There was a steady rain Saturday night. The sound was beautiful and uplifting, we could almost hear a grateful earth being quenched after a long and parching thirst.
Sunday was blustery and windy. Leaves and discarded shingles were blown around the yard. After we were certain, though, that we wouldn't be caught in any more rain, we headed out to the trail that leads to the creek. We just wanted to see the salmon one more time. They are still running, which seems a rather amazing feat to go on so long.
The trail was beautiful where the rain had reached. But we found places that were still seriously dry. It will take a good steady downpour, the kind the pacific northwest is fabled for, to soak every corner. We walked less than a thousand yards from our front door to get into this forest. All this time, while we've been shingling, baking bread, waking and sleeping, blogging and dreaming, the salmon have been running up the creek that meanders through this forest.
As we got closer to the creek, we could hear them. The sound of their bodies slapping against the water while they struggled upstream rose above the steady plash of creek water. When we were quiet, we could hear them over every other sound. Interestingly, we could also smell them. Decomposing salmon bodies mingled with the wet earth and created a certain pungency.
After all that struggling and swimming against the current, it always comes down to this. We could see at least 20 carcases in this little part of the creek and on the banks. The living swim past the dead, and even though they must see what lies ahead for them, they remain determined. It's why they've made this journey.
Sunday was blustery and windy. Leaves and discarded shingles were blown around the yard. After we were certain, though, that we wouldn't be caught in any more rain, we headed out to the trail that leads to the creek. We just wanted to see the salmon one more time. They are still running, which seems a rather amazing feat to go on so long.
The trail was beautiful where the rain had reached. But we found places that were still seriously dry. It will take a good steady downpour, the kind the pacific northwest is fabled for, to soak every corner. We walked less than a thousand yards from our front door to get into this forest. All this time, while we've been shingling, baking bread, waking and sleeping, blogging and dreaming, the salmon have been running up the creek that meanders through this forest.
As we got closer to the creek, we could hear them. The sound of their bodies slapping against the water while they struggled upstream rose above the steady plash of creek water. When we were quiet, we could hear them over every other sound. Interestingly, we could also smell them. Decomposing salmon bodies mingled with the wet earth and created a certain pungency.
After all that struggling and swimming against the current, it always comes down to this. We could see at least 20 carcases in this little part of the creek and on the banks. The living swim past the dead, and even though they must see what lies ahead for them, they remain determined. It's why they've made this journey.
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