Finn River Raven

Day 3: Sound & Fury Morris danced yesterday at Finn River Cidery in Chimacum. After the first set, I happened to notice an old friend in the audience: Raven, carrying his customary bit of the sun's fire, perched on a branch above the plaza. There could have been no better omen for the day.

Chimacum is a long way from home, so I had planned an Expedition to include a little geocaching and botanizing on the way up the Olympic Peninsula. The two go hand-in-hand. Caching often takes me into the woods, and I assumed that the more marine environment along Hood Canal would provide a wealth of lichens. It didn't take me long to figure out that I had entered a lichenological dead zone instead. Even the maples were bare of colonies. Botanically, the only thing worth noting was the presence of a few cascara trees in an area I would have thought was too heavily shaded to support them. At the cidery, I found minor lichenization of maples which included a Xanthoria and a Parmelia. Still, I had managed to get out into nature to experience a different ecological niche even if I hadn't made any amazing discoveries.

Thrifty Scot that I am, I decided that to avoid a $6 toll-bridge crossing at the expense of $3 in gas and 45 minutes of my time, I'd drive home the long way, i.e., down Highway 101 through Shelton and Olympia. It was a good choice. A canopy of green and gold filtered the slanting light of sunset as I drove through the National Forest, a far more pleasant way to end the day than barrelling along a freeway.

Little Things

Day 75: Sometimes little things pack the wallop. I've mentioned the "12 Days of Christmas" gift exchange I share with two east-coast friends. One #12 gift (Christmas morning) was a very small, light box from Mousie, aka Alison. My initial reaction of "What the...?" lasted no longer than it took to think it. Then I burst out laughing, surprised and deeply moved by the significance of a tiny metal pea pod holding three peas, symbols of three sisters-of-the-heart who, by some bizarre twist of fate, happened to have been born miles apart and to different parents. It took me a while to figure out where I wanted to put it so that it could remind me of my friends every day, and I finally settled on entrusting it to a rustic raven, a wood-carving which sits atop my desk with other representations of corvids. Raven is often represented carrying a star in his beak in classic Americana, perhaps a spin-off from the native peoples' legends which say he stole a piece of the sun to bring light and fire to the Earth. The love my "sisters" and I share certainly brightens my day and warms my heart!

Beak Rock

Day 138: As if dislodged from its place of prominence at the top of a story pole, the head of Raven nonetheless observes all who travel on Westside Road. It is not as apparent when going south to north, but walking north to south, the likeness always stops me in my tracks. A shaggy mat of ferny feathers cascades from the crown, casting the eye into mysterious shadow above the stony beak. I half-expect a quork of mountain-rattling proportions to come forth from this spirit's throat, though what I hear is a softer series of vocalizations made far overhead. It is an acknowledgement: we know that you, human, have seen and recognized our ancestor. We will go with you and keep you safe. My walks are frequently accompanied by ravens, but here, I am in a greater presence.

A Part Of The Story

There is a footnote to my previous post. I returned to the campground to work with the boys on cleaning up the winter storm debris. One of them surprised me by saying, "We told a story about you last night at the campfire. They said that you weren't a crow, not really. You were a Raven, and you'd get us if we did anything against Nature."

Those of my readers who know me personally will understand the significance here. I am deeply honoured...deeply honoured, indeed!...to have become part of the Great Raven's story, and in a way I never expected. I could do a lot worse in life than to be appointed his deputy.

Sad Story

Day 203: I don't happen to know the legend depicted by this story pole, if indeed it tells a genuine tale, but the characters are prominent figures in local history. The base shows Coyote, a mischief-loving prankster who often matched wits with Raven who, although almost obscured by moss, surmounts Bear in the center. I can't immediately recall a legend which involves the three together, but I'm sure there must be a few. I do remember when the pole was freshly carved and newly painted, and being sad when we drove by one day years later and it was laying on its back as if waiting for the forest to reclaim its heart of cedar. I was glad when persons unknown stood it upright again and retouched the peeling paint, to have it reestablished as a landmark on the road to Mount Rainier, a mile or so outside the Nisqually gate. I did not notice the moss encroaching until one sunny morning it caught my eye and I remarked in passing, "Dang, that shapeshifter Raven's gone and got himself a green bill. I see you, Raven. You're not fooling me! You're not a Grosbeak." But Raven never shed his disguise. In fact, it kinda grew on him until his whole head was green.

As is the case with many creative works, this tale wanted external support. The characters, although strong, could not stand without a hefty plotline to back them up. Hmmmm...I think I just came to the moral of the story while on that last quest for metaphor. That's Raven for you: leading you to your own conclusions.

Putting The Cat To Watch The Canary

Day 81: As part of our "Twelve Days of Christmas," my sister-of-the-heart Alison nearly always includes a few marbles for me, knowing how I love to add to my collection. This year, she sent them under heavy guard in person of Little Baby Raven. Oh, dear! Isn't that kinda like putting the cat to watch the canary? With the penchant corvids have for collecting shiny things, I wonder if the present inventory truly reflects the number originally mailed. Look at the gleam in that beady little eye!