His emerald feathers luminous
in the sun-blasted lake, the mallard
pursues. The object of his lust is mute,
dusty-brown, some splotches of black.
She is not attractive and she knows it.

He circles her because she is convenient,
the only female at this end of the lake.
He pumps his feet furiously,
head bobbing up and down.
Notice me! Notice me!
All pomp and brilliance.

She stares straight ahead
and paddles toward a tangle of cattails.
The drake lurches from behind.
A flutter of wings, two squawks,
and it’s over.

He swoops up in celebration.
She dives suddenly under the water
deep and deeper, coming up shaking
head to tail-feather, shuddering
and frantic to forget.

He will use her in other ways.
She will see it in the way he parades
past the other drakes, and how
he cocks his head to catch his reflection.

She keeps to her corner of the lake
glancing every now and then over her shoulder,
knowing, as all who have been used know,
to keep the wake behind her clear.



Visiting My Friend Who Is Blind

How do you hold it all in
your memory – the distance from chair
to door, the smile of your wife,
where you left your leather gloves?
In your cluttered kitchen
I wonder how you find
what you need.

You show me
the dulcimer you made, coon-skin
banjo, show me the saw
that shapes the wood. I am afraid
of its sharpness,
how it can pierce flesh.

We fish for snapper
in the blue dusk, and across the inlet
swans teach their young
to fly. Nothing like it seen before,
I am speechless at the sight
of pumping wings, webbed feet
slapping the long run across water.
Swans, you guess. I tell you how many.

We find a book of quizzes
and play with its trivia.
I sing answers to songs
of the fifties, you name world capitals –
Canberra, Cairo. I give you the Bible
quiz and ask what God created
on the first day. Light, you answer.
Let there be light.



Branding

This skill is passed down
like a ruby heirloom, color of blood,
a craft precise as a jeweler’s cut,
a many-faceted dance,
stepped together like Cotton-Eyed Joe.
A minuet in dirt and dung.
we match each others moves,
rope the calf and throw him down,
innoculate, castrate,
burn with shapely irons.

We are so close to this work,
we swallow it, The singe of hair and hide
loads our lungs, presses against ribs
like heartbreak. Like travelers
passing through customs, the calves
are counted, marked, let go to wobble
into a strange country of pain.

It’s the way a new love wobbles forward
innocently, then scours the heart
with black marks rocking, rolling,
tumbling like dice. The moves
lovers make toward each other
are out of time. The dance burns
and these are the steps: Tumbling K,
E Lazy A, Ponytrack, Bootjack,
Slash Heart Open.

Chapbook, "Facing the Weather Side" published by Basilisk Press. Poems have appeared in publications such as Poetry Northwest, Calyx, Sourth Dakota Review, Seattle Review, Tar River Poetry, Cincinnati Poetry Review, Hollow Spring Review, Clay and Pine, Welter. Two artist residencies at the Ucross Foundation in Wyoming.

All around us the exploding world populations are demanding and taking what they think is their fair share of the earth’s natural bounty—how dare they. Whether it is fish from the oceans, metals from deep mines, timber from the forests, harvests from the fields, demand for resources on our planet, and the waste and pollution generated to get them have never been greater. Whether you think the earth can sustain all of us in our resource gluttony or not is immaterial, what you do is not.

If you might be an itsy bit concerned about the consequences of the earth being torn asunder, seas ravaged and ecologic destruction pandemic as a cumulate result of all 6.8 billion (at present) of us and our incessant need for resources, you might want to familiarize yourself with the underlying foundations of the great wealth that we have in most of North America and the environmental and societal costs we have paid and will continue to pay for eons to come.

Looking at the basics : good food to eat, cozy shelter from the weather, clean water to drink, and where most of our children grow up to be old— Whoa—We are wealthy. From Panama to the Arctic for the most part it’s good—pretty frigging good.

Yet we are only separated by a few thousands of years from when most of our ancestors had only a sharpened stone on a long stick to hunt game and protect themselves with— caves and huts in the ground to live in. We trusted only our little families and with sticks and stones we beat up on each other for the best hunting, fishing and food gathering sites. And when we discovered metals—hell fire— we started farming and raising animals and sending bronze sword wielding armies to distant lands stealing stuff and bringing back trade agreements. (Some things don’t change).

The ancients started mining and working metals and the rest is history, as they say, and add in a little gunpowder—watch out. But here is the rub. Mining is perceived by the average North American consumer as BAD BAD BAD — mining is bad — polluting —“look at the mess they left”— “and it only enriches large corporations and greedy stockholders at the expense of indigenous peoples”.

WHOA. It is our ability to dig metal substances out of the ground, to make tools, that allows us to make everything we use. Iron, tin, copper, silver, gold and yuck even arsenic. You know—iPods, Priuses and skis.

Mostly forgotten now, it was our nation’s ability to use our natural resources, metals, very quickly, (and messily) that helped us to win World War II.

But our environment has paid a big price (and we are still paying) for this as we consumers demanded cheap metals, procured with the environmental standards and worries of the past —None— Whose to blame? OK lets blame all the greedy dead people—fine—move on.

We now know that throwing your toxic wastes into the nearest creek is not a sustainable practice and we know it is expensive— but critically necessary— that mining and all resource harvesting, for that matter, needs to be permitted with well engineered “best practices” mandates.

We use and need metals. If you stopped for a second and thought about the size of hole in the earth that’s been dug out to provide the raw ore for the metals you—yes you—have demanded by your purchases, you might realize that there’s a huge hole somewhere with your name on it. You, by buying that new Prius, that iPod, that titanium bike, have sent a direct request to the driller at the face in the mine to load up some more powder, to blast some more of what you need. Then all the hauling, crushing and milling, hauling smelting hauling processing etc—It’s yours— the metals and the waste and pollution.

Either you get your metals from mines and smelters and processors that operate responsibly with “best practices,” where adverse effects (pollution-waste storage, etc) are mitigated as best as possible— or you don’t. You’re still going to buy and use the metals. If you don’t allow responsible mining in your backyard where you can insist on best practices, create jobs for your people, and mandate responsible reclamation, you’ll just be getting your metals from countries where there are little environmental safeguards, if any— essentially exporting your pollution elsewhere.

They’re your metals baby, or “baby metals” —make sure you properly dispose of the diapers. Know your “metal footprint.” Take responsibility for your consumption and support local mineral extraction— but make sure it’s done to “best practices.” By developing resources in your own backyard you make sure you dictate the rules — force operators and the governmental permitting agencies to adhere to best practices or shut them down. Make sure the real costs of mining, processing and manufacturing and responsible cleanup (that have been performed at your request— with your name on them) are paid up front by you, not shuffled to future generations. Buy “Organic” metals — those mined, processed, reclaimed and recycled by “best practices.”

By teaching children the “history” of where the things they use come from, and the costs to get them, and involving them in discussions of “highest and best use” of our lands, we pass along lessons learned on what not to do while responsibly showing them that by employing “best practices” we can procure and use metals wisely.

Be an Envirometalist (sic)—“Think Globally- Mine Locally”

(This is not written in support of, nor against any potential mining in Mazama)

By Skeert Grause

Mayor of mythical Venison, Washington
Located in your dreams somewhere west of the Weeman Bridge.

Note: Due to the concern of many Methow Valley residents of the decades old talk of potential development of the Mazama Porphyry Copper-Molybdenum-Gold deposit, Mr. Grause and the Venison, Washington community rely on their consulting exploration geologist, Alec Creighton, of the Mazama area, for guidance in these matters.

“Mr. Creighton’s 30 plus years exploring for mineral deposits in North America and his unabashed support for ‘‘Organic’’ metal mining, gives us confidence that we’ll get what we pay for ~ free advice.” ~ Skeert Grause

Alec Creighton says of potential mining in Mazama: The Methow Valley is underlain by a wide assemblage of rocks that are as varied and diverse (and yes, some well mineralized) as are the rugged individuals (and yes, some quite wealthy), that call this place home. Proposed developments, whether downhill skiing, golf, or open-pit copper mining, have, and are likely to be met with fierce opposition by historically successful, very well funded grass rooted environmentalists (sic) that, to permit a mine, even one designed to “best practices,” might require the second coming of Jesus, Elvis and Jimmy Hoffa, probably all together, singing “Wild Thing” by the Troggs.

This does not, however, mean that the Mazama copper-molybdenum-gold deposit isn’t there, and Sandy Butte wouldn’t make a great downhill ski area. “Highest and Best Use” of our immediate resources appears to be saving them for future generations—the land, the fish, the lynx and the natural concentrations of copper, molybdenum and gold, at least for now. Let’s teach our children to be good stewards of the land and use their metals wisely.

As a community here in the Methow, many of us pride ourselves on being friendly to the environment. In large, I’d say we do live with a solid “land ethic” here. The surrounding landscape may not be the first thing that brought us here but it surely is why some of us stayed. That said one of the more environmentally unfriendly traits we share is that we all drive a lot. Often much further and more frequent than our urban counterparts and definitely more than we’d like.

Another nationwide habit we’re not immune to is that of trying to cram too much into the day be it work, pleasure, volunteer or the combination of thereof . Thus, efficiency becomes paramount and we’re forever trying to “make up” time as we go. One of the places we favor for this catching up seems to be behind the steering wheel. We’ve taken it even further by taking and making phone calls at the same time. This marriage has lulled us into a complacency that fairly makes us forget the fact that driving is the single most dangerous undertaking most of us perform each day. Not just hazardous for ourselves but perhaps more importantly, for others and their families.

Another thing that tends to numb us are statistics, as if these numbers are too much to put together or don’t pertain to us or worse, we find them boring. Yet I can’t help but repeat a few that haven’t improved much. An average of 621 citizens meet their death on Washington roads a year. 61% of these deaths occur on rural roads where only 30% of the driving happens. And of course, the highest death rate per 100,000 drivers is our teenagers. This isn’t folklore, nor does it include the number who sustain life- as- they –know- it ending injuries and the resulting psychological residue.

You can get from Mazama to Twisp 3.5 minutes faster by driving 70 mph as opposed to the legal 60 while burning more fuel. And 2.2 minutes faster from Mazama to Winthrop. The braking distance to a full stop is 30 feet less at 60mph than 70. We’re kidding ourselves if we don’t think that 30 feet can make a difference.

One of the unintended consequences of where the roads run in this valley has to be the death toll of deer. Granted, some of us have mixed feelings about the well-being of the local deer herd; many of us sacrifice gardens, fruit trees and various other crops to them annually. However, I don’t believe anyone particularly wants to see animals suffer and aside from those that get out-right smashed on the road, most scramble off to die a raw, slow death elsewhere. Oh, and lest we forget the monetary damage to one’s vehicle (I can’t help but always read this token number with general disregard.) Since deer are relatively light, there are few actual human fatalities that result from these collisions. Except for some unfortunate motorcyclists, we get off easy when compared to those driving around in elk country. Or where I grew up in the Northeast where you simply did not drive certain roads at night for the moose.

The fact that our roads separate prime ungulate range from their main water source in our rivers so that the deer pay for it in blood is not lost on the turkey vulture population. But I doubt this is the main roadside attraction most wish for – scavengers tearing away at freshly mangled carcasses. To be sure, it is not the part of our landscape we’re most proud to share with visitors.

I’ve missed clipping several Methow deer over the years by 20 feet or less. Fortunately, the only two I’ve hit have centered my bumper and they died instantly. Otherwise, I don’t want to add up the number hit by less fortunate travelers that I’ve dispatched with everything from a gun (at best) to a spade to the biggest rock on hand. Certainly, I’m not alone. And though I know my personal driving luck won’t hold forever, I’m willing to drive 60mph or less trying to extend it the best I can. Deer, grouse, chipmunks and birds are one thing. But what about our pets? What about our families?

Back in the day, I used to enjoy walking my dogs on the dirt road I still live on. After too many close calls, I switched roads for walking. A few more years have passed and I’m looking for another, but that is to be expected. Since having children, however, my tolerance for race- car drivers has weakened considerably and I’ve never had a great deal of it to begin with. I hold negligent driving in even poorer regard than night long outside lights! And so when someone in a car I didn’t recognize actually passed me right before a treacherous corner here on the Rendezvous as I returned from school with my daughters aboard the other day, I said some “naughty” words. Truth to tell, I almost stepped on it, by-passed our driveway altogether and ran the bad Bi--- down. But that would be road rage, wouldn’t it? The very thing I’m trying to guard against. Instead, I just turned down toward the granary - a bit hot - and apologized to the kids while pleading for them not to repeat anything they’d just heard.

Meanwhile, I go on wondering when and why did we grow so damned impatient, anyway? I include myself at the top of the list. How did we let a distracting impatience cultivate in us this assumed stupidity? I mean, is it not taken for granted that we’re going to pass someone driving way to fast or talking on their phone or both, each trip to town -like it’s cool or something? Yet those dull statistics at the beginning of this ditty don’t lie, and the needless death toll keeps stacking up and I can’t think of two more related things.

Even if our frustrations result from being over-tasked day in and out trying to make ends meat, raise a family and chip in a moment or two for ourselves, justifying this idiocy is a hard sell when weighed against the dark reality of consequence. Think of all the things we do in this valley to improve our health for crying out loud. We eat well, read, volunteer, exercise, exercise, exercise…. and continue to drive around like maniacs! Instead, perhaps we should experience this time in our cars as relaxing, odd as that sounds. After all, we’ve spent a bunch of money on our ride –our worst investment of all. Add up that sticker price, then the fuel and maintenance (which is far more costly the more we rare and tear around) to keep rolling, and we’d better enjoy it. We live in this valley of unparalleled countryside, rather than dreading the time in our car zipping from one place to another perhaps this should be our time off to take stock in the good we have and not constantly be tempting it?

I have much respect for those who diligently carpool, regardless of inconvenience. And even greater for those community members such as Eric B. or Susan C. who I often see afoot. Those during the dry months who bike to work are equally commendable. And I also have neighbors who regularly drive our road slower than anyone.

Neighbor Bob drives our road like he’s experiencing it for the last time. By so doing, he sees what the rest of miss like the scampering coyote and the hunting harrier; the fresh fawn pair, the buck with tangled antlers, the resident bobcat and certainly the gathering of afternoon shadows as they work into the coulees of Lewis Butte. His wife Janet is even more observant. When she’s behind the wheel she picks up on the scurrying ermine, the doodling vole; Janet watches salamanders crawl across the road. Some up here are more annoyed by their driving habits than others. I speak of them with genuine envy. Truth to tell, they’re getting to town about 58 seconds slower than the rest of us.

So I challenge us all the next time we head out, to drive more like Bob, even if we can’t quite get it down like Janet. In the end, driving at more reasonable speeds may just be the very best way of preserving not only the valley we love, but all of its inhabitants as well.

Disclaimer: Please, if you happen upon me while we’re slowly towing a 6 ton implement somewhere – PASS! So long as it’s safe, of course. Believe it or not, I do pull over when I can, but don’t wait.

It was 4 degrees out this morning when I fed the dog. As I appreciate the fire next to me, I am, once again, amazed that all 5,000 residents of the Methow Valley (and many visitors) are all, in one form or another, working to stay warm this morning.

Under the surface of the spectacular natural beauty of this valley, an infrastructure including water, wood, electricity and community literally sustains our lives. While the magenta sunrises and sparkling fields go on dazzling people day after day, over the past few years there has been a less beautiful fact lurking in the shadows.

Here it is in the light of day-- in Okanogan County, from 2003-2006:
• median home prices increased an average of 32% per year
• median household income levels increased an average of 3% per year.

Take note that those numbers are for our entire County. It is likely that the Methow Valley median home price increases outpaced those for the County as a whole. Meanwhile, the wages for our teachers, nurses, cooks, shopkeepers and even doctors remain low in comparison to urban areas (the median income for the County is 33% less than the statewide average).

Some call it being paid in quality of life rather than in annual income. Here in the Methow Valley we have clean air, water, silence, recreation, little traffic, and immense beauty. However, when it comes to mortgage payments or property taxes, the increase in real estate values equates to a real cost for working families, and making ends meet in the Methow Valley has become harder.

Granted, by the third quarter of 2008, according to the Washington State Real Estate Research Center, median home prices in Okanogan County had dropped 10% from the same quarter in 2007, and building permits were down by 45%.

The wild inflation of prices, the building speculation, and the families taking risks to live in the Methow Valley has slowed in recent months. The number of for sale signs has increased. Great properties are on the market. Like a game of musical chairs, the music has stopped. Some are sitting on fine homes, while others are left standing with debt and a slow market. What comes next?

As Bertold Brecht said, “because things are the way they are, they will not stay the way they are.” If anything, the wild variation in prices and values over the past four years has shown the value of attending to basic needs: food, water, shelter. For individuals, and for the community as a whole, these basic needs can be met in a variety of ways, from self-sufficient production and hard work, to efficient distribution of affordable goods and services, to smart development, to regulation that supports local innovation and leadership.

A few examples of these kinds of projects give me hope that the seeds for affordable life in the Methow Valley are already well-sowed.
• The Classroom in Bloom project provides thousands of dollars of food to our public schools each year, along with involving kids from grades K-12 in food production. Not only does this project teach ways to keep food affordable and independent, it also serves up lessons in health, nurturing and physical work for all in the public schools.
• Small building renovation and building in the towns. Over the past three years I’ve observed numerous individuals rehabbing old houses in Winthrop and Twisp, and building new small houses. These people are quietly plugging into the idea of clustered housing, decreasing traffic and increasing time spent walking. Also, these builders are showing that affordable housing can exist in the Methow Valley.
• Community infrastructure supports affordable building. Many local contractors and architects are willing to meet with prospective homebuilders and share advice and insight; there is a growing building materials recycling center in Twisp; Methow Arts, the Methow Conservancy and the Confluence Gallery have provided programs and resources to help families conserve materials, build efficiently, and learn from others. Also the towns of Winthrop and Twisp, along with the County, are striving to keep taxes and requirements to a manageable level.

According to the Washington State Real Estate Research Center, ‘affordable’ means that no more than 25% of a family’s income goes to paying the mortgage or rent. Given the 2007 median income for the Methow Valley of $42,670 (city-data.com), the median families can, in theory, pay up to $10,700 per year ($889 per month) in housing costs.

The following example illustrates this so-called affordability:
• Assume a lot in Winthrop costs $50,000,
• Assume building a 1,000 square foot home costs $100 per square foot (with sweat equity included). Then the cost to build a small home (including the lot) would be $150,000.
• Given current mortgage rates of around 5.3%, and a 20% down payment, monthly payments on a 30-year fixed mortgage would be roughly $830 per month. This does not include utilities, property taxes or insurance.
• This example assumes a working family can come up with a 20% down payment ($30,000 in this example).

Several alternatives exist to increase the likelihood that affordable housing will happen as the Methow Valley continues to grow. Affordable housing is not a new problem, and luckily there are many solutions from other places that might be tailored to the needs in the Methow.
• Create a low-interest revolving loan fund to help qualified working families make down payments on their first property.
• Create several sets of plans for small houses that are pre-approved by the County, and ready to build. Include specific provisions in these plans for winter-living (smart roofing and entryway designs), adequate insulation, locally milled wood, energy efficiency (and rebates), solar options, and low-cost plumbing and electrical designs. Offer these free of charge to qualified people.
• Start a Builder’s Guild (including architects, lumber yards, concrete companies, builders, planners, etc.) that might promote affordable, smart building practices. Such a guild would be good marketing and would also benefit families dreaming of owning their own home.
• Start a Community Land Trust that would offer long-term leases for qualified families, similar to those in Leavenworth and Chelan.
• Offer property tax reduction options to certain types of working families (teachers, nurses, etc.).
• Work with the Towns and County to streamline the permitting and review process for small houses, particularly in the Towns. Offer fee reduction and technical assistance to qualified families.

Already here in the Methow many people will pitch in to loan tools, put on roofs in blizzards, share recycled materials and generally do what needs to be done. This approach takes a certain willingness to be patient, be frugal and accept help. To date, that is the affordable housing ‘program’ for the Methow Valley, and I believe it has worked quietly and effectively even through the wild storm of real estate speculation over the past five years. But will this volunteer spirit continue to be enough, or is it time for more?

This community pulls together every day around one cause or another. Shelter is one that shouldn’t be overlooked or underestimated in importance as the Methow continues to change.

by John Bonica

A new friend dropped by just to say hello. We began to know each other beyond just a passing nod and a smile last October, in the wake of the latest outbreak of suicide in the Methow, at a meeting called by three concerned people.

The meeting notice attracted fourteen of us to a room at Aero Methow - the organizers and eleven bewildered attendees. As each person spoke the rest us listened, witnessing expressions of fear, sadness and confusion. Together we watched each speaker's face, quietly reaching across the room with common desire to understand, comfort and love.

I felt a powerful yearning in the room that night, for some large unspoken potential. This deep broad hope abided most clearly in the women present; they wept for it even as they struggled to identify it. Working through her tears, turning over words that might set it free among us, one woman finally named it: Community.

Thirty years ago, Community was able-bodied and active in the Methow Valley. The Community Center was thriving, as was the Senior Citizens Center, The Eagles, The Twisp Grange, the Methow Valley Citizens' Council, the Twisp United Methodist Church and the Winthrop United Methodist Church, The Glorieta School, the public school in Winthrop and the public school in Twisp, the Winthrop Barn Association, and the Mazama Community Hall. We needed all those roofs to house all the groups of people operating in the Methow Valley, all those organizations that gathered the dynamic and powerful forces of neighbors sharing interests, efforts and their lives.

Orchardists, ranchers and farmers had a place to speak their minds and neighbors who would listen. Young families found support for the harrowing and glorious adventure of raising children. People organized to protect the landscape of home against the commercial interests that would sacrifice that landscape - and the living it harbored - for money. Community theater thrived in front of applauding and appreciative crowds. The same place gave birth to the valley's independent schools, its volunteer fire crews, ambulance service, community kitchen, and art gallery.

That place was Community, so strong and vibrant it occupied physical space. So powerful and pervasive, it was carried as Love in the hearts of the Methow's men, women and children: Love and respect for, and commitment to, each other.

Winters were hard. Get stuck in a drift on the back road and, while night came on and you were digging yourself out, you hoped a neighbor would happen by to help. No cell phones, and no Triple-A. We were on our own, but we were surrounded by neighbors.

In the last twenty years, we seem to have reached a critical mass of population and net household worth that have made living here easier. The Methow has grown more sophisticated, upscale and diverse in its interests, and more specialized and separate in its expressions of community.

The Valley has experienced a powerful influx of two generations, people in their twenties and thirties. Look around and marvel at the thriving young families, the young artists exploring interior landscapes and creating brilliantly, the farmers producing bushels of dazzling foods at summer markets.

People are working diligently for themselves; there's ambition that won't be denied. But along with this energetic deliberate living there's a need for connection.

My new friend comes from a large extended family, big ranching family of parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins, children, nephews and nieces; lots of people loving each other, lending a hand. They're all in Montana, and my friend is here. He misses them.

Most of us left our families somewhere else. We came here pretty much alone, maybe with a partner. Maybe we have kids and maybe they are still at home, or maybe not. Still, we no longer have that extended family that loves and supports our lives, that broad warm network of help and understanding that - up until people started moving away from rural homeland into cities - we all enjoyed. In the last three or four generations, we have moved away and cut ourselves off from our tribes. Maybe that's why, sometimes, we feel so isolated and desperately alone that we despair and think about giving up.

We need Family. Here, we can have Community. The Methow Valley has always been fertile ground for fellowship of common attitudes, interests and goals for as long as I've been here and, I'm pretty sure, long before that. Community germinates here - it's in the soil. Maybe it's the responsibility of elders among us, those of us with the bulk of our work behind us, to reach out to our neighbors, to invite a coming-together. And maybe it's the responsibility of younger people, busy building their lives, to be grateful for the invitation, lay down their tools, and join us for dinner.

The Methow is often seen as a hide-out where city escapees want to land. But the Valley now may hold our best chance to build the kind of Community that we, and the rest of the world, need: a place where we enrich each other's lives with the love, understanding and support of neighbors.

Let us rely on each other, and ask for help. And then let us help. We need each other, perhaps now more than ever.