Day 307: For almost 18 years, I lived on one of Southwest Washington's open prairies. "Prairies?" you ask. Yes, prairies. Although Western Washington is known for its incessant rain, the glacial till which comprises the soils south of Olympia will hold very little water. The land is unsuitable for farming, although cattle ranchers have had some small success here, albeit with heavy supplemental feeding of their stock, but by and large, the prairie is a place of meager grass, stands of Douglas fir and Garry oak, and wildflowers which you will find nowhere else in the state. It is a haven for birds of many sorts, from pheasants and grouse to rare warblers.
Today I bicycled through the prairie, reminiscing over the years I spent in a tiny pioneer-style house with a water supply which relied solely on rainfall, and my conclusion was that those were some of the best years of my life. The prairie edges into your soul as surely as the mountains do.
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