For a second...

I'm back!

It's 12-12-13 and what better time to write a note that sums up the past few months. 

I've been taking a few college courses, a few online courses and in general trying to better myself.  

I try to take photos of the things that I see as I go about daily life, just to share.  This photo was taken just a few miles down the road from my home at a bend in the Youngs River where it was mirror-still and just before the sun breached the hills and set fire to the frosty landscape.  The colorful show lasted nearly an hour overall, but this was the beginning of the brightest phase.  

Times like this I'm just glad to be here.  Even my normally Kindle-consumed sons were inspired to look out the windows as I drove them to school.  

Crab season begins soon, so the boat will be out doing what it does best instead of consuming time and money sitting at the dock. 

There is much to do in the next few weeks, hectic, chaotic or frantic, that is probably the nature of the coming days and yet I will make time for peaceful moments such as these. 

 I hope anyone reading this also indulges this luxury we often take for granted so much as to exclude it from our lives completely.

“To be nobody but 
yourself in a world 
which is doing its best day and night to make you like 
everybody else means to fight the hardest battle 
which any human being can fight and never stop fighting.” 
― E.E. Cummings

My youngest son, Colton is going fishing for the first time.  He is so excited about it.  Of the three boys, he is the most into adventure and exploration of his world.  All three of the boys go out at this age.  I myself was fishing with my mom and step dad at eight years old. Their father was a fisherman early in his teens as well.  Tradition dictates that this is a good time to get your feet wet.

Big brother/Captain Kenny took to the tuna grounds at the age of 8 aboard the F/V Ballad.
 Colton borrows Thomas' aviators, probably hoping to blend in.

Colton was doing a little happy dance almost every second as they were awaiting ice and a few last minute details prior to leaving. 

Here they go.  So far, the report is seasick with a lot of bunk time.  The weather is good for him.

  I hope he shakes off the seasickness and can step into the role of chief fish butcher as he'd hoped, and earn his pay.  

Meanwhile, I am not without my anxious worry.  Luckily there is a satellite phone to check in.  Think I'll go call them now.

Coyote Dilemma or "The Gift"

I saw a strange/sad/miraculous sight today as I was driving in.

Not very far from my home.

Coming towards me in my lane was a young coyote, maybe a yearish in age.

His (her?) coat was aglow in the morning light matching that of the tall grass next to the road.

A happy thing.

I have missed the coyotes since they have been logging around us. Their songs at night evoke wild and primal emotions...is it fear, or just excitement, as they hunt in the darkness? I like seeing them occasionally, too, a couple of times a month, one of them is not quite quick enough to get into hiding before being seen.

I noticed right away that this one was moving oddly, head and body bobbing upward in jerks with each step. In looking closer, I noticed he was missing the paw of his left fore.

As I approached, he struggled to get up the bank, in doing so, he fell backward a few times, but eventually disappeared into the underbrush.  "Oh, honey..." I couldn't help but say aloud.

Made me feel pretty sad at first, and wonder how I could leave some food in the area to help him get through...but then I realized that coyote will probably just keep on keepin' on anyway. He'll just have to be that much more clever to find enough to get by; eating mice, birds, bugs, whatever until that paw fully heals to where it no longer hurts, and his body is stronger to make up for the weakness and missing appendage, ears sharper and eyes more vigilant.

Just like we all do...keep on, keepin' on. Good luck, kiddo.

Step up for your Darwin Award

Driving along Marine Drive last week, I see a sedan with a "Baby On Board" sign displayed prominently in the rear window.
In pulling alongside the car, I peeked over into the car seat to see the baby, which was too tiny and too swaddled to actually view.  

As I pulled alongside them at the light, I looked to my left at the couple in front.  

Mom was busy driving...and texting. Dad was just...a passenger.  

Yep, I got your Darwin Award right here.  Or maybe they could find a better designation of tasks in the future.  Please be careful out there.

Of High School art projects and coming of age

This little clay pot turned up out of the overgrown yard last week. At the time, I considered taking it over to the garbage bin. Or burying it. I did not. Why did I save this funny little high school art project?

Created in September, 1981

Why do we hoard such things, anyway...?

Pinch Pot is homely, but has endurance, it is surprisingly utilatarian. 3" across and almost as high, the unlikely container finds its way into a number of uses. I made it in Ceramics I class my freshman year. Technically, I wasn't supposed to be in the class since one had to first take an Art General class and be at least a Sophomore, but the teacher let me stay. 

I was the youngest, and probably the most nervous. 

Initially, we all (20 of us or so) sat at regular tables 6 students to a table. 

Everyone was more everything than me: grown, confident....girls chattered and smiled (they made up the majority of the class demographic), boys fiddled and doodled nonchalantly.

The boy (man!) next to me was cute, and very tall. He had very broad shoulders, and silky, feathered hair... I noticed. He was a Junior, almost had a mustache and was really nice to talk to me, but his attractiveness made me feel awkward. Self-conscious. 

In those first few weeks, students were not allowed to use the "throwing wheel" in Ceramics class, so we were given assignments to lead up to that prestigious responsibility. One of them was a "pinch pot" made entirely by hand, through simple methods. Unfazed by the clay, I felt my inexperience when I looked around at everyone working their ball of clay into something clever. I felt really awkward and rushed, I remember very well. Not thinking about the clay, the shape, its elasticity and features. I followed the letter of the assignment, but as a creative type person, I was breaking a lot of rules.

The feelings I experienced were coming from outside of me, this knowing that I was out of place, 

not good enough.... (and yet I learned, that those feelings were arriving FROM me, and it was all just a circle to being with, anyway! Confusing, but enlightened...)

I had barely turned fourteen before the school year started; chubby, with glasses and long, wavy-straight hair with no style to it. I didn't wear makeup, and my clothes were what was "in" when I had recently finished middle school, FOUR MONTHS AGO(!). I was suddenly very noticeable when I had been aiming to be invisible.

I should have been focusing from the inside out. None of the above mattered. 

No one thinks about things in that much detail, unless it is directly about them. 

While the pinch pot assignment was a training exercise, we did eventually glaze and fire the results. If I had realized that I would have this crazy little thing 32 years later, I might have been a little more artful in its execution. 

Or maybe not. I would have been 14 years +2 weeks, give or take. A baby! 

How could I know what the weight of 30 years would feel like?

Holding it in my hand took me back to those days...14! I wish I had realized then, more about what matters and what doesn't matter.

Back to the pot and its jobs: A planter in one of my many fish tanks, then (on its side, partially buried in gravel) a "cave" for the fish, a hiding spot for a hermit crab, a water dish for birds, a shelf tchochke, or a catch all for various mini-miscellany. 

It even pulled a stint as a "booster chair" for a plant inside another planter entombed in potting soil, disappearing effectively for a few years. 

At one time it broke, but I put it back together with glue.  

Finding it half-submerged in the spring overgrowth made it look as if it had broken again (it had not, that superglue held! Yeah, Duco!). 

I picked it up, rinsed it out under the rain gutter and set it on the back stairs.

It was the "cute" boy and I that quasi-bonded (read: found work stations next to each other) and continued our friendship within the confines of the classroom. He was much older and more life (at least the high school variation of it)-savvy, so there was no fraternization outside of the ceramics studio. While we were there, though, we laughed (he told hilarious stories) and (mostly he) talked;I gradually relaxed and found my place, there and in the rest of the high school adventure.

Pinch Pot of homeliness is still alive and while it is chipped, repaired and not all that pretty, still useful, if only to jog loose a memory or two.
I wonder where that cute boy is today. I hope that his life is successful and rewarding.
He broke the ice of social awkwardness, after all.

Funny thing, life...time...

"Take me to the river..."

Nearly every Astoria street is defined by its angle of river view...unique unto its location, latitude or longitude. 

The river running right past our little town is a talisman; a soothing, calming presence as well as inspirational. As much as I love road trips, the river itself is the ultimate road, beckoning with a greater sense of freedom, an elemental appeal that tarmac and concrete just can't match. It provides an endless parade of color, light and activity: Ships, marine life and a vast array of flotsam and jetsam ride past in its currents. The skies above are reflected on its surface.

At any one time, you will find impossibly-numbered shades of blue and gray, or the purples, pinks, oranges and reds of sunset and rise. This river is the very reason "we" are here. It is the (commercial, environmental, transportation, literal) core of this (Lower Columbia) region, a magnetic presence even before we were here.

An ever-changing and interactive view, courtesy of the Columbia River

 Consequently, I feel that it's important to maintain public access to the river.
Visually, physically, as well as practically. Fishing, commerce and pleasure vessels use it constantly.


  Even on a grey, low-ceiling day, it is a focal point.
From the city's streets and sidewalks laid out over the hills of town, it's where the eye naturally settles, and inevitably follows westward to where the river meets the sea. Dreams follow suit.
                  A mental cleansing, of sorts.

Very often, the river is pivotal in turning around my mood. Sitting still and watching the tide flow past is meditative in nature. The smell of a clean river is something irresistible to me.
 One early late winter evening, on our way back from the beach for sunset, the river called me to detour, beckoning my presence at its side; a barely audible whisper I could not ignore.
The water had turned to liquid black, reflecting a glittering array of lights. The night was calm and clear, as darkness settled into the region. To the west, a sublime stripe of maroon and persimmon burned silhouetted objects on the horizon into sharp relief. Opposite, and low in the eastern sky, a magnified, mellow, golden moon held court over snow-dusted hills. Ships sat quietly at anchor. I experienced a surge of equanimity as I observed and existed in this magical landscape.
Every sense felt renewed, and my psyche soothed; gratefully overwhelmed, immersed in the beauty laid out before me. Glad I acted on the impulse, heeded the river's beck.

 I will return, often, some other time(s).
           I always take with me some fodder for daydreams, and other mental meanderings.

Why pick up trash at the beach?

Arriving at the beach, there is much to be done...

Because I own a fishing vessel...
that may have been responsible for this.

My sons and I like to go to the beach to walk and explore.
Nearly always, we bring plastic bags along with.

We fill them with plastic debris, and take them away to be recycled or trashed.
Much of it is on the order of plastic bottles, but a good portion is also tsunami debris and various items related to fishing, both commercial and sport.




In my observations (far from scientific) of the majority of a life spent at the ocean and river's edge, I have seen a marked increase in plastic debris (naturally), and seasonally, these items change in type as well.


Summer and "tourist" season brings more to go type garbage, and bait trays, lures and lighters and cans.





Winter tends to drive shoreward the far-flung and the crab gear: line, buoys, baiters and totes along with floats from our Western neighbors in Asia.  The past year or so has been increasingly likely that we will retrieve something that was taken to sea by the March, 2011 tsunami that hit Japan.

To set a good example for the next generation

Picking up the everyday items such as shoes, cosmetic bottles, household pieces and food containers brings a sadness for them, realizing that there was such a great loss of life, and loss in general.  Loss of livelihoods and homes, family and friends.  I also realize that we are all in the same boat so to speak.  Living by the shore...like me.

Owning a commercial fishing vessel, I of course have to accept that some of this plastic belonged to me, and since I gain my living from these items, and more importantly the sea itself, it is my duty.

Because this can't be good for the environment

It's interesting...

Mostly, I pick up marine debris because I love my sons, I love the Earth, and my community, and I want to keep it clean.

Because we have all forgotten something

Because these are death to
sea turtles and other marine life

Because they deserve a clean beach and ocean, too.

Because at any time, we may be asked to walk
a mile in someone else's shoes.

Because this looks better without all of that.