The dueling visions of this country can make a person feel like she’s living in two realities. In the end only one vision can triumph because only one is just.

Stephen S. Hall’s latest book describing the lives and extraordinary abilities of snakes is that most enjoyable and effective combination of science and storytelling that I hope is reaching a wide audience.

Critically examining history is crucial to breaking apart the lies and myths we have all been fed through an education system largely biased toward a glorification of the dominant culture.

At the dawn of 2026, I look forward to deepening my own relationship with the land, learning from others and more about the old ways, and contributing to the good of the community however I can.

I have always loved seeing and holding objects from the past. Because they are part of my family, these two journals are especially important to me. But the feeling of fondness and the value I place on historical ephemera stretches out to all time travelers that intersect with my life.

The connections that bind us all are both strong and utterly frail. They can snap permanently with a hard look, a harsh word, or an ill-placed step. They can also strengthen through tragedy, form around common cause, shine through the darkest of days.

And so I felt myself confronted once again with another example of the challenges I had been pondering all week: craving, aversion, and ignorance, described in the Buddhist teachings as the three poisons that keep people locked into a continuous cycle of suffering.

Yesterday, I again walked down this road to see if the eagles were at the nest. This time, I walked through a landscape utterly transformed.

As I watched the dipper, flying into one pool then another, dashing through a riffle, sliding athletically down a partially submerged stick, I felt enveloped in her determination.

Put simply, the problem has to do with the often large gap between individual human experience and what is actually possible.

While the falling leaves reflect the end of the growing season, the fungi in full bloom and the young animals about to experience their first autumn and winter represent the new.

I think beyond just watching an animal, time well spent outside should include really considering how that animal experiences the world and thus how different its experience is from one’s own.

I think the great thing about connection and interdependence is that not only are these concepts true between individuals and species, but they also apply to objects and books that link us through time to other people and ideas.

One truth that keeps me centered as I gaze around at the tremendous suffering in the world and feel a cold fear in the middle of the night regarding the fate of so many innocents and indeed, the planet itself, is hearing about people who keep getting up every single morning and doing the next right thing.

Both of us love having books around, new ones, old ones, those given to us by special people in our lives, those we bought from the author and had inscribed.

Somehow, we must withstand our fear, shame, and heartbreak, and accept what has been while believing that the past does not have to be the future.

Last week, I did a backpack trip with friends to a part of the Olympic Peninsula that has nine- and ten-foot diameter trees. These remarkable beings are staggering to behold, from the base of each tree, where we humans are ant-like in comparison, on up into the tapestry of branches and kaleidoscopic light shining through.

Deep listening isn’t only about being able to hear others; it’s also about hearing ourselves, as well as the earth and all her inhabitants.

Cagle reminds us that snakes just want to be snakes, they appreciate being left alone, and they are beautiful and magical, living a life so very different from ours in many respects, but just as worthy.

Still, there is hope and the forest provides the way forward, with its many residents and interactions and opportunities for nurturing a sense of embodiment rather than distance.