Longer days become languid days. By the coolness of dawn in the Fernhill wetlands of Forest Grove, Oregon, before the heat melts night’s calm, the superlative colors of sky break across morning. Alive with a swelling chorus of avian songs, the marshes embrace another day. ♨
It seems fitting on Labor Day to celebrate the wisdom, commitment, and courage of Mother Jones where she chose to be buried beside immigrant mine workers killed in the struggle for labor rights.
Mountain man Joe Meek’s first summer of fur trapping in 1829, which put him among the earliest of non-indigenous people to enter Yellowstone.
Recalling a magical day in Yellowstone National Park that changed our lives and sent us on a journey that we are still traveling forty years later.
Even though it is a national park with complicated and historically shifting meanings, Yellowstone is many other places as well.
The start of autumn turns my sights northward, recalling those glorious days of colorful melancholy in the falls we spent in Ohio. It almost makes bearable the anticipation of winter.
Photo essay: a return to the Bighorn mountains in Wyoming for an autumn pilgrimage to the Medicine Wheel and a turning of seasons.
