Mid-November musings

Last of the leaves

As I sit here in the dark, with my laptop on my knees while sitting up in bed, a usual Sunday morning dawns. This morning, nothing pops into my head as I ponder what to write about. As anybody who follows this blog knows, sometimes the magic works, and sometimes it's a dud. I have no idea what will come out today, but this practice has been going on for more than a decade and so, here goes.

Yesterday I went on my usual Saturday morning walk with a couple of good friends, all of us wearing masks even while we are outside. On Saturday there are many more people on the trails than we encounter on Thursdays, my other usual hiking day. Because the pandemic has curtailed the groups that I used to join for those two activities, I still manage to have found some diehard friends who are willing to join me. Otherwise, I'd be going alone. I truly need the exercise during this time more than ever. Those walks, plus three Zoom yoga classes a week, help to keep me from slipping into depression.

I also join some of my old Senior Trailblazer friends for a Zoom meeting once a week, and we normally have a group of around 8 or 10 of us talk for an hour. We discuss how we are faring, who is hiking where, and discussing whatever is on our minds. It helps to see these old friends, learning about their coping mechanisms as we navigate our "new normal." The way the pandemic is going, I don't see this situation changing any time soon. Most of us are in our seventies and considered high risk, even if we are more active than many seniors. We are still old.

During a recent Zoom meeting, I learned about a new kind of fabric to keep you dry during heavy rain. Since we're getting into our usual rainy season, I was interested to hear about it. We laughed about how anybody living and hiking in the Pacific Northwest usually has more than one or two rain jackets. This new fabric is only available from Columbia at the moment, and so I went to their website to learn more about OutDry Extreme. I've never been thrilled with Gore-Tex, which is expensive and only seems to work for a short while before becoming just another jacket that leaks. Once you wash it a time or two, it loses its potency. I found an OutDry raincoat on sale for half price and ordered it. It should arrive this coming week, and since we are entering a particularly rainy patch; I'll be able to see if it works and if I like it. Otherwise, it will join the other half-dozen raincoats in my closet. 

Yesterday we walked around five miles in Arroyo Park from Fairhaven, and it was mild, cloudy, and dry, making it a very pleasant time along the wide trails. There were plenty of people out and about, and almost everyone wore a mask, even though we were outside. When we got to the bridge over Chuckanut Creek, we saw a group of five or six women staring into the water. The salmon are running at the moment, making their way up the creek to their spawning grounds. They had spied a group of fish, so we decided that we would join them. Since we are not supposed to be in such large groups, even outside, we found another place where you could see the fish struggling upstream and watched in fascination as one after another fought against the rushing water. Sometimes they would tire and slip backwards, losing their hard-fought gains.

Of course, when I got home I researched the salmon activity, wondering if they really do find their way all the way back to where they were spawned and how it occurs. How does a salmon find its way back "home"? I found this information on Wikipedia:

Most salmon mostly spend their early life in rivers or lakes, and then swim out to sea where they live their adult lives and gain most of their body mass. When they have matured, they return to the rivers to spawn. Usually they return with uncanny precision to the natal river where they were born, and even to the very spawning ground of their birth. It is thought that, when they are in the ocean, they use magnetoreception to locate the general position of their natal river, and once close to the river, that they use their sense of smell to home in on the river entrance and even their natal spawning ground.

I also learned that they stop eating when they begin this trip, and they just don't have the energy to return after spawning, so they die. Some of the salmon we saw were huge, at least to my eyes, and it made me sad to realize that they are on their final journey. Most salmon live around five to seven years, but they only make this trip once before they die. I tried to capture it but was unsuccessful. My friend Melanie got this great video, which I hope you can see. (9 seconds long)

In any event, it was definitely an amazing experience. Then we said goodbye and went to our respective homes, reflecting on the natural world and its vast variety of species. I feel very blessed to live in such a beautiful part of the country, where I can walk in the forests and watch the salmon run, and even enjoy the life-giving rain. 

Today I'll join my coffee shop friends and will probably sit around outside while enjoying my coffee and their company, before making some shopping errands and then heading home. I might start watching season 4 of The Crown, which was just released today. I've enjoyed the first three seasons very much. As our days grow shorter and the nights ever longer as we make our way towards the winter solstice, I am spending more time inside, sequestered with my dear partner as we slog through our isolation during the pandemic. 

We cannot change our past. We can not change the fact that people act in a certain way. We can not change the inevitable. The only thing we can do is play on the one string we have, and that is our attitude. —Charles R. Swindoll

Well, that about wraps up this post, as I get ready to begin the rest of my Sunday. I do feel a bit better than I did before I started to write, which is why I do it. Hopefully you will find some joy and happiness in your days before we meet again next week. Until then, dear friends, be well.