property would also serve as a buffer between development and pristine rainforest. That makes this last $350,000 invaluable.

SOS needs the final installment of fundraising by the end of February. If you are looking for causes for end-of-year donations or perhaps want to start 2019 on a hopeful note, please consider chipping in for this campaign. Here is the link to donate.

Let's not allow this victory over palm oil to slip through our fingers.

The Art of Me 2: A Picture-Perfect Frame

I've been framed, and based on what I recently learned about frames, I think that's a pretty good development.

Around the Cape in the original matte.

When I purchased a print by Pacific Northwest artist Elton Bennett in August, I blogged about how I saw my perspective in Bennett's work. That alignment of viewpoints helped convince me to buy a print of his Around the Cape. I had the print framed last month, and Olympia Framemakers did such a great job, I see myself in the frame as well.

The key to the frame was finding the right matte for the print's perspective. Because the print already had a white matte when I bought it, I initially planned to just buy a frame for it. However, I knew the white matte didn't work with the print as well as other colors might. Olympia Framemakers explained that the matte and frame should mesh with the perspective an artist provides for a piece of art and suggested black or dark green matte to better match the colors of my print. I liked the dark green and had them use it to replace the original matte when they framed the art in a black frame.

Around the Cape in a dark green matte and
black frame by Olympia Framemakers.

As soon as I saw the finished product, I knew Olympia Framemakers had created a perfect frame for Around the Cape. The new matte supported all the colors in the print by letting them be as Bennett intended. As a result, the effect of the print expanded into the matte like someone stretching out in their bed. By extension, because I had identified with the print from the beginning, I could see myself in the matte too. The dark green felt like the Pacific Northwest, like home, like an essential part of me. I couldn't be happier with the work by Olympia Framemakers. For more information about them, check out their Web site.

In having my Bennett print framed, I learned that a perfect frame liberates as well as it contains.

Last Call

As Election Day nears, the time for talk fades, giving way to action.

My vote for I-1631 has been accepted for tabulation.

Washingtonians heard the call all summer and into the fall: Take action on global warming by passing Initiative 1631. News reports, political ads, letters to the editor, phone calls, yard signs--the arguments for the initiative have sounded for months.

All that ends on Tuesday. With many ballots already returned by voters and the deadline for returns looming at 8 p.m. on November 6, not much remains to say about the initiative.

That makes this my last call. It's a call to do something great, a call to protect our health and our environment, a call for a better future, a call to make history, a call to action.

My fellow Washingtonians, please vote yes on I-1631 and return your ballot by Tuesday's deadline. Thank you.

This is It

When I talk to people about environmental issues like global warming, they often ask, "But what can I do?" Right now, my answer to my fellow Washingtonians is to vote for Initiative 1631.

Now is the time to act on global warming.

Today's political atmosphere and the size of environmental issues can make us feel powerless to affect change. However, I-1631 is our chance to do something big and effective, and with ballots arriving this week, the time to pass it is now.

The moment I heard about the initiative, I knew I wanted to help pass it. I joined the campaign because I wanted to make a difference on this important issue. I've blogged about it here, here, here, here, here, and here because I believe in its ability to keep us healthy, protect our environment, and move our state toward a better future. 

Now, as Washington state pollster Stuart Elway says, "It's on the cusp." Elway's poll, conducted in the first week of October, shows the initiative leading, 50-36, with 14 percent undecided. That means two things: (1) It can win, and (2) our votes can put it over the top. It doesn't get much more empowering than that.

For Washingtonians, this is it, the answer to that persistent question and the moment of choice. We have our opportunity to do something amazing to address global warming. We can take action and make real change happen. If you are a Washington voter, please vote yes on I-1631 when you receive your ballot. Thank you with all of my heart.

Taking Palm Matters into Their Own Hands

As palm-oil companies continue to grab up land, including areas in national parks, despite the pleas of environmental advocates, groups like the Sumatran Orangutan Society (SOS) have begun taking the matter into their own hands.

For years, we've heard about the awful impacts of palm-oil plantations. They clear out rainforest and replace it with monoculture oil palm trees, displacing the native wildlife and destroying entire ecosystems.

Despite the growing awareness and campaigns designed to persuade international corporations from using palm oil, more and more rainforest disappears in the name of greed. The corporations continue to drag their feet, watching as the forests go up in flames or fall by the chainsaw.

Instead of waiting any longer for the companies to do the right thing, environmental groups have started buying the plantations and restoring the land to its natural condition. The current campaign from SOS seeks to raise $1.1 million to purchase a plantation in Indonesia. Click here and watch the video below for more information. The video creatively uses characters from Disney's The Jungle Book.



The existence of rainforest ecosystems and the wildlife that live in them is in our hands; corporations are too busy snatching land and cash to protect them.

The Cost of Cheap Lies

Money can't buy honesty (no surprise there), but apparently, it can't afford very good lies either.

Having already designated more than $20 million of its money to oppose Initiative 1631, the fossil fuel industry began sending out misleading mailers last month. That the industry would attempt to use its wealth to fund a misinformation campaign against an initiative seeking to regulate carbon emissions shouldn't shock anyone. It's totally consistent with the past actions of these corporations. What does catch my attention is the cheap quality of the lies against the initiative.

In the past, the fossil fuel industry concocted elaborate stories to stoke uncertainty about global warming. These stories were lies, and the coal, oil, and gas companies' own scientists told them so at the time, but at least, the industry put in some work to fabricate them. As a result, the deceptions worked for a long time and continue to impact us today. We're still paying for their cost with pollution that threatens our health, the environment, and the future of all species on this planet.

The truth is that promoting alternative energy through I-1631
is better than anything the fossil fuel industry has to sell.

By comparison, the industry's lies against I-1631 have such little substance, the Union of Concerned Scientists (UCS) hardly had to break a sweat in refuting them here. To illustrate the flimsy nature of these lies, let me spotlight a few examples from the piece by the UCS. First, the fossil fuel industry argues that the initiative exempts a coal plant near Centralia, Washington. Pointing to this exemption, they suggest the initiative won't work. Yet they neglect to mention that the plant will close in 2025 and that the agreement to shutter it requires any climate legislation in the state to exempt it until its closure. The industry also says that the initiative calls for a "carbon fee" instead of a "carbon tax" to mislead voters. The truth is that it must be called a fee to ensure the money raised from it goes to the correct projects. If it were called a tax, the money would go to the state's general fund and could be used for anything, not just for projects like promoting renewable energy and helping low-income people deal with the effects of global warming. 

Though weak, those half-truths and false assertions aren't even the lamest of the bunch. The opponents of the initiative say it has no oversight. In truth, I-1631 would institute a 15-person public board to oversee its implementation. The oversight and accountability are right there in the language of the initiative! Make sure to read the whole article from the UCS to see each lie from the fossil fuel industry refuted.

By the fossil fuel industry's own standards, and despite the millions of dollars behind them, the lies these corporations spread against I-1631 are extremely cheap; but if they work, they'll be very costly for our planet and our health. Don't buy them.

Falling up the Mountain

The higher they are, the harder they fall.

In the lowlands of western Washington, the signs of autumn (the smells, the cooler temperatures, the September rains, the greening grass, the mist on the spider webs, the coloring leaves) started appearing a few weeks ago. They have gradually built momentum in the temperate climate, and I have enjoyed watching their development. At the same time, I have kept an eye on the webcams at Mount Rainier, waiting for the chance to see the intense colors of the mountain's fall foliage in person. Those colors really began to pop this week, so my mom and I headed up for a hike on Thursday.

We received a few autumnal previews on the drive to the mountain. The morning fog sure suggested fall, and near the Ohop Valley, we started seeing trees dressed in golden leaves.

Inside Mount Rainier National Park, I could feel excitement welling up inside me. Pine scent hovered heavily at Longmire. The cliffs above the Nisqually River Valley revealed hints of the sights to come at the higher elevations. Bright reds and yellows flared on the gray rocks, and it soon became clear that we had timed the fall transformation of the mountain just about perfectly.

Fall painting a stunning scene at Mount Rainier.

We started the hike at the Reflection Lakes with the scenery above at Paradise our destination. On the trail, we saw increasing evidence of fall. The leaves of Cascade blueberries appeared in purples and reds, the nuthatches chattered joyously while spilling the contents of tree cones down around us, and the pine scent intensified. Near the halfway point, the meadows started to open up with patches of bright colors and views of the mountain. Each spot built on the beauty of the last. The fall grew more forceful the higher we went. Then came the radiant blast at Paradise. Fueled by the midday sun, the full reds, oranges, and yellows lit up the area around the Henry M. Jackson Visitor Center and the Paradise Inn and blazed across the slopes to the east.

Having gone up there in pursuit of this concentrated burst of fall, I felt almost staggered by happiness. Two of my most cherished things, the fall and Mount Rainier, came together in stunning perfection; and as those autumn colors washed over the side of that mountain, they took a hold on my heart so tight that I suspect they'll never relinquish it.

Going up is a pretty good way to fall.

Sandhills and Mountains

I saw four volcanoes yesterday, and they weren't even the biggest sightings of the day.

One of the sandhill cranes that flew over as I walked the
Kiwa Trail at the Ridgefield National Wildlife Refuge.

The drive to and from the Ridgefield National Wildlife Refuge had views of Mount Rainier, Mount St. Helens, Mount Adams, and Mount Hood. That, by itself, is enough to make a day remarkable. At the refuge, however, I logged my very first sighting of sandhill cranes, turning remarkable into breathtaking.

Yesterday's spectacular views began to take shape several weeks ago when I visited the Web site of the Black Hills Audubon Society. They had planned a trip to the refuge at Ridgefield with the hope of seeing some sandhill cranes. Previously unaware that the cranes visited the refuge, I became interested in making my own trip there. With birders reporting sightings of the cranes at Ridgefield over the weekend and with sunny weather coming this week, I made up my mind to go. I'm so happy I did.

Mount St. Helens watching over the
Ridgefield National Wildlife Refuge.

On the drive to Ridgefield, a haze shrouded the Cascade Mountains, hiding Mount Rainier, but the three volcanoes to its south proudly made their appearances as my mom and I neared our destination. The towering giants served as an exciting prelude to what the refuge had in store for us. We heard the sandhill cranes before we saw them, and then, after photographing a green heron and some cedar waxwings at the beginning of the Kiwa Trail, we sighted our first group of cranes about a third of the way down the trail. Never having seen a sandhill crane in person before, I felt like I had just discovered some priceless artifact. As we continued down the trail, another group of cranes flew over head, we saw a great egret, and Mount St. Helens peeked over the hill. We had amazing sights all around, and at the center of it, I found those cranes and the sense that they had given me an experience everyone should have at some point in life. Something special exists in those birds, a charisma and a power that compels us to take notice.

Before leaving the refuge, we also saw a pied-billed grebe. After lunch in Ridgefield, we began our return trip. Mount St. Helens, Mount Adams, and Mount Hood remained out for viewing, and Mount Rainier finally presented itself.

Four volcanoes, three birds added to my 2018 list, which now stands at 124 species, and, to top it all off, my first sighting of sandhill cranes: a day to remember for sure.

Red (Sky) Means Go on Carbon Regulation

Judging by the sun, I can tell it's time for the regulation of carbon emissions.

Smoke from wildfires turning the morning sun
an eerie red on August 22 in Washington state.

Once a rare sight, sunlight turned hazy red from wildfire smoke has become a consistent feature of Pacific Northwest summers in the last decade. This year, it colored much of August in Washington state, bringing with it hazardous air quality and oppressively low visibility. Suffocating and disorienting, the smoke and the hellish scene it created set off a flight mechanism in the back of my mind. It didn't feel safe, and I wanted to get out of it.

Besides suggesting a need to flee, the flashing red light of smoke-filtered sun carries another message for Washington residents in 2018: Go! And by that, I mean it's a sign to go forward on the regulation of carbon emissions by enacting Initiative 1631.

As I've blogged about before, I-1631 regulates carbon emissions by placing a fee on the big polluters responsible for the majority of those emissions, disincentivizing the use of fossil fuels. It also funds renewable energy and prepares Washington's communities for the effects of global warming, effects like increasingly difficult wildfire seasons and the smoke that accompanies them.

When we're filling out our ballots for this November's election, let's remember the red skies of August and go enact I-1631.

Going the Extra Mile for Hiking Comfort

Although I've substantially improved my hiking experience in recent years with key purchases such as trekking poles and UV-protective clothing, last fall, I decided to go a bit further by picking up a pair of compression tights.

My new compression tights on a hike at Mount Rainier.

I probably could have continued doing just fine on hikes without the Elite MCS Compression Tights from the company 2XU. The trekking polls I bought last year have taken a lot of stress off my legs; the light, UV-protective shirts and shorts I've accumulated over several seasons have made hiking in even hot, sunny conditions more enjoyable; and I always have sunscreen with me for the parts of my legs not covered by shorts and socks.

Having used the compression tights on hikes this summer though, I would never hike without them again. They lived up to their promises of UPF 50+ sun protection and improved muscle performance and recovery. Additionally, I noticed an almost total loss of stress on my knees, and the tights didn't make me overheat.

The tights' effects went a long way in enhancing my hiking comfort. My legs remained fresh during the hikes, and even after a 12-mile day hike at Mount Rainier, I felt ready for more. On days after hikes, I experienced much less soreness and stiffness than usual. For more information about the compression tights I purchased, click here.

Sometimes, going the extra mile leads to a better trip.

The Art of Me

I am not an artist, but that didn't stop me from recognizing a big part of myself in the art of Elton Bennett.

Sea Birds Cry by Elton Bennett.

For a while, I've wanted to put some art of the Pacific Northwest on my wall, so some prints of Bennett's work caught my eye as I ate lunch at the Ocean Crest Resort on a recent trip to the beach at Moclips, Washington. They presented familiar scenes of the Washington coast in the soft, shadowy colors so common in the PNW.

Alone, the scenes in Bennett's work would have supplied me with enough interest for further research, but they also possessed a quality I knew I liked. After returning home and starting my investigation, I learned that Bennett had been a native of the Grays Harbor area in Washington, growing up and living not far from my hometown. That certainly struck a chord with me. The area had inspired much of his work, and I saw the care he had for some of the same things and places I grew up loving.

My photograph of a clam tide on January 2, 2015.

It wasn't just that Bennett's art portrayed a place I cared about though. As I examined his pieces in more detail, I discovered some of my own perspective in them. Many of his works emphasize the natural scene over human figures. Some contain no people at all. In those where people are present, the scenery often dwarfs the human, or the shadows or half-light blur them into the setting. I take photographs in much the same way. In fact, his piece Sea Birds Cry, which depicts the silhouettes of people digging clams against the blue-gray of the ocean and sky, recalled to mind some clam-tide pictures I took in 2015.

After conducting my research, I knew Bennett's art was the kind I wanted on my wall. I bought a print of Around the Cape, which beautifully expresses the essence of the coast on Washington's Olympic Peninsula. For more information about Bennett and his art, click here.

Although I could not have produced Bennett's art, its subject matter and perspective at least make me feel like it was created for me.

Powering to the Ballot

With the promise of decreasing pollution and making investments in Washington state's communities and clean energy, Initiative 1631 vaulted to the November 2018 ballot behind the energetic support of more than 375,000 signatures.

As this tweet from the Yes on 1631 campaign announces, on August 3, I-1631 received official certification for the ballot from Washington's secretary of state. Needing only 260,000 signatures to qualify, the broad coalition sponsoring the initiative sent a powerful message by collecting nearly one and a half times that in less than four months.

Just qualifying for the ballot carries a certain amount of momentum, but the large total of signatures that made I-1631's certification possible indicates a high level of energy behind this important initiative. It's the kind of strength that can fortify and propel the initiative as it moves toward the election this fall.

Clearly, Washingtonians want to address global warming, and I-1631 provides a practical and effective way of doing so. By putting a fee on carbon pollution from the fossil fuel industry, the initiative discourages carbon emissions, provides funds that help communities cope with the effects of global warming, and invests in renewable sources of energy. For more information, visit the campaign's Web site.

I-1631 seeks to change how we power our society, and it's using the power of people to make that happen.

Taking the Road Ahead

Too often we let the road take us somewhere instead of taking it where we want to go, but a new project from Conservation Northwest goes the other way.

Looking to take the next step in the journey that began with the successful plan to put wildlife passages on Interstate 90 at Snoqualmie Pass, Conservation Northwest has proposed another wildlife underpass. This one, located on Highway 97 in remote Okanogan County, has a twist with the potential to spread throughout Washington state and allow us to go in important new directions.

In response to the more than 350 mule deer killed by automobiles on Highway 97 every year, Conservation Northwest has brokered a deal with the Washington State Department of Transportation (WSDOT) to construct one wildlife underpass on the road. If the environmental organization can raise $125,000 through its Okanogan Wildlife Crossing Campaign by the end of 2018, WSDOT will build the underpass, hopefully sparking the state legislature to provide funding for additional crossings in the future. I donated to the campaign yesterday. To learn more about the project and see how you can contribute to the campaign, click here.

Beyond Conservation Northwest's single underpass or the intent to expand that project in the coming years, the efforts to connect habitat through wildlife crossings represent a greater undertaking. They set a course toward enacting a vision of how people can best interact with the environment. As the video below demonstrates, Conservation Northwest realizes that vision through tangible results (like those already seen at Snoqualmie Pass) that reshape and improve our entire state. It's a great lesson in how to take a proactive approach while navigating our social and environmental challenges.



Projects like the Highway 97 wildlife crossing are more than just ways of getting from one point to another; they are opportunities to take the road into the future to the place we really want to be.

Reframing a Bad Break

When the frames on my 22-year-old sunglasses shattered, it almost broke my heart, but my search for new glasses turned up an option with a social conscience and an environmental focus.

My old sunglasses meant a lot to me. I graduated four times while I had them, and they accompanied me to Europe twice. I even blogged about them last year. Most importantly, their longevity helped me limit my consumerism. All told, they became a part of me; so when I dropped them accidentally in March and looked down to see them in pieces, I experienced a moment of shock. I just couldn't believe it. Then, after the surprise wore off, I was sad that I'd never wear them again.

Faced with the task of buying new sunglasses for the first time in two decades, I determined to make the purchase as environmentally friendly as possible. Something made from recycled and recyclable materials was preferable. I did an Internet search, and Treehugger.com gave me a list of companies that made the kind of glasses I wanted.

The environmental focus of my search paid off with a pair of glasses made by Proof Eyewear from sustainably sourced wood and recycled aluminum. They are 100 percent recyclable, and the company will take them back for recycling if the time comes that I can't wear them anymore. On top of that, the company also donates a portion of its profits to charity. It all made for a very satisfying purchase; and I look forward to a long partnership and lots of great experiences with my new optical companions. To learn more about Proof Eyewear and check out their products, click here.

Although it hurt when my old sunglasses broke, choosing a sustainable replacement for them made me feel a little better.

My Change, Our Change, Climate Change

From making a change to affecting change, I've spent a lot of early 2018 focused on change, a point of emphasis that will surely continue through at least the rest of the year; but really, these changes have been a long time coming and are part of a much larger change.

During the last five years, I taught and conducted research at the University of South Dakota. I enjoyed the job and met so many great people in the process. On the downside though, it took me away from my beloved Pacific Northwest. Over time, I felt a growing need to return to my home region, and I also experienced the urge to have greater and more direct involvement in efforts to affect change and bring about needed action on environmental issues like global warming. Eventually, I reached the conclusion that I needed to make a change happen in my life if I really wanted to act on those desires, so I submitted my resignation at USD in January.

The winds of change need a little push.

When I announced my resignation, I had no other job waiting for me. That uncertainty scared me a little, but I knew I had made the right decision. Then, in early March, a coalition of environmental groups in Washington state announced an initiative to regulate carbon emissions, and I knew just as clearly that I wanted to participate in the campaign for the initiative. It was my chance to help affect the changes we need to make in our society if we are going to address global warming effectively, and because of the changes I'd made in my professional life, I could commit wholeheartedly to the campaign. The Nature Conservancy played a key role in putting together the initiative, officially listed as Initiative 1631, so I reached out to them. Happily and proudly, I can now announce that I will be writing copy for the Yes on 1631 campaign.

It's no secret that global warming and the changes it's bringing to the planet have been on my mind for a while. I wrote my dissertation on newspaper coverage of the issue; this blog contains numerous posts dedicated to it, particularly to the alarming changes I've seen in the Pacific Northwest in recent years; and for the last ten years, I have either walked to work or taken the bus. In short, global warming has changed my life, ingraining itself in my emotions, decision-making, and actions. Now, I am excited that I have an opportunity to help bring about social change on the issue.

Times don't change themselves; people have to make those changes happen on individual, societal, and planetary levels.

Numbering the Days of Carbon

Wind turbines producing renewable
energy at Vantage, Washington.

The number to watch for this year in Washington state is I-1631.

As I blogged about in March, a coalition of environmental groups, including The Nature Conservancy, has submitted an initiative to regulate carbon emissions in the state. That initiative now has an official number: Initiative 1631.

I-1631 would regulate carbon emissions by imposing a pollution fee on industries that emit carbon dioxide. It represents an important first step toward limiting the emissions that cause global warming.

Volunteers have already fanned out across the state to gather the signatures needed to put I-1631 on the ballot in November. I signed at the Glacial Heritage Preserve on this year's Prairie Appreciation Day. So be on the lookout for signs of I-1631 and people collecting signatures for it, and please consider adding your signature to the list.

Let's make sure carbon's days are numbered.

Locating Co-Presence: It's in the Journal

Anyone looking for co-presence with the environment can find it in the academic journal Environmental Communication.

After several years of work, "Locating Co-presence in Media Messages about Global Warming," the research paper I wrote with Dr. Michael Salvador, has finally received publication in Environmental Communication.

I last blogged about this paper when the journal accepted it in early 2016. In the meantime, the article appeared in the online version of the journal. However, this publication in Volume 12 Issue 3 of the hard-copy version makes the acceptance feel more real.

As I celebrate the publication, I would like to thank Dr. Salvador for all his work and help on this project. Hopefully, our paper can make a contribution to the ways we analyze and produce environmental communication. The objective always was to improve the relationship people have with the environment. If you would like to access the article, click here.

We can find co-presence with our environment in how we talk and the actions we take, and now, we can find it in Environmental Communication.

It's in the Air

An unmistakable sense of change builds in the air of Washington state as its residents take on carbon emissions.

The snowpack vanishes from the
Tatoosh Range in the heat of 2015.

Ordinarily, a setback will blow a movement off course or, at least, stall it, but we aren't living in ordinary times. Almost as soon as Washington state legislators reported their failure to deliver a carbon-tax law last week, environmental groups, with the wind at their backs, announced a new initiative for a similar carbon tax. Already fully detailed and sponsored by a coalition that includes The Nature Conservancy, Climate Solutions, Washington Conservation Voters, and the Washington Environmental Council, the ballot initiative will now seek the signatures necessary to place it on the ballot in November.

The speed of the response to the legislative disappointment suggests the strength of Washingtonians' commitment to addressing global warming. Polling in this report from Sightline Institute supports this conclusion, showing that a supermajority of state residents back the regulation of carbon pollution.

Setbacks like this year's attempt to push for legislative action and the defeat of Initiative 732 in 2016 appear to have bolstered the resolve for carbon regulation and fine-tuned efforts to make it happen. This latest initiative balances the needs for clean energy, ecosystem protection, and aid for humans adjusting to changes related to climate and the economy. For more information about the initiative, click here.

In Washington state, something's in the air and in the people too, and it promises to change the current system that spews carbon into our atmosphere.

Redrawing Our Relationship With Spiders

For many people, the feelings they have about spiders form a tangled web of repulsion, fear, and hate, but animator Joshua Slice has set out to shape a new perspective on these eight-legged wonders.

Using a jumping spider as his model, Slice created Lucas the spider, an animated Internet sensation. The adorable Lucas, voiced by Slices's five-year-old nephew, challenges arachnophobia by striking an engaging tone, which is exactly what the animator intended. To see Lucas and learn more about Slice's approach to creating him, watch the video below:



Lucas represents a smart blend of strategies from animation and environmental communication. First, Slice animated the spider so that it closely resembles a real jumping spider. It also moves like a real spider. The differences between art and life appear subtly. Although he has four large eyes like his counterpart in nature (real jumping spiders have a total of eight eyes but four large ones), Lucas possesses a more doe-eyed look. This gives him a less intimidating presence as does his young voice.

The changes Slice makes from real jumping spiders anthropomorphize Lucas only slightly, allowing people to connect with this eight-legged ambassador without making him so cartoonish that people can't associate him with actual spiders. As environmental communication scholar Julia Corbett argues, although anthropomorphizing contains drawbacks, when used strategically and minimally, it can help people better relate to animals and our environment. Early audience reactions suggest that Slice achieved that balance in an effective way.

With animation like Lucas, perhaps we'll untangled ourselves from our phobia of spiders and start to weave a better relationship with them.

A Picture of Regret

The picture that's worth a thousand words assumes a heavier price when not taken.

For the last two and a half years, a picture I did not take in August 2015 has bothered me. The regret stems not from some beautiful missed sunset or mountain scene but rather from the awful image of dead seabirds washed up on the coast of Washington state. In the past, I have blogged about the disturbing experiences I had with global warming during the summer of 2015, and I have even mentioned that I saw the seabird carcasses, but this will be my first post dedicated specifically to those birds.

I saw the dead birds at Roosevelt Beach, their bodies half-buried in the sand and mixed with ocean debris at the high-water mark. The effects of the summer's unusual weather had already disoriented and disconcerted me. The heat, drought, and fires presented me with a Pacific Northwest I hardly recognized but for which I grieved deeply. Going to the beach seemed like a good way to escape the oppressive conditions, and although the ocean breeze made things cooler, seeing the dead birds added to my alarm. At the time, I didn't know what kind of birds they were, and I didn't realize the connection between the heat and their deaths. As it turned out, they were common murres, and the warming of the Pacific Ocean depleted their food sources, starving them into a mass die-off up and down North America's west coast.

A common murre swims in the surf off
Roosevelt Beach in August 2015.

A thought of taking a picture to capture the sad image crossed my mind, but I hesitated and ultimately decided not to snap it. I can't pinpoint the exact reason I didn't take it, but I remember feeling sad and confused about the sight before me. The birds' unceremonious demise made me question whether I wanted to or even should keep a photographic memory of it. I felt powerless and ashamed too. So I walked past without giving them the recognition they warranted. All I ended up with was a shot of a live common murre swimming in the surf just beyond the dead bodies of its kin. It's a haunting image in its own way--dark, lacking detail, and showing the bird looking into a vast ocean of uncertainty.

Regardless of why I didn't photograph the carcasses, I know I wish I had taken that picture of them. I should have recorded the moment. Because of what those birds went through, they deserved having their fate documented in the hopes that it would inspire people to prevent more die-offs from happening in the future. Additionally, the photo would have added another piece to the larger picture of what global warming, fueled by human activity, does to this planet.

The picture of those dead murres never made it to my camera, but the memory of seeing them on the beach has stayed with me in vivid regret and led me to write these words in an attempt to make up for the omission. I suspect it isn't enough.

The Best of Us

The best of who we are emerges through our collective efforts to achieve shared dreams.

At Snoqualmie Pass on Interstate 90 in Washington state's Cascade Mountains, we can see the great things that happen when people come together in a public decision-making process and exercise their combined power to solve problems. Fittingly, that collaboration has produced work that both symbolizes and realizes the potential of connection.

Seeking to solve multiple problems, including avalanche danger, car collisions with wildlife, and ecosystem disruption, a far-reaching coalition of environmental groups, government agencies, lawmakers, and engaged citizens, planned out an extraordinary project. Through a series of road-widening strategies and plans for wildlife overpasses and underpasses, the coalition set in motion an intelligent and inspiring approach to transportation and habitat connectivity. The long and impressive work to bring that vision to life continues, but the fruits of the labor have already started appearing, and they are nothing short of awesome. To learn more about the entire project, check out Cascade Crossroads, the new documentary by Conservation Northwest:



Fragile as it is, confidence in ourselves and our public institutions deserves the best chance to flourish. When it is allowed to, it yields amazing results.

Projects like the I-90 wildlife overpasses and underpasses demonstrate the great things within our collective capacity when we offer our individual strengths to the work of a common dream.

A Mythical Event

With the right combination of anticipation, waiting, and surprise, some life events channel a magic so powerful that they become instantly and forever mythic.

Last weekend my favorite bird, the cedar waxwing, made one such event happen. It was something I had always hoped to see but wasn't looking for at the time.

My affinity for cedar waxwings goes well beyond my general liking of birds. We click. Social but free-spirited, subtle but with a unique style, peculiar but charismatic, these birds make their own rules and plumb a special joie de vivre. Anyone who pays attention can see them do amazing things.

Two cedar waxwings share a berry.

I've had plenty of opportunities to witness their behavior, and many of those occasions turned into cherished memories. I remember the day I first identified them as they fluttered through some Indian plum bushes in search of fruit; I remember sitting on the bank watching them hawk insects over a creek; I remember their whistles and trills by heart to the point that I instinctively respond to them with a smile and a look to see where the birds are. Usually, they're gobbling down fruits or berries, lounging cheerily together in a tree with their crests carelessly falling back over their heads, or flying off in effervescent earfuls to look for more berries.

For all my various encounters with them, before last Saturday, I had never seen them execute one of their most quintessential behaviors. Cedar waxwings will sit in groups or pairs and pass food, including berries, insects, and flower petals back and forth with their beaks until one of them decides to eat it. Sometimes, they do it as part of a mating ritual, and other times, they appear to do it just for fun. Whatever the reason, it helps define their nature as unique, social, and joyous birds.

Eager to see this sharing of food and long disappointed, I began to think I might not have the chance. It turned into something like the sasquatch (well, more like the auroras actually--some storied thing I knew existed but had never been in the right place at the right time to view in person). After a while, the reality of not seeing it pushed the hope of seeing it to the background. Then, last Saturday, I saw two waxwings in a bush along a walking path. As I started taking pictures, they leaned toward each other. Although blocked from the point of exchange, I knew exactly what I had just seen through the camera lens. The surprise and happiness of at last witnessing the pass of a berry from one bird to another locked the moment into my memory hard and in a way more clear than the picture I ended up taking. All the waiting and dashed hopes came together for an epic scene time can never take from me.

The stories of waxwings sharing berries are myths for me no longer, but my own experience with it sure seems mythical.

The Eternal Dance of Dark and Light

The greatness of some moments appears before they fully take shape and leaves its impact long after the sun sets on them.

Yesterday, I woke up early for some outdoor excursions, but I delayed my preparations when I looked out the window. No, the weather hadn't thrown me an obstacle. Rather, I could see some traces of the imminent sunrise in the clouds. I knew those hints contained the potential for something greater, so I grabbed the camera and positioned myself to capture what I thought might come.

The sun rises in eastern South Dakota.

My anticipation of the sunrise received a vibrant reward: a chance to see dark and light meet in unforgettable fashion. During the next 20 minutes, they swirled together in reds, oranges, yellows, pinks, purples, and blues. Clouds intertwined as those two great, contrasting forces, ancient partners who have done this for eons, embraced in the space of sky before me. With power and inspiration, they simultaneously lit up and shaded the world.

What I saw and photographed has remained with me in striking detail. I posted my pictures of it on Flickr, but that didn't seem sufficient. A need to articulate it in words drove me to more reflection and to make this entry.

Oh, what a fine, eternal dance the dark and light perform. How lucky we are to witness it even for the brief moment we're allowed.

It's My Party

Parties are fine, but they're no sunset at the beach.

This past New Year's Eve crystalized for me the realization that I prefer outdoor activities to traditional parties as ways to celebrate or mark occasions. I reached this determination on a clam-digging trip with my mom and uncle.

Traditional parties generate mixed emotions for me. I enjoy seeing friends and family, but I also consider parties somewhat constraining. Almost without fail, I find myself seeking some alone time to break away from the social confines. In addition, I'm not convinced that parties always serve as the best ways to celebrate. Once, I even remarked how hikes seemed like better ways to mark upcoming weddings than bachelor parties.

Roosevelt Beach celebrates the end
of 2017 with a resplendent sunset.

The clamming trip to Roosevelt Beach on New Year's Eve finally put all my feelings about parties together. Instead of celebrating 2017's end with a party, I took my camera to the beach, and while my mom and uncle dug clams, I photographed a brilliant sunset that had so many dazzling colors I could hardly decide where to look first. The light show had already begun when we parked on the beach. Excitedly, I pulled the camera from the bag, jumped out of the truck, and started snapping shots. The entire time the other two clammed, I took pictures, ending up with more than 120. Each photo seemed to capture some new color achievement produced by the interplay between the sun and the clouds. I smiled and smiled some more as I checked the images in the camera's viewer screen.

On the drive home, the contrast between what I had seen at Roosevelt Beach and the events of a traditional New Year's Eve party played out vividly. We saw people lighting off fireworks, and I couldn't help but feel how those colorful explosions paled in comparison to the sights I witnessed on the beach earlier that evening. The camera in the back seat now held images and memories a party could never have equaled.

With no party on the schedule, I went to bed before midnight. However, that allowed me to rise early and upload my beach pictures to Flickr. After accomplishing that task (you can see the full album here), I looked outside at first light and saw my first bird of 2018, an Anna's hummingbird. I really could not think of a better way for me to end one year and start another. I had watched the sun set on 2017 in astonishing fashion and seen it rise in 2018 with a feisty, energetic bird. It was nature from end to start, precisely who I am and how I experience this world.

Above all, I comprehended fully that it's my party, and I'll take photographs at the beach and watch birds at first light if I want to.