PAUL MICHEL

I'm spending a few days with my wife, younger (16) son and a friend of his in Grant County in Eastern Washington. Ad men call it "the other Washington," to distinguish it from the Puget Sound, Olympic Peninsula, Juan De Fuca wet side of tall conifers, snowy peaks, scattered islands, Microsoft, flying fish and steady rain. This is high desert country, as different from a rain forest as a landscape can hope to be. While the teens attend a mammoth music festival called Sasquatch (ironically, as the poor beast would wither in this climate) we have been hiking sagebrush country amidst buttes, mesas, deep ravines, oasis lakes, delicate wildflowers, peripatetic tumbleweed, rock scree hills, broad plains, potato fields and snakes. Snakes, snakes, snakes. They're rather a theme for me every time I come out here, particularly the Western Rattlesnake, a magnificent malevolence prevalent in this half of the state, and never far from a hiker's mind. (or feet.) (more…)

Indulge me in a moment of silly reflection: I walked my dog earlier this evening. He's a 6 year old miniature poodle, a full-fledged family member with rights and responsibilities and no concept that he and I are of different species, which I consider a great compliment. (I'm bigger. He gets that. He's smarter. I understand.) (more…)

Clearly this blogging thing eludes me. I can't shake the idea that an entry deserves a theme, an epiphany, a punch-line, whatever. When I roam the blogosphere I see how outdated and off-base such an attitude is. Apparently this is my outlet for regular (daily? goodness) ramblings on whatever crosses my addled mind So be it, then. (more…)