I found this calcedony nodule on North Beach about a week ago. The lines in it are layers laid down over years and years, as the mineral crystals lined a space and precipitated. The different colors in the stripes mean different impurities. This is one of the biggest pieces that I’ve found on the beaches here.
Our local lions are sea lions! I don’t think of sea lions as being good tempered, with the movies of them chasing prey. But out of the water in the sun off of Marrowstone Island, they seem pretty calm and I did not see displays of bad temper.
Sea lions can dive more deeply than seems reasonable because they slow their heart rates, to use less oxygen, and slow digestion. When they arrive back on the surface, they can get oxygen quickly but getting rid of the CO2 is slower. They have to sit around on the surface and the head back posture helps. I’ll bet they can beat any high school or college student in a burping contest. And as you can see, some of these are just huge. We wondered how they got on the rock. Do they have to at low tide or do they just jump?
I do like to hear them roar. Hooray for our local lions.
I take this climbing Mount Townsend with my son and a friend in 2017. We are up high enough to see a sea of clouds over the sound and the mountains on the other side.
This is in June, so the robins are back: tree toppers.
Merle is in his tiny cabin. The cabin far away in the woods. He is holding his guitar. When he realizes where he is, he puts down the guitar, carefully.
He hears crashing outside right away.
He looks. Bear. It rises onto it’s back feet. It is a sow, with cubs! Three!
No, thinks Merle, two cubs. And: “Kurt!” he yells, “Run!”
Kurt just looks at him and turns back to the cubs. The sow is looming outside. This is wrong, why isn’t she attacking Kurt? Kurt is pushing and wrestling the cubs, who are large.
The sow knocks on the cabin wall. “Merle?” says the sow.
Merle doesn’t say a word. This is all wrong.
“Merle?” says the sow bear. She is talking in bear noises but it’s also words in his head. “Well,” says the sow, “you said you could read my mind.”
Merle does not answer. He shakes his head. “Kurt.” he whispers.
The sow bangs on the wall again with a great paw. “You said you’d always be my friend. I miss hiking with you. The rest of it, forget it. Phone, texting, the other stuff. Let’s just hike.”
Merle remains still.
The sow drops to all fours and then sits, her front paws on her back paws. The forest is greening at the tips of the conifers. The grass is electric green from the rain. Kurt and the cubs roll around. Kurt looks ok, really.
“I gave it 50/50 from the start,” says the sow. It’s a meditative growl, if that can be imagined. “I thought you could choose. It was a lie that you could read my mind. You read what you wanted to read. I let you. I thought you’d either keep your promise or break it. I thought you could choose, but maybe I am wrong. Maybe that’s the thing about trying to control other people: if you realize that they are not controlled, you never speak to them again.” The bear rocks forward and back a little. She does not look cute. She looks lethal and smells like bear.
Her mouth opens wide and tongue lolls. “After all, I think people can change and you think they can’t. If you change, then I am right.” She coughs. Merle realizes that it’s laughter.
One of the cubs barrels into her, rolling. She swats it away. Kurt is right behind the cub, but she catches him. She sets him aside, standing up.
“Up to you,” says the bear. She turns towards the woods to the north. Kurt gives a wave and he and the cubs scramble after her.
Merle struggles out of the dream like a diver coming up from the deepest possible dive. “Kurt,” he says, “you said you’d come back and tell me the truth.” He shudders and gets up.
Today in the Salish Sea, it is 7.9 to 9.1 degrees C. I do not want to swim in it, though I have a neighbor that swims in it year round.
Yesterday the sun came out, so I hurry to Chetzemoka Park and down to the beach. I walked towards Point Hudson. The brandt are there. They need time on shore and we are supposed to leave them alone, but a tourist walked out the point. I promptly sat down with my camera in the sand, because the brandt left the point and came over to me. It’s the closest I’ve been to them.
Brandt make a noise that’s half chuckle and half purr. It’s a really nice sound. They were dabbling to feed. They are geese. More here. These are migrating to Alaska nesting grounds, but they feed along the shoreline. They are smaller than Canada geese and do not show up in our parks.
Eventually I got up and moved back down the beach slowly. They did not spook. I think there was quite a bit of Brandt community flirting and arguing going on.
Logs? No logs here. I came in on the waves and people seem to enjoy my company. I do enjoy responding to people, but when it’s time I will leave on the waves as well.
Discover and re-discover Mexicoβs cuisine, culture and history through the recipes, backyard stories and other interesting findings of an expatriate in Canada
Engaging in some lyrical athletics whilst painting pictures with words and pounding the pavement. I run; blog; write poetry; chase after my kids & drink coffee.
Refugees welcome - FlΓΌchtlinge willkommen I am teaching German to refugees. Ich unterrichte geflΓΌchtete Menschen in der deutschen Sprache. I am writing this blog in English and German because my friends speak English and German. Ich schreibe auf Deutsch und Englisch, weil meine Freunde Deutsch und Englisch sprechen.
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