The Pacific Northwest is consumed by wildfire and the sandy-eyed persistence of unhealthy air. Yesterday, the Portland metro area claimed the dubious title of worst air quality in the world. Danny and I spent the front part of the week traveling past the Grasshopper fire at Mount Hood, various hot spots along the Gorge, and then south through the Powder River and Tartar fire areas. Along 84 there was some evidence of scorched earth, but most of our view was enveloped in thick smoke, the ghosts of trees. The smoke knows no boundary. Today, winds off the Pacific are clearing my view across the river ever so slowly.
The Pony travels away from the fires, south to Oregon State Penitentiary’s Memorial Healing Garden in Salem. A jewel created by the community, the traditionally structured garden illustrates an ideal nature. Pathways cut precise boundaries between designated spaces — pond, zen garden, meditation bench — a framework to help us see with new eyes. The edges are softened by the cycle of the seasons, such as beautiful, tiny maples leaves that fall on the paths. The prison gardeners sweep and painstakingly prune the trees. Care is the vocation; the garden teaches patience and the experience of seasonal time. Centered within the confines of a prison yard, the garden contrasts sharply with the chain-link fence, razor wire, and guard towers. Like the garden lessons, the writing from our workshops investigates the edges of living a better life when that life is limited and contained by the very nature of imprisonment. Jai’s four-part piece Living Zen meditates on the work of raking. He does this alongside the “avenue” a strip of roadway that separates the Memorial Healing Garden from the bustle of the prison yard. We see nature’s version of this contrast along the Oregon freeways where fires blacken the land right up to the point where it turns lush and green.
Driving down from the pass there is a stretch along Highway 20 that I call the boneyard. Remnants of the trees are licked cleaned, weathered by seasons of rain and sun exposure. As we travel these roads year after year, we learn to read the forest. Natural forces author the stories. Chapters are written by fire, and whispers of new growth appear the following spring. This week, we pray for a pause in this passage so that winds might quell, electrical storms subside, and the wildfires reach containment. | TDS