On Wind and Community

Another storm will be sweeping into Puget Sound and the Seattle area tonight. Officials are exhorting us to have three days worth of ready-to-eat food and battery-powered lights and radio as we will have winds up to 60 miles per hour (90 in some areas) along with another deep soaking of rain. Electricity, phone and other line-based services will likely be taken out by falling trees. That is, the trees that have not already fallen from winds earlier this week.

Left: Looking toward Bellevue. The calm before the storm.

The wind and rain combination is a dangerous one, particularly in the Northwest where up to 100' foot tall Douglas Firs dominate the landscape. Pacific Douglas Fir trees have very shallow root systems. When rain soaks the ground it softens, making it easier for a tree to topple. Ironically, but logically, it is the largest that are at greatest risk of being uprooted.

In the forests this is not such a problem, of course, as it is simply part of the ecology cycle. It is also less likely to happen in a forest, as the trees absorb the force of the wind as a large group. The bulk and root systems intertwine, acting as buffers and reinforcement. In the city and suburbs, these giants are often standing solo or in small clumps, making them far more vulnerable to the elements.

The vulnerability that comes with isolation stands true for our human community as well, particularly at times like this. Caring for and about our neighbors, in both the specific and general sense, uplifts and provides a greater quality of life for everyone, including ourselves. We create connectedness and relationships. The act of reaching out makes others feel not only safer but more willing to reach out themselves. And, in the act of service, we serve ourselves by exercising our integrity, our generosity, our humanity. We become better people simply from the satisfying act of helping.

Evergreen

The recent storms in Seattle have stripped fall from the trees. What bright yellow and red leaves there were left now lay in soggy piles over storm drains, blocking the rain water which "piles up" in turn, creating small lakes along the side of and into the roads. The loss of the color makes the days feel even more dreary.

What I tend to forget is how much color -- green -- is left. The majority of trees in Cascadia are evergreen. No matter the time of year, the landscape never looks stripped. It is dark color, but color all the same. When I appreciate this most is when I am seperated from it... when I am in an alternate winter landscape of bare deciduous trees, lacy forests of brown-grey branches holding up the monochrome sky.

Even the undergrowth stays green in the Northwest, with the sword ferns and rhodedenderons and moss. It is more spare, but it is not bleak. And rarely is there snow in the lowlands. This time of year we bring it inside as well... cedar and fir bows, swags of holly, laurel, and pine. We are surrounded by green, that lovely, dark, winter green.