Monthly Archives: March 2016

  The light grew at the window. What had been a black square in the wall was now grey. Beyond the window was the river and I could hear the faint rush through the wall. As I watched, the window … Continue reading →

Jim Harrison died yesterday. He was seventy-eight. The world was richer with Jim Harrison in it.   He once said, “In a life properly lived, you’re a river.” Harrison spent much of his life on rivers, and most of that time … Continue reading →

I almost had a dog. Her name was Chase and she was a black lab/whippet mix, about the size of a whippet, a bit of grey on her muzzle, quiet, reflective, and if she pulled on the leash and I … Continue reading →

My first car was a ’39 Ford with a ’53 Mercury engine in it. I drove it to the mountains, drove far back into the Middle Fork wilderness, forded creeks. It tended to vapor lock, (the gasoline lines heated up … Continue reading →

  It was still dark this morning when I went out the back door to go up the driveway for the newspapers and I found a dead bird. It was the tiny carcass of a brown towhee. I looked it … Continue reading →

The old public library in Berkeley was just off Shattuck Avenue, a block from Berkeley High School. It featured  wide stone steps, with an imposing set of stone pillars. I went there after school to do research back when research … Continue reading →

The road to Nelson Creek is a one lane road. It was, before they paved it, gravel and dirt, rising into the Middle Fork wilderness.   The Middle Fork of the Feather River bisects it, and there is a steep canyon … Continue reading →

  In the early morning I can see crows at the top of an oak tree. They vie for the topmost branch, no matter how slim or bendable the branch. Their calls are four or five caws. First one calls, … Continue reading →

When we lived in England, on rare occasions, I would see a kingfisher swooping down to catch a small fish in a country stream. The kingfisher, one of the most colorful birds in England, “catches fire” as the light brings its … Continue reading →

In 1944 my father worked at the Washington Park race track as a teller. There were no electronic machines, only windows where betters lined up and men took their money and handed them betting slips. There were nights when he … Continue reading →