How Recent Floods Transformed Our River Landscape

February 23, 2026 / Lisa / Leave a comment

A few months ago we had some of the worst flooding in several years. Floods are interesting and dramatic when you live in a mountainous area with lots of rain. Typically they come after a heavy snowfall and then rapidly warming weather, but once in a while a flood will be solely from a rain event, and that’s what this one was.

Floods here aren’t like in the lowlands or farming areas. High water in lowlands can obviously be just as destructive. But here, where high volumes are forced into narrow river channels, rocky canyons, and dropped down steep elevations, the flood has a tendency to rise fast, disperse power, and then drop equally fast. In other words, lots of drama over a shorter period of time. This time, there was a lot of drama. Look at the photo below and you can still see the ghost of the water flow.

Yesterday we walked over to the river and I was shocked at how much the channel had changed. As I said, floods are nothing new here and the river landscape is always changing even without drama. But this was significant. The photo below is of the same tree above. You can get an idea how high the river got.

A nice, wide, side channel is gone. In its place is sand. Sand! If you live in this area, sandy beaches are not normal. River edges here are nothing but rocks, rounded over eons by water. There are rocks, though, beyond the sand. The side channel is now a high mound of rocks as far as you can see. The sheer volume of rocks is unreal. It’s hard to imagine where it all came from, let alone thinking about the power of water to move that many rocks so easily. In the photo below, that wide expanse of rock is where the side channel used to be. And by the way, the dog absolutely loved the sand. Quite a bit of it is now in our bed, I’m sure.

There has always been a trough, quite deep, in the main channel. You could see it from shore and it was obviously deep because of the shade of green and the difference in currents. But you couldn’t get close on foot as the river was too wide. A kayaker could get through the main channel to that deeper part, or maybe my friend who swims the river currents. But not the average person standing on the shore. The opposite shore, nothing but woods, also allows no access.

Now though, thanks to the massive sand and rock piles, you can walk up to this deep channel. It’s a beautiful emerald green. In the photo above you can see how fast the edge drops off into depths.

In the future, high water events will erode this new landscape. The old side channel might open up again. The deep channel will widen as currents eat away at the rocks. The sand will definitely be washed away. But for now, it’s a new world over there.

We came home with pockets full of rocks for our tumbler. So many, underwater for who knows how long, now exposed and accessible. Jasper, wishing rocks, quartz, and granite.

I also came home with a little forest creature. It looked rather sad floating in a tiny pool of river water. It had to have come from a tree, uprooted by floods, sent down river, shattered into debris. It didn’t belong in the river. It used to be a tall tree, touching the wind. So I pocketed it for safekeeping, carried it home, and now have it on the desk. I’m not sure it’s any happier here. I might have to find a place for it in the woods. It still looks kind of sad. Or maybe that’s just me, transferring my thoughts on how fast things can change, how much power there is in change, and how nothing stays the same.

Edible Memories

February 9, 2026 / Lisa / Leave a comment

I came across a question yesterday asking what food, taste, or scent immediately transports you to a place, or a memory, or a person.

Well, that’s an easy one. The harder part is limiting the response so it doesn’t become a novel.

Let’s see. There was dad’s god-awful bologna roast that he was so very proud of. A huge chunk of bologna that he would stuff with peppercorns and then put on a cookie sheet in the oven and roast. It was a dangerous thing to eat, not only because of the massive amount of grease, but the peppercorns that could break a tooth. I’m sure it was also dangerous to cook because of all the fat. Dad loved it.

Then there was dad’s other masterpiece which was fried pork chops with a can of pork and beans poured over the top.

Of course, the dinner that caused PTSD in my younger sister: mom’s liver and onions.

Oh, mom’s ‘goulash’ which we all loved. When the ketchup bottle was getting low enough that only an inch or two of ketchup remained, we could anticipate goulash. She’d add water to the bottle, shake it up, pour it over hamburger, add elbow macaroni, and there you were. Goulash. Add some cheese and it was a cheap gourmet meal for five kids.

I’m sure you can see why my husband cooks our dinners.

Aunty, on the other hand, spoiled us kids. Layered fruit jello with the corresponding fruit added, so you had a rainbow in a bowl. Little Nilla Wafers carefully frosted and with sprinkles. A huge platter of fried chicken with a corresponding smaller plate of fried smelt in case there wasn’t enough chicken to go around. Smelt. Their little eyes watched you while you ate. There was always enough chicken.

I once attempted to make homemade Hollandaise sauce. I curdled the eggs and the butter separated and it was like grease. Dad, needless to say, loved it.

Luckily, I have Art. Smoked brisket and fantastic lasagna with spinach and herbs. Stromboli and gumbo, Cajun potato salad and fish. Barbecue and prime rib.

Then there’s my sister who is vegetarian and makes the best zucchini boats with rice and herbs. And buckwheat pancakes. And her steelhead with molasses and soy sauce and spices.

Would I love buckwheat pancakes or lasagna if they were made by anyone else? Probably, but they definitely wouldn’t be as good. It’s obviously the cook, the home, the company, the sense of love, and the memories that make everything taste to much better.

Except for bologna roast. I loved my dad, I cherish memories of him, but really, that stuff was just horrible.

A Cold Luminary

January 25, 2026 / Lisa / 3 Comments

Last night was the annual gathering in the little town I used to live in. I’ve written about this event before, but here’s a bit of background first, for those who are new.

Back in 2018, a young man by the name of Sam Grafton died. If you would like to see a small glimpse of who he was, go to YouTube and watch a video called ‘Tumwater Solitude’. Obviously it was a horrible time for family, but something wonderful happened that is a testament to a tiny town and the people who live there.

The first anniversary, people gathered and lit luminaries, setting the candles all along the bridge and streets and around his memorial bench. There was no set program, just an evening of walking among the candlelight and friends.

Since then, it’s become a regular gathering, but it has grown. It’s a gathering to remember all those we have lost over the previous year, to remember those we’ve loved, those we miss, and those we grieve for.

Yet at the same time, it’s a time to laugh and catch up, to visit with people we may not have seen in too long, to enjoy the sound of the whitewater river, the view of mountains and forest, and to simply wander around the town. It’s a community gathering, and yes, there is sadness in our memories and our loss, there is also a lot of laughter and hugs. There may, or may not, be a story floating around involving a golf car with a dying battery doing extremely slow donuts in an intersection one year being loudly cheered on by locals.

This year, it was thirty degrees (F). Cold. Really cold. Frosty and clear and a sickle moon so stars were out. I think my new hearing aids froze because they sure didn’t want to come out when I got home. Everyone was bundled up, and the evening probably didn’t go on as long as normal. I know I lasted an hour and didn’t ride in any golf carts.

Not to sound corny or anything, but my soul was warm when I left. Isn’t this what community should be? I’m not saying this little town is perfect. There are always conflicts and drama. But when people come together it brings home to me what is lacking in so many places.

After too many news stories, too much exposure to all the awful things in the world, I needed to go out into a chilly night, breathe in fresh air, hug friends, rest by the candlelight, laugh with those I love, and remember.

Thank you, Sam.