Book Club

The Green Witch

This month we got in touch with our inner witchy side. Our Alpine Trails Book Club book selection was The Green Witch: Your Complete Guide to the Natural Magic of Herbs, Flowers, Essential Oils, and More and we paired it with a fall hike to the spooky historic Old Robe Canyon where an old railroad track lay in ruins. It was a perfectly cool and sunny day to explore and get in touch with nature.

The trail begins with a quick jaunt down many switchbacks to the base of the canyon. Huge bigleaf maples towered above our heads with just a few bright yellow leaves clinging to life. Branches, crooked and spiky and blanketed in moss, hovered above like the skeletal fingers of green giants. It was one of the first frosty days of the year and the shed leaves were outlined in a delicate ice, frozen in time. Horsetail shot above our heads in what was decidedly the most dense horestail forest we’ve all seen, and we imagined plucking them to use as broomsticks.

My husband and Evie (in her brand spanking new pink boots) ran ahead to keep warm as I caught up with my lovely coven of three teachers. They exchanged their woes of teaching through Zoom (I don’t know how they are doing it!), and how their kids are handling an on-going global pandemic along with the normal grade school challenges. I know these kids are better off for having these amazing and supportive teachers, but I may be a little biased in that these ladies are some of my very favorite people.

I gushed to them about my newest endeavor – going back to school to study landscape design. One of the classes I’m taking is evergreen plant identification and I’m learning the Latin names of over 100 plants. It makes me feel SO smart and fancy. Many of the plants I’m studying are native plants that we see on the trail. I point and yell them out like I’m casting a spell: Vaccinium ovatum! Polystichum munitum!

But, as we learned this month in our primer to green witchery, being a green witch is not about casting spells. It is all about making an intentional and singular connection with nature. It is not a religion, but rather a way of noticing and gathering energy from the world around us. The author encourages aspiring green witches to attune themselves to nature through grounding, working with the seasonal cycles, and finding the magic that already exists all around us.

Magic implies something out of the ordinary. But to a green witch the mundane is magical. When she senses, responds to, and gently nudges the flows of natural energy around her, nothing could be more natural. She’s performing natural magic. Nature itself is magical. The everyday is sacred to the green witch.”

Arin Murphy-Hiscock, The Green Witch

Our short walk brought us to the most interesting part of the trail. Here the canyon and river narrowed and the roar had us raising our voices to hear each other. We walked along man-made walls and train beds carved from the stone that felt like ancient ruins. Huge rusted nails rose from wood ties that have been there for over 120 years. The people who built a railroad here where looking to capitalize on the nearby mines of Monte Cristo and chose a location that was doomed to fail. To us it seemed obvious that this tight canyon was a terrible place to build a railroad, but perhaps we are much more in tune with nature than the white men of yore.

Nevertheless, we enjoyed our trip into the past. We found some nice boulders next to a waterfall to gather on for a snack and chat about the book. We all agreed that the book had some great practical ideas for things to keep ourselves sane during the winter months ahead. I shared how I had been in a rut lately and the book inspired me to clean my whole house all at once and get out my diffuser with some cedar essential oil. Just performing something that I usually unwillingly do anyway, but doing it in an intentional and ritualistic way made all the difference in my mood. I will from now on reframe “cleaning” as a “cleansing ritual.”

Meditation is encouraged in the book along with acknowledging and celebrating the seasons. The author guides us with a lovely fall meditation:

Once you have reached a place of comfort deep inside the earth, breathe that energy in, and feel it fill your body.

Feel the soil’s energy at this time of the autumnal equinox. Feel the energy of completion and contentment that vibrates the earth. Reach out and sense the fullness, the feeling of achievement as it flows through roots and stems. Explore the gentle, slower movement of energy throughout the soil and the roots of plants as the cycle of producing fruit and seed comes to an end on the surface of the earth.

Sense the feelings of contentment, of life, of pleasure and satisfaction, of appreciation and offering that pulse through the land.

Remain cradled by the energy of the soil as long as you like, enjoying the feeling of plenty and serenity around you.“

Arin Murphy-Hiscock, The Green Witch

It was too cold to linger for too long, but before we headed back I had the group take a few minutes to ourselves. I know for me, it seems like I hardly ever give myself permission to take time to just be. I used the time to sit, close my eyes, and listen to the water rushing by while telling my brain it was okay to just relax. It was a little effective and felt nice to pause for a moment in my busy life.

As we returned to the trailhead, I marveled in how well Evie did on the hike. She walked the whole way by herself and we didn’t have to bribe her too much. The group chatted about their own kids and how we were going to celebrate the upcoming holidays and how everything will be different this year. It is a crazy and stressful time we are living in, and for me personally, knowing that I have these amazingly strong and compassionate friends along with some tools in my toolbox in celebrating my inner green witch for the coming months helps to put my mind at ease.

The Green Witch

by Arin Murphy-Hiscock

The green witch “is a naturalist, an herbalist, a wise woman, and a healer. She embraces the the power of nature; she draws energy from the earth and the universe; she relies on natural objects… she calls on nature for guidance; and she respects every living being, no matter how small.” YASSS! I literally gasped when I saw this book. It is basically a guide book to being an outdoor woman who wants to connect with nature on a deeper level. You’ll learn how to ground yourself, perform seasonal rituals, tap into the energy of flowers, use crystals, start a witch garden, and craft, cook, and heal with your new witchy finds.

Non-fiction // Published: 2017 // My Rating: 4 out of 5 stars

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Forest Bathing

I laid on my back and let the rain drops hit my face. I watched tiny orbs of mist swirl in the air above and gather on leaves until gravity took over and they fell through the sky and ran down my face like tears. Tiny droplets clung to my eyelashes in defiance, they weren’t ready to join the others in their inevitable journey to the ground. I didn’t wipe them away. They created a lens through which my eyes followed the lines of branches of the hardwoods through the green and yellow leaves searching for patterns and fractals and recognition among them, reminding me of the forests I explored as a child.

It was a cool November day and I wasn’t alone there lying in that forest, my book club friends were there too. We were spending the weekend at Laura’s family’s property on Vashon Island, a lovely site with a beach, whimsical cabins hidden away, and an impressive grove of ancient big leaf maples. It was the perfect setting for a day of forest bathing.

We arrived to Vashon Island a day earlier and explored the little town of Vashon. We had a delicious brunch at The Hardware Store, a (you guessed it) hardware store turned restaurant, and couldn’t help but browse the Vashon Bookshop and the Herban Bloom flower shop. But as charming as the town was, we were ready to get our nature fix and headed to the property.

We all know how good being in nature can make us feel. We have known it for millennia. The sounds of the forest, the scent of the trees, the sunlight playing through the leaves, the fresh, clean air – these things give us a sense of comfort. They ease our stress and worry, help us to relax and to think more clearly. Being in nature can restore our mood, give us back our energy and vitality, refresh and rejuvenate us.“

Dr. Qing Li, Forest Bathing

A short trail led us down to the beach were we spent the rest of the evening exploring. We found deer bones in the creek draining to the shore and sand dollars, limpets, tiny snails, and seaweed. We hovered near to each other in silent awe as we watched one of the most beautiful sunsets. The water lapped on the shore and I felt a sense of calm settle in.

We ambled up in a light sprinkle to our little home for the night dubbed the “Pink Palace” due to the hue of its concrete construction. Laura indulged us with lentil soup for dinner along with homemade cider and mulled wine. We warmed by the wood stove while we shared stories and played games by candle light. We bunked up and read ourselves to sleep.

The next morning, after breakfast pastries from Snapdragon Bakery, we prepared for a day of forest bathing. It was raining so we took our time. Rebecca got out her watercolors and painted. Others read the book and I made a plan:

Listen: rain, breeze, water

Look: greens, fractals, patterns

Feel: bare feet, lay on the ground

Taste: fresh air, dirt

Smell: essential oils, dirt, plants

We left our cameras and phones behind and found an open spot in the nearby forest. I read a bit of the “How to Practice Shinrin-Yoku” chapter of the book to get us started. Then it was time for silence and exploration. There was no trail, no destination, no time line, just immersion in the moment and nature around us.

After laying on the ground with raindrops on my face, I got up to wander. I found slugs of many sizes, teeny tiny slugs that I’ve never noticed before, large ones resembling bananas, and medium sized ones with the most intricate patterns and “legs” that looked like delicate eyelashes. The more I looked, the more I found. Tiny mushrooms glissaded down a tree stump, licorice ferns emerged from the huge maples and skeletons of leaves were traced in lacy fractal patterns.

I wish we had better words to describe what we see, like the Japanese word komorebi – sunlight filtering through trees.

I pulled a licorice fern from the moss, wiped the dirt away from the roots and sniffed it. I bit into it just enough to find the taste of anise and loamy earth I was looking for. I picked some soaked sorrel, nibbled on them, and let the spice linger on my tongue while I walked barefoot through a blanket of wet leaves.

I walked along a small brook and listened to the water on its journey to the shore. I found a tree root crossing the water to a cedar tree. I climbed over and sat beneath the branches that were so big they almost touched the ground. I felt so cozy and comforted in this spot. I sniffed at the bark, searching for its essence, but only later got a whiff when doing a little sun salutation. Its like the smell is not of the tree itself, but rather of the tree and all of its surroundings here and now in just the right combination.

I sat for a while under the tree listening. The light rain like the Japanese word shito shito and kasa kasa, leaves rustling underfoot. I pondered a while about a question Dr. Li poses in the book, if there was one natural sound you could preserve forever, what would it be? I could have stayed there under that tree forever and pondered such things. But eventually the trance must be broken.

Laura called us over to the beach to watch a rainbow, yes a rainbow, across the water. We sipped hot tea and ate scones and chatted about what we observed and how we felt. We exchanged our little bottles of essential oils as if the whole experience could be bottled up which felt a little silly. I felt a lightness that lingered for many days and if I close my eyes and focus on each sense, I can grasp just a bit of that lightness again.

Shinrin-yoku is like a bridge. By opening our senses, it bridges the gap between us and the natural world.

Dr. Qing Li, Forest Bathing

Forest Bathing

by Dr. Qing Li

Forest bathing, or shinrin-yoku, was developed in Japan as a way to reduce anxiety, stress and blood pressure, strengthen the immune system, and improve cardiovascular function in the body. Dr. Qing Li is a doctor and chairman of the Japanese Society for forest medicine. He does a fantastic job of explaining the science as well as the steps to take to receive the benefits of the forest on the body. Forest bathing is an accessible way to connect with nature, even in the city or in the home and this book is essential to learn this important practice.

Non-Fiction // Published: 2018 // My Rating: 5 out of 5 stars

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Book Ends

Read :: A beautiful poem by my friend Rebecca inspired by our outing

Watch :: Forest Bathing, A Simple Yet Powerful Nature Meditation

Try :: Take the POMS test before and after forest bathing to see how your mood is elevated

Go :: Best Places in the US to Try Forest Bathing

Book Club Archive

1 year ago: Mushroom Hunting (The Mushroom Hunters w/ Langdon Cook)

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Book Club

Frankenstein

Halloween is my absolute favorite time of year. This year I wanted to share what I consider one of the best books of all time with the group, Frankenstein. I ambitiously chose an eight mile round trip hike to the ghost town of Monte Cristo before I knew that I would need to bring my 3 year-old daugther, Evie, along. I’ve hiked the trail several times before, but many trails I’ve hiked over the years are starting to converge in my brain. I could have sworn that the trail was a super flat and wide old road the whole way and that the big river crossing was at the end of the trail. I brought Evie’s stroller knowing that pushing her would be the only way I could move her eight miles and return before dark.

I met our group at the trailhead, stressed about the hike. Evie charmed them all with her “ballerina witch” costume as I preemptively and profusely apologized for bringing her and the stroller. If the others were worried they didn’t show it. They told me not to worry and Mala sweetly insisted on pushing the stroller. As usual, it soon became clear that my recall of the trail was off.

The trail was briefly flat like I remembered until it narrowed and climbed up away from the crumbling river bank. The trail follows the old road to Monte Cristo, a boom town that thrived during the gold rush of the late 1800’s and early 1900’s. It boasted a population of 2,000 people at its peak with saloons, mercantiles, a post office and a barber shop along its main street. Later it became a tourist destination with a lodge that attracted many visitors until it burned down in 1983 and the town fell into abandon.

A train ran from Monte Cristo to Everett in its boom times and the corridor between the two was notorious for damage caused by flooding. The railway evolved into a road and then later into a trail as the Stillaguamish carved its way through the hillsides. It was not surprising to see that the trail had been redirected further up the bank. I found a picture I took of the trail in 2008 with rusty railroad tracks suspended midair over an eroded bank. Either that section is gone or the trail is now routed above it.

Needless to say, getting my toddler through the rugged terrain and across the river (the river crossing was much earlier on the trail than I remembered) was a challenge. My amazing book club friends (including Rebecca’s dad and daughter) didn’t even bat an eye as they got into formation and made an assembly line across the strands of the braided river and creeks. We passed the stroller and then my kiddo across and then helped each other to the opposite bank.

The river level was quite low, but I’m positive a few of them had soaked feet and never complained about it. We took a break on the rocky sandbar mid-braid and had a snack while we took in the first views of the stunning mountain scenery topped with a layer of fresh fall powder. I was happy to call our trip here and just play and chat in this gorgeous spot, but the rest of the group was determined to see the ghost town. I told them it would be a long hike with Evie but they were all up for it. We crossed over an existing bridge on the far fork of the river and continued on.

Photo: Sulina Rodriguez

I soon abandoned the stroller in the trees and let Evie walk the uneven terrain with her good hiking pal, Sulina. I carried her a bit and Rebecca carried her on her shoulders for a long time. Sulina asked to use my camera and I obliged, happy to see her in her element. After what felt like a very long journey, we finally approached the old wooden ‘Monte Cristo’ sign leading us to the town site.

We then split up to take in the sights. There are still several structures standing and an old rusty train turntable on wheels that still works. High peaks loom over it all, dusted in a fresh blanket of snow. I chose this hike because I couldn’t think of a better place for Frankenstein’s monster to hide out if he so happened to be in the Cascades rather than the Alps.

  • Photo: Sulina Rodriguez

Modern portrayals of Frankenstein’s monster (Victor Frankenstein is actually the name of the scientist who creates him) are much different than in the book. Yes, he is still a monster in the book and Victor is terrified of him, but he is intelligent and curious as well. After invoking fear into all of those who laid eyes upon him, he retreats to a structure in the woods next to a cottage. He doesn’t understand why others are so scared of him based on his appearance alone, but when he sees himself in a pool of water he understands their disgust.

He silently takes care of the family in the cottage by gathering wood for them and learns to speak, read and write while observing the family, unknown to them. When he finally reveals himself to the blind father of the family, he is hopeful he will be able to befriend them. The rest of the family returns and in horror drives the monster away. He returns to his creator and demands that he create a companion for him. When Victor refuses and there is no hope for the monster to be happy, he sets off on a rampage to make Victor’s life miserable. The monster’s behaviors are unsavory, but I have great empathy for him – he just wanted a friend.

Mary Shelley’s gothic novel is rooted in the scenic beauty of Europe and is said to be written based on her many travels. The idea for the book was famously thought up over a bet to create the best horror story during a ‘year with no summer’ with her pals at Lake Geneva (the same bet that spurred another classic, Dracula). Even the name Frankenstein is thought to come from the German castle of the same name that she traveled nearby and most likely saw looming above her.

You may be forgiven for classifying the book as science fiction or horror, but it actually reads quite like an adventure travel book. Part of the story is told in epistolary form from the perspective of a captain on an expedition to the North Pole. Another perspective is of Victor’s who chases his monster through gorgeous wilderness, bent on killing his shameful creation. The last perspective is of the monster as he toils with himself becoming the uncivilized terror that everyone expects him to be.

Dear mountains! My own beautiful lake! How do you welcome your wanderer? Your summits are clear; the sky and lake are blue and placid. Is this to prognosticate peace, or to mock at my unhappiness?“

Mary Shelley, Frankenstein (Victor Frankenstein when returning to his home, Lake Geneva)

Back in Monte Cristo, we gathered together and ate our much deserved lunches. Rebecca heated up water for us all and we enjoyed some tea and cocoa. Evie sipped her cocoa from her favorite pink fox mug. We didn’t linger as it was getting late in the day and we still had a long trip ahead of us back to the trailhead. But even in the short time I couldn’t help but be grateful for these amazing friends with me. These are friends who don’t simply expect me to be a trip organizer, but who extend grace and kindness when I need help.

I love Frankenstein so much because it is a reminder that we are all human and that every soul deserves to have love and friendship, no matter what they look like or where they are from. It is also a reminder that our actions matter. Just like the kind actions of my friends on this day filled my heart with gratitude and love, the opposite is true as well. Anger, bigotry, and racism only fuels violence and hate just as the terrified reactions to the monster made him turn into a terrifying monster. As I am writing this many months later in the depths of a worldwide pandemic and after days of unrest in America’s cities because of another unwarranted killing of a black man by police, it is more important than ever to remember this. Let’s be kind to each other.

What do you mean? What do you demand of your captain? Are you then so easily turned from your design? Did you not call this a glorious expedition? And wherefore was it glorious? Not because the way was smooth and placid as a southern sea, but because it was full of dangers and terror; because, at every new incident, your fortitude was to be called forth, and your courage exhibited; because danger and death surrounded it, and these you were to brave and overcome. For this was it a glorious, for this was it an honourable undertaking.”

Mary Shelley, Frankenstein (Captain Walton)

Frankenstein

by Mary Shelley

This classic gothic novel tells the story of Victor Frankenstein, a young scientist who creates a horrific being through unorthodox methods. The curious and intelligent monster does not understand why everyone is so terrified of him until he sees himself in a pool of water. Ashamed, he flees to the woods and hides from the world. He learns to read and write while he silently helps and protects a nearby family. When he approaches the blind father, he thinks he may have finally found a friend who is not influenced by his appearance. When the rest of the family returns in terror, however, he is again driven away. Lonely and confused, he begs his creator to make him a companion. Victor, anguished by the creation of one monster refuses to do so again. The monster then turns on his creator and banishes himself to the far reaches of the land while Victor follows him determined to kill his own creation in revenge.

Fiction (Classic) // Published: 1818 // Ashley’s Rating: 5 out of 5 stars

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Book Ends

  • Frankenstein was written by Mary Shelley when she was just 18 years old and was based on many places she had visited.
  • There is a Frankenstein Castle in Germany that Mary is known to have traveled nearby in her journeys. It is rumored that a man who was born there dabbled in alchemy and did experiments with dead bodies. There is not much to back this story up, but I do still love it.
  • Mary didn’t make up the idea of electricity sparking life on her own. She was inspired by Galvanism, a concept that was developed in the late 18th century after a scientist used an electric current to make a frog’s leg twitch.

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Book Club

Thru-hiking Will Break Your Heart

In September we planned to try a little thru-hiking to go along with our book selection Thru-hiking Will Break Your Heart by Carrot Quinn, a memoir about hiking the Pacific Crest Trail. The PCT is easy to access from Seattle and we had plans to hike from Snoqualmie Pass to Lake Valhalla for an overnight. We were excited to encounter some thru-hikers on their way to Canada. Mother nature had different plans, though, and the weather report warned of heavy rain in Seattle and the first big snowfall of the season in the mountains.

Rather than get rained and snowed on, our ever flexible group changed plans at the last minute and headed to Baker Lake instead. We all assumed it would still be rainy and stormy, but everyone was in good spirits and eager to get out for a backpack. We were especially excited to take Sulina, our member Rebecca’s 8-year-old daughter, on her first ever backpack! We bundled up at the trailhead and started on the trail through the gorgeously foggy forest.

Quickly we realized that a trail race was happening as several runners passed us. It was annoying at first to get the whole group to move aside but the runners were nice and polite and we soon started cheering them on with high fives and shouting, you’re doing great! We were hoping to be cheering on thru-hikers this weekend, but this was the next best thing!

We detoured off the main trail to check out the camping area at Anderson Point. The trees opened up to milky blue glacial water and we even got great views of Mount Baker across the lake. We scoped out some nice campsites and spotted what we thought may be lobster mushrooms. As we were getting ready to move along we came upon a female solo backpacker and struck up conversation with her. She quickly became our new friend Sue and she asked if she could camp near us. We obliged and looked forward to meeting up with her later.

As we hiked, there were times when the wind would gust from the lake and shower leaves on us. We thought that the storm would roll in any minute, but minutes later the sun would poke through the clouds. I love these kind of days between the seasons.

photos by Sulina R.

We found the Maple Grove campsite and decided to camp there. It has two(!) bathrooms, plenty of camping spots and a nice big beach with a dock and a spectacular view of Mount Baker. We left a note for Sue on a massive yellow maple leaf to let her know we were camping there, which felt like a real thru-hikery thing to do. As we put up our tents, we noticed a pair of hammocks and an interesting fire setup nearby. We lingered to the beach at our leisure and to inspect our neighbors a bit.

We snacked on unhealthy snacks as an homage to Carrot, took naps, read, and generally lapped in the luxury of nothing to do all day. I was worried our youngest of the group would get bored, but she was perfectly content reading her Harry Potter book (the fourth one- I know you are wondering) and combing the beach. She asked me several questions about my DSLR camera and I showed her how to use it. It was like putting a camera into little hands that were made for it. She quickly disappeared, finding all kinds of things to photograph. When she came to show me her shots I was very impressed. She has quite an eye for photos, and dang, there is nothing more hopeful and inspiring than to see the world from the eyes of an 8-year-old.

We had been giving our manly camp neighbors, seemingly shipwrecked and now living out of their kayaks and hammocks, the side eye all day as they kept their campfire going under what appeared to be a cauldron hanging witch-style from tree branches circled teepee style above. Next to it was a growing pile of empty beer cans. We watched them chop wood and they offered us beers. We politely refused and kept to ourselves.

Later, one of them came over to us with another offering. It was a thick juicy hunk of steak wrapped in a homemade tortilla. Our jaws dropped and we all looked at each other with widened eyes as Brenda took it. Red juice dripped as she took a bite and her eyes rolled back in her head out of pure joy. She passed it around so everyone could have a bite. It was probably the best steak I have ever had. They must have been slow roasting it all day long. They also came back later to give us more. It was the BEST kind of trail magic.

Sue found us and joined in on our book talk. Then we had even more visitors. A fleet of canoes carrying Boy Scouts made landfall by the dock. They swarmed the beach like ants carrying gear to the campsites and then returned for more. They were polite but mostly ignored us and we couldn’t help but listen as they struggled to assemble and cook a massive pan of lasagna which subsequently burned into a dark blob of cheese and noodle. One kid shook his head as he walked down to the beach and poured a packet of uncooked oatmeal into his mouth. We didn’t tell them about the steak.

Finally after the excitement of the day, the sun sank behind Mount Baker and the air felt suddenly cooler. We watched the few clouds turn orange and then pink as the sky darkened. We retired to our tents unlike the boys who stayed up late stoking the fire and being regular loud prepubescent boys. I was glad I had my earplugs.

The next morning we gathered on the beach again for tea and breakfast. The scouts were quick to get up and get going in the canoes. Again they were ants now carrying gear in the reverse direction. We waved and wished them luck as they pushed off. Sulina took a photo of the group and then we packed up to head back to the cars.

Our trip was not exactly like Carrot’s PCT hike in the book. We didn’t hike many miles, we didn’t have the worries that come with a long journey like hers, but we did find some parallels. What often makes these overnight hikes interesting is the people you meet along the way. We certainly encountered many interesting folks on our trip and we even got to experience a little bit of delicious trail magic.

Thruhiking Will Break Your Heart

by Carrot Quinn

In 2013, Carrot Quinn was addicted to the internet. She felt herself falling into a pattern of being an observer in life and not a participant. On a whim, after discovering the world of long-distance hiking online, she decided to thru-hike the Pacific Crest Trail 2600 miles from Mexico to Canada. Like any thru-hiker she had her fair share of trials on the trail, but what most stands out in this memoir is the relationships she made on the way. She makes new friends, some of which she keeps track of through the trail registers, and others that just seemingly disappear after they leave the trail or adjust their pace. Carrot also conveys the sense of emptiness and depression that frequently follow a thru-hike like hers. She does not shy away. She finds that staying on the trails is essential for her and that is what she has been doing since.

Non-fiction (Memoir) // Published: 2015 // My Rating: 3 out of 5 stars

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Mushroom Hunting

Langdon slowed down on the bumpy forest road to take a closer look to our left. He asked me if we should stop and take a look here. Umm, are you serious? Absolutely, I said. Moss carpeted the forest floor and the sun shined through the trees with a soft, yellow, ethereal glow. I spotted a faint foot path and couldn’t fathom a more inviting place to hunt mushrooms. This wasn’t the plan, but it felt like this is where we were meant to be.

Months earlier I sent an email to Langdon Cook, a local author and forager, asking if he would be interested in taking our book club group out for a day of mushroom hunting to go along with reading his book, The Mushroom Hunters. He said he doesn’t normally take groups out mushroom hunting, but for us he would make an exception. I was thrilled and couldn’t wait to share our plans with the group. Not only was Langdon taking us mushroom hunting, but he was taking us to one of his secret patches! He warned me that we would be going off trail into some rugged territory. I told him the group would be up for it.

We met at a park and ride and drove caravan-style down the freeway and up a forest service road. It was a gorgeous bluebird day, but my heart sank a little when I noticed the fresh snow on the mountain tops. Was the secret patch going to be snowed in? We hit snow a ways up the road and Langdon voiced his concern. We decided to hike a ways up to check out the conditions. The snow only got deepened as we climbed, but we enjoyed each other’s company and the views. Langdon went ahead of us to scout out the off-trail portion of the hike and came back disappointed. He said the way was rough and there was more snow in the woods than he expected. We agreed to head back to lower ground to see what we could find.

 

Mushrooms are colorful, beguiling, hideous, and transformative.

 

I have to admit that I was a little disappointed too, but as we found the sun rays guiding us into the lower elevation forest, I had a good feeling. We immediately found mushrooms growing on the mossy forest floor. We held them up to Langdon. What’s this, is it edible? Nope, he would say, and we continued to lurk, feeling strange to be off the trail. Suddenly I heard a collective Yay! from the group and we all huddled together to see what was found. It was a yellowfoot chanterelle, or as some call it, winter chanterelles. Langdon explained the features to us and what to look for. Sure enough, the bottom of the mushroom had a bright yellow color, a yellow foot, if you will.

Once we knew what we were looking for, we found them everywhere. We spread out into the trees and I’d hear a little squeal whenever someone found more. After a while Langdon yelled and said he found something for me. We all gathered again. It was an admirable bolete. The top was a deep velvety red and the underside looked like a sponge. We passed it around a squished the spongey side. He told me to chop it up and saute it in some butter and put it on a baguette. Keep it simple. I could do that. Later I found our mother and daughter team in the group holding something large and white, like the size of my head! Langdon had mentioned that he loved cauliflower mushrooms, and sure enough, they had found one. He couldn’t believe it as this was not the ideal place for them. It was definitely the find of the day!

After our foray, Langdon signed our books with full buckets to ya! the mushroom hunters way of saying good luck. We all went home with a basket of mushrooms and an enormous sense of pride. Langdon recommended a recipe for Scallop and Wild Mushroom Marsala and the next night I made dinner for once. My husband also came home from Napa Valley with a few nice bottles of wine. That night we celebrated and had the best meal I’ve had in a long time. I asked my husband, is it just me because I foraged these mushrooms or is this meal better than any restaurant meal? He agreed, if not to only humor me, but Evie doesn’t lie. She ate every bite!

I had come to Boyne City because I have always been drawn to nature’s secrets more than to, say, Hollywood’s secrets or the secrets of Wall Street hedge-fund managers. Nature is real. It exists beyond our ability to create it or even mediate it.

 

The Mushroom Hunters by Langdon Cook

 

Book Ends
Book Club

In the Tracks of an Avalanche

We drove through the fog to get there. Our biggest book club group yet (!) met at the trailhead of the Iron Goat Trail near Stevens Pass. It was a chilly October morning and we were bundled in our wooly hats and puffy coats. Before we hit the trail I pointed out that we were standing at the location of the old town of Scenic. There was once a hotel there in the early 1900’s and a hot spring. And it was a crucial location for the recovery effort of the terribly tragedy that happened on the Great Northern Railway, just three miles from where we stood.

In February 1910, a formidable blizzard tore through Stevens Pass and ravaged the railway. Slides blocked the tracks in several places along the steep-walled corridor that had been exposed in a recent wildfire. Two trains, one full of passengers and the other full of mail and crew, were trapped on both sides by slides. The trains were moved next to each other on opposing tracks near the Wellington station. With the whole area prone to slides, the train’s location was considered the safest place for them. The snowplow crews tirelessly worked to clear the tracks as the snow continued to pile up and every time they cleared a slide, another would occur.

The passengers and crew, concerned about their safety and health, were trapped on the trains for five days. A few of them decided to walk out to the town of Scenic and subsequently wired a message to report their horrific walk through the blizzard conditions and recommended that the rest of the group stay put and wait for help. But help didn’t come, and as conditions seemed to mildly improve, they made a decision to evacuate as many as they could the following day. That night, the snow turned to rain and the lightning flashed in the sky. There was a deafening CRACK and a slab of snow released from the heights of Windy Mountain tumbled down onto the trains. The train cars toppled down the steep slope, some disintegrating on impact and others perfectly intact. The unharmed survivors pulled others from the snow and rushed them down to Scenic. Many were rescued but still nearly 100 died in the accident in what is still the deadliest avalanche in American history.

All that remained in the ravine afterward, strewn among rocks and ravaged trees, were a few twisted metal pipes, a ruptured firebox door, a woman’s torn, high-buttoned shoe.

From the trailhead at Scenic, our group climbed 700 feet up steep switchbacks to get to the now defunct railway. I reminded the group that the survivors and rescuers had to get down this steep embankment and in the snow, a seemingly impossible and terrifying task. We reached the railroad grade and explored the ghosts of the railway’s era. We first discovered a large, dark tunnel. A trail led inside to an interpretive sign and a warning of “extreme danger” if one was to continue through the tunnel. We returned the way we came and continued on the trail as it skirted the outside of the tunnel.

A massive concrete wall, probably 30 feet high, follows the trail. Rusty rebar pokes out in places, water spills over the edges, and roots meander their way through the structure, buckling and crumbling, as nature reclaims its rightful place. Towering yellow alders sprouted from the top of the wall and shined brightly against the blue sky in protest of the man-made feat of engineering. We passed the remnants of a wooden snowshed that once protected the tracks. The decaying wood was flattened into waves as it followed the curvature of the embankment that reclaimed it.

Finally, as we neared the old townsite of Wellington (renamed Tye after the disaster), we entered the main attraction of the trail, a towering concrete snowshed built in response to the avalanche disaster of 1910. The structure is mostly intact with the exception of one end that is falling down. Concrete clings to falling rebar in what we all decided could be an art installation displayed in any modern art museum. We followed a short boardwalk to interpretive signs explaining what happened here over 100 years ago. We ate lunch there and discussed our thoughts about the month’s book choice, The White Cascade, a historical recount of the events leading up to the avalanche and the aftermath.

Many in our group grew up in Washington and I was surprised to learn that they had never heard of the deadly avalanche at Wellington before we read the book. Without the efforts of many volunteers over the years who worked hard to conserve this historical area and its trails, we may have lost this story all together. Stories like this bring us closer to understanding what our ancestors and predecessors endured in the harsh land of the west. It also reminds us that nature is a formidable force and that sometimes it is better to just leave it wild.

 

For no matter what the railway propagandists might say to the contrary, there were indeed places in the country too wild to be tamed by the technology of the railroad – and Stevens Pass might be one of them.

 

The White Cascade by Gary Krist

 

Book Ends

 

Reading List

Reading List: Witchy Vibes

If you know me, you know I love a little bit of magic. This month I’m embracing my inner witch by getting close to nature and harnessing its power. I’ve been reading about strong and powerful women with a little bit of magical powers of their own and wanted to share them with you just in time for Halloween.

The Green Witch

by Arin Murphy-Hiscock

The green witch “is a naturalist, an herbalist, a wise woman, and a healer. She embraces the the power of nature; she draws energy from the earth and the universe; she relies on natural objects… she calls on nature for guidance; and she respects every living being, no matter how small.” YASSS! I literally gasped when I saw this book. It is basically a guide book to being an outdoor woman who wants to connect with nature on a deeper level. You’ll learn how to ground yourself, perform seasonal rituals, tap into the energy of flowers, use stone, start a witch garden, and craft, cook, and heal with your new witchy finds.

Non-Fiction // Published: 2017 // My Rating: 4 out of 5 stars

Buy on Amazon

Alchemy of Herbs

by Rosalee De La Foret

Get closer to nature by exploring the benefits of herbs. This cookbook puts a twist on the classics remedies like garlic for immune support and hot tea to sooth sore throats with recipes for Ginger Lemon Tea, Cayenne Salve for sore muscles, Cardamom Chocolate Mousse Cake for heart health (yes, please!), and Spiced Cold Brew Coffee for a kick of antioxidants. In addition to the recipes, there is in-depth history and research for each of the herbs to guide you on your way to natural health.

Non-Fiction // Published: 2017 // My Rating: 4 out of 5 stars

Buy on Amazon

Crystals for Healing

by Karen Frazier

One of my favorite children’s book is Everybody Needs a Rock which instructs a young reader on how to choose the perfect (and essential) rock companion. I totally agree that everyone should have their very own rock. There is something about holding it in your hand that is grounding, and many people believe, healing. This book is the comprehensive guide to crystals and their healing powers for whatever ails you. There are crystals for those dealing with grief, looking for love, or those who want to increase their gratitude. I have my own little pink crystal that I hold when I’m feeling stressed and there is a meditative quality to just tracing the edges with my fingers.

Non-Fiction // Published: 2015 // My Rating: 4 out of 5 stars

Buy on Amazon

What Should Be Wild

by Julia Fine

Maisie has been born with a curse. A simple touch renders any living thing dead or alive. Her father raised her in seclusion and taught her to mind her touches. She doesn’t feel different until she sees a group of school children walking and holding hands. And when her father mysteriously disappears in the nearby woods, she begins to realize that she is not the first of the women in her family to be cursed. In fact, legend has it that their ghosts haunt the forest. This coming-of-age story about a resilient, magical girl kept me turning the pages to the wee hours of the night.

Fiction // Published: 2018 // My Rating: 5 out of 5 stars

Buy on Amazon

Uprooted

by Naomi Novick

Agnieszka’s peaceful medieval village has a Dragon. Dragon is a wizard who takes a girl from the village every ten years to serve him. This deal between Dragon and the village keeps the dark and mystical terror of the nearby Wood at bay. Everyone in the village assumes that Agnieszka’s best friend, the young and beautiful Kasia, will be taken by Dragon, and there will be nothing that she can do to stop it. But when Kasia is not chosen, and instead Agnieszka herself is taken, her life takes a new path in discovering her inner strength and power and saving her friends, family, and beloved village.

Fiction // Published: 2015 // My Rating: 3 out of 5 stars

Buy on Amazon

Circe: A Novel

by Madeline Miller

In this modern retelling of the classic myth, Circe, daughter of the mighty sun god Helios, always knew there was something strange about her. In a moment of desperation, she determines that she can change people into gods and rivals into monsters. The witchcraft that she has harnessed terrifies the gods and she is banished to a deserted island. Here she relishes in nature and strengthens her powers as she encounters some classic characters from mythology. This approachable novel has a glossary of characters in the back that is essential for someone like me who hasn’t encountered the Titans and Olympians in a while. This is one of the best books I’ve read this year!

Fiction // Published: 2018 // My Rating: 5 out of 5 stars

Buy on Amazon

*This post contains affiliate links. However, I always encourage finding books at your local library or favorite indie book store.

Outdoor Life

Larch March to Blue Lake

I am worse than my nearly two-year-old. She smiles right to me as she climbs up the stove and I pull her down and say no for the millionth time. She’ll make perfect eye contact and touch something she’s not supposed to touch, putting just one finger on an item and then looking to me for approval. I give her my disapproving mom look for the trillionth time. Like her, I push and push at boundaries compulsively without seeming to learn a lesson. I find the limits of myself and my daughter and then I inch up against them, just just to make sure we can’t squeeze out a tiny bit more. This is how I once again found myself alone in the middle of the trail with a screaming toddler wondering why I keep doing this to myself. And then I did something I’ve never done before.

The forecast called for blue skies. When this happens on an October weekend day, it simply must be taken advantage of. I’ve been itching to see some larch and I knew this weekend would be my best, if not last, opportunity before the fall rain comes. I decided to take Evie up to the North Cascades, a good 3 hour drive from our house, to a short trail filled with brilliant larch. I had the genius idea to wake Evie up before dawn and slip her into the car seat where she would go back to sleep while I drove. She didn’t go back to sleep. So I gave her snacks and entertained her as much as I could on the long drive. She did really well until the last 20 minutes or so when she finally had enough. She cried until I pulled into the trailhead and looked back to tell her we’ve arrived. She was fast asleep.

I woke her up and gave her more snacks with the promise of adventure and golden trees. She seemed up for it and padded down the trail pointing at rocks and trees. Though the sun was out, there was frost on the ground and I showed her how the iced-over puddles crackle when you step on them. She was doing great and I had high hopes that she would walk far on her own. She didn’t. She walked a little ways and then asked me to pick her up. I asked if she wanted to get in the backpack and she said yeah. With her in the pack I hustled along to cover some ground until she changed her mind and wanted down. I let her down but then she wanted up, but not in the backpack. I held her in my arms and walked a little but told her that I couldn’t carry her like that the whole way. Then she had a full on meltdown while I cycled between putting her in the pack, carrying her in my arms, and letting her walk. Then I gave up and just sat with her for a while, trying to console her and making sure she was warm in the cold shade of the trees.

This seemed to work and we walked a little ways more. Then she started crying again just as we passed someone who said we were close to an open area with sun. I picked her up and walked to the sun, promising a break and a snack. Sure enough, we found the sun and some lovely views and even a log to sit on. I gave Evie her lunch and we watched people and dogs pass us by. We were not even a mile up the trail. I coaxed her along offering her more peanut butter and jelly sandwich on the way. Then she would hunker down and sit to eat her sandwich at a snail’s pace. Each time I took a deep breath, summoning patience. It’s the journey, not the destination. It’s the journey, not the destination. I repeated this mantra, pushing out the counter thought: did I drive us all the way up here for nothing?

It was only two miles to the lake and three hours had gone by now. I kept thinking we had to be getting close. If I could just get Evie in the pack we would be up there in no time. I decided that I just needed to get her into the pack. I filled her up with even more food and changed her diaper and then told her how we could see the golden trees and the big mountains and the pretty lake if she got into the pack. She refused. I began to worry. We were a ways up the trail and it was getting late in the day. I was going to have to get her in the pack eventually to get back down the trail. That’s when I planted the pack right in the middle of the trail and decided she was going in no matter what. Of course there were hikers going by from both directions that got to witness the lovely sight of me forcing my screaming child into a pack. I waved them around us and they gave me sad looks. A couple with their young kid came along and gave me some words of encouragement and then I did the thing I never do. I asked how much further it was to the lake. They looked at each other with a gaze that I recognized. They said, “oh man, you’re getting there. You’re doing great!” This was hiker code for, “oh man, this lady doesn’t know what she’s gotten herself into, poor thing.”

I finally got Evie in the pack and decided that I’d hike five more minutes up the trail. If she was still crying and screaming, I’d turn around and go back to the trailhead. If she stopped, I’d keep going to the lake. I walked for about 2 minutes and she was quiet. I glanced back and her head was hanging down, fast asleep. I hiked just a few minutes more into the magic of the golden larch and spectacular views all around. The larch gods blessed me with this quiet time all to myself the short way to the lake. I relished in it. I didn’t linger long at the lake though, and as I started back down the trail I felt guilty for being so happy that Evie was asleep. She was missing out on the best part, all that I had promised her.

Just before we left the larch forest and views, though, she woke up. She exclaimed whoa! and wow! as I pointed to the golden trees and pretty mountains around us. I let her touch the soft needles of the larch and she mimicked my enthusiasm. Pretty mountains and trees! she said in her tiny little voice. All of the worry, hesitation, and impatience I felt earlier melted away completely. Then she said, sing, mama!  So I sang. The ants go marching through the larch, hurrah, hurrah.

Maybe one day I’ll learn my lesson and find our limits. But until then I’ll keep pushing. Just a tiny bit.

 

Outdoor Life

Hiking History: Lake Crescent

Legend has it Lake Crescent is haunted. In 1940, some fisherman found a mass floating in the water that ended up being a body. It was perfectly intact, preserved by the near freezing temps of this deep glacially carved lake. The woman’s dead flesh was described eerily as “Ivory Soap” caused by a chemical reaction between the minerals in the lake and the fats in her body.

The woman was identified as Hallie Latham Illingworth, a Kentucky native and waitress at the Lake Crescent Tavern. Three years earlier she had disappeared just before Christmas. She was married to a local man who was well known for his womanizing and who had regularly beat her. It is said that she showed up to work with black eyes and bruises on her neck and arms. Her husband was eventually arrested for her murder, which occurred after a particular fight got too violent and he ended up strangling her to death. Her body was weighed down by weights and thrown into the depths of the lake. She became known as The Lady of the Lake and is still said to haunt the lake that entombed her after her horrific death.

The reason this lake perfectly preserved Hallie’s body and has such frigid temperatures is because of its depth. It is the second deepest lake in Washington after Lake Chelan with a max measured depth of 624 feet, although some unofficial measurements boast depths of over 1000 feet. According to the local native people’s history, Mount Storm King, the mountain that looms over Lake Crescent, was formed because of a battle between two tribes, the Quileute and the Klallam. The Mountain Storm King became angry at the fighting and threw a big boulder at the men. The boulder blocked the river and formed Lake Crescent, killing all of the warriors. Geological history backs up this native story. There is evidence of a landslide occurring that would have been big enough to raise the level of an older smaller lake, into the lake it is today.

The Spruce Railroad Trail, ambling along the northern shore of the lake, is a great place to get to know this lake. The trail has its own history. It was built in 1918 to move highly sought after spruce trees to be used in airplane construction for World War I bi-planes. The war ended before the trees could be used for their intended purpose, but the line remained open for logging until it was abandoned in 1951.

The trail is flat with peek-a-boo views of the sapphire colored water of the lake. The highlights of the trail include a quaint wooden bridge over a crystal clear pool known as the punchbowl, a popular swimming and diving spot. There are also some remnants of former railroad tunnels and even one that has been restored that you can walk through. It is just long and curved enough to get very dark inside for a brief time. I walked through it alone without a headlamp and definitely felt out of my comfort zone in the pitch dark for a minute or two. But I held onto a handrail, scooted a little quicker, and survived to claim a small victory.

Another area to explore is the Storm King ranger station on the western side of the lake. The ranger station made a home of an old settler’s cabin that has been restored over the years. From here there is lake access and a dock, where on a crisp autumn morning, I sat alone for a long while watching fog form and cling to Mount Storm King and Pyramid Peak and disappear. Interestingly, Pyramid Peak once hosted a lookout built in 1942 that was used as a spotter station to spy any possible approaching Japanese aircraft during World War II.

 

There are a few trails that start from the rangers station, including one that heads south across the highway to Mount Storm King and Marymere Falls. The trail crosses Barnes Creek and Falls Creek in deep woods that makes you feel miles from the highway. I had a particularly magical moment watching a young deer on this section of trail that will stick with me for a long time.

After a short distance, the 90 foot high Marymere Falls ribbons down through rock and forest and flows down to a placid creek, punctuated by yellow and orange leaves in the fall. The lovely name was bestowed to the falls by Charles Barnes, a homesteader and member of the Press Expedition through the Olympic Mountains, in honor of his sister Mary Alice Barnes.

 

     

Reading List

Reading List: Thrilling True Stories

I love a good page-turner, especially this time of year. Here is my round-up of outdoor related true stories that will keep you reading till the wee hours of the night.

 

Blind Descent by James M Tabor

This is a claustrophobia-inducing wild ride through the largest cave systems in the world. In 2004, two competing adventurer / scientists were searching for the deepest location in the world. They spent months in supercaves battling not only the psychological terrors of living two miles below the surface of the earth in pitch darkness, but also raging underground rivers, passages the width of a single body, and dead end after dead end. It is nothing short of amazing that anyone can explore and live in these conditions. I swear I held my breath through the whole book!

 

 

 

 

 

The Lost City of Z by David Grann

In 1925, a British explorer named Percy Fawcett went into the Amazon jungle looking for a lost civilization and never returned. Over the years, many others have went looking for Percy and his lost city but they came back with nothing, or in some cases, like Percy, didn’t return at all. David Grann goes on an adventure of his own to the area and reports the horrific conditions that these explorers endured in the harsh jungle, a place filled to the brim with poisonous animals and plants and where water permeates everything creating a breeding ground for disease and infection. The story, one of the greatest adventure mysteries of the twentieth century, was recently made into a movie.

 

 

 

 

 

The Feather Thief by Kirk Wallace Johnson

This one can be summed up in what sounds like the beginning of a joke: a flute-playing college student goes into the British Museum of Natural History and comes out with a million dollars worth of feathers. I would like to follow this with: chaos ensues, but sadly I can’t. It took the museum months to even realize that anything was missing. The museum is home to one of the largest ornithological collections in the world. It includes feathers of the most rare birds in the world, including specimens collected by Charles Darwin and Alfred Russel Wallace. And why did he steal them? Well, because he was obsessed with the Victorian art of salmon fly-tying. Need I say more?

 

 

 

 

 

Pilgrim’s Wilderness by Tom Kizzia

If you are into stories about strange cultish families, then this one is for you. Papa Pilgrim moved his family of fifteen children to the town of McCarthy, Alaska at the edge of the Wrangell – St Elias National Park. The tiny town greeted the seemingly pious family until it was discovered that the so-called pilgrims left chaos in their wake. The family’s story is sometimes jaw-dropping and I often found myself reading passages out loud to my husband in disbelief. Other than its shock value, it also highlights the contrast of environmentalists and pioneers in these National Park towns that is fundamentally American.

 

 

 

 

 

The Golden Spruce by John Vaillant

There once stood a single golden spruce tree on an island off the coast of British Columbia. This tree was long beloved and honored by the indigenous people of the island until the day it was found chainsawed to death. The man who performed this terrible act was an obsessive logger turned activist. The deed was an act of defiance, of protest. But why did he feel he had to take it to this extreme? Vaillant explores the island, its history, and the history of the clash between environmentalist and logger, and the story of this fascinating man.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Orchid Thief by Susan Orlean

Here is another story of an obsessive man, this time the obsession is with orchids and the setting: the swamps of Florida. The eccentric and self absorbed “orchid thief” was John Laroche who attempted to harvest endangered orchids in order to clone them. Orlean writes about her own journey meeting Laroche and interacting with him in true journalistic style. The book was famously made into the movie, Adaptation, an equally strange story about a screenwriter desperate to develop this book into a movie. It’s a strange adaptation with little resemblance to the actual story in the book. Stick to reading the book, which like others on this list, explores the gray lines between helping and hurting the things we love with the best (if not crazy) intentions.

 

 

 

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