A Dream and a 15th Century Advent Poem

Last night I dreamt that I was traveling through a city that I have dreamt about before. In the dream I am downtown and as always in my dreams, it is dark. There are others with me. I do not know who is driving - it could even be me. However, I do know we are on our way to a class and we are moving through a very hilly downtown. We decide to get out and walk. I do not know why we choose to do that, but now we are walking on a sidewalk that is actually a narrow, crumbling path on a fairly low cliff just above the ocean. The sun reflects off the rippling water and everything is bathed in beautiful light. We cautiously walk in a single file; there is no room to do otherwise, and it would be very easy to get distracted by the beauty and tumble into the sea. The day is clear and the colors are vibrant. The bright light bounces off the brilliantly blue water and sparkles like stars. Gently cresting waves are topped with pristine foamy white on our right, and to the left are small bungalows, each with its own for sale sign. Each dwelling has a small patch of well trimmed emerald green grass for a lawn, and they each are painted a different pastel color from the ones on either side. I marvel that these coastside properties have not been taken up by the wealthy for mansions, and I say out loud that here it seems almost anyone can live by the ocean.

We continue our single file walking, and we begin to discuss where we are going. We are on our way to study with a teacher. I have not met him, but I seem to know what he looks like. I believe him to be East Indian, and he helps people to learn about death. I am told that he will want to touch me on my left shoulder. This is not a somber walk. We do not journey in fearful silence, but neither are we boisterous. We simply seem to be enjoying ourselves and the beauty that surrounds us. I think there are less than ten of us. The teacher's name is never spoken. I believe that this is the first time I have ever been with these fellow students.

At the end of the dream the crumbling path begins to take a fairly gentle downward slope. A paved road is just ahead of us, and despite the fact that we are walking along a cliff, the road seems to cross our path, not just intersect. I do not know which way we should go, and I am grateful there are others ahead of me who are walking confidently.

I then wake.

+++

Today is the second day of Advent. I love this season when we hear again the ancient stories, hymns, and poems inspired by the birth of Jesus. I never tire of hearing about the dreams, the angelic encounters, the excitable shepherds, the sojourning mystics, and all of those who said yes to being a part of the story. It is encouraging to hear the ancient words of the prophet Isaiah reminding us once more to trust God; the way will be made plain, and that we, too, even though we sit in darkness, will see a great light. Yesterday I reminded my congregation that I believe all these wondrous stories, and I believe the retelling of them is so vital, particularly in these jaded times. We all need to learn to dream again. Perhaps in my dream we were on our way to meet Christ. If that is true, then Christ was with us in every wobbly step.

I leave you with the following poem that I found in a publication many years ago. Alas, that publication,"Thin Places", is no longer in existence, but this beautiful poem lives on. As far as I know, the author and the original source continue to be unknown. The photograph is mine.

I also leave you with the encouragement to pay attention to your dreams. You may be surprised to learn who may be tapping you on the shoulder.

Thou shalt know him when he comes

Not by any din of drums

Nor the vantages of airs

Nor by anything he wears

For his presence known shall be

By the holy harmony

That his coming makes in thee.

A Change of View

I woke yesterday morning from a dream where I was driving through a small desert town. I am glancing at my map, and it tells me I need to be on West Winn. I am on East Winn and there  is no West Winn in sight. I turn around and stop at a local, kind of run down bar. I am stopping there not to get a drink (In my waking life I no longer drink and it seems I no longer drink even in my dreams!) but to ask for directions. Everyone in the bar was watching a soccer game, and the first half was just coming to a close. Suddenly, the bar patrons began to change seats. I looked at the screen, and everyone on the screen was changing not only seats but were actually walking across the field and finding new seats on the other side of the small stadium.   

I spoke to a woman who also was just walking in. She introduced herself as the owner and, in contrast to the patrons and myself,she was professionally dressed in a red suit and matching heels. She said her name was Anna Baek, which she pronounced "Beck" (not sure when I learned the spelling). I mentioned how surprised I was to witness the seat changes, and asked if this happens in the big stadiums. She replied not so much anymore, but definitely in the smaller ones.

After people settled in once more, I asked for directions. I was assured by several people, including Anna Baek, that if I continued on East Winn I would eventually come to West Winn. I spoke aloud that I was a little skeptical. I then laughed and said okay, I would try again. There was something about the town, the simple, slightly run-down bar, and the people who also looked to be slightly run-down that I liked. I felt an inherent goodness all around me. I was tempted to stay overnight, maybe even longer. I woke before I made my decision, but I did wake with a smile on my face.    

This dream of changing sides reminds me of a wonderful story that I recently discovered in a sweet and generous book of essays entitled One Long River of Song written by Brian Doyle. In his essay entitled "The Hawk", he tells the story of a man who one summer took up residence on his former small town football field. Doyle wrote that the man, called Hawk, had been a terrific player in high school, showing an ability to wait, yes, like a hawk, until the perfect moment to strike. The name took hold. Hawk went on to play in college and then on to a career Doyle describes as being located in "the nether reaches of the professional ranks, where a man might get paid a hundred bucks a game plus bonuses for touchdowns and sacks". Hawk's career dwindled even more, and one summer he returned to his home field to stay awhile. The town actually let him do so. In turn he kept the field and surrounding area picked up and clean. People would drop by with cookies and sandwiches to see how he was doing. One woman left him coffee every morning. He told Doyle that sometimes he would sit on the visitor's bench, something he had never done before. One day a reporter came to get Hawk's opinion on what she called the "collapse of the social contract". He told her about the cookies and sandwiches. He then told her of the time when a woman stopped by with two infants. She let him hold one "that weighed about half of nothing". He and the young mother talked about football. He then asked the reporter the question, "What could be better than standing on a football field, holding a brand-new human being the size of a coffee cup? You know what I mean? Everything else is sort of a footnote."  

In a nation so polarized, I find comfort in the idea of periodically changing our viewpoints to get at least a glimpse of what the other side is seeing. Sometimes people cross mountains to do that. Sometimes, we simply get up from our comfortable seat to offer help to someone who is having trouble reading the map.

 

Worth Pondering

 This morning I came across this quote by Father Greg Boyle of Homeboy Industries.  I have always appreciated his straightforward language,attitude, and love as he goes about his ministry. Sometimes holidays can pose difficult expectations, making love seem impossible. Perhaps this might help?   

Blessings on your week and go ahead, let your love be known (especially to yourself), 

Sue Ann   

      

"Cherishing is love with its sleeves rolled up."

Father Greg Boyle        

    

     

        

image: Neighborly persimmon tree, November 2025

Vision Quest

 "Once we realize that the nature of our existence is beyond thought and emotions, that it is incredibly vast and interconnected with all other beings, the separation and fear and hope all fall away. It is a tremendous relief."

Jetsunma Tenzin Palmo

First Sip

    
 

If you are trying to follow the way of Jesus, you and/ or your church may be making plans for Advent. One of those plans probably include lighting a candle of hope on November 30, the first Sunday of Advent. When I read this post this morning, I found  myself asking, "How do we live without hope? Won't that simply leave us even further adrift?"  Then I realized that this comment  is a nudge to let go of our little self-focused hopes that are too often just cravings. We yearn for satisfaction, but such satisfaction usually does not last very long. Our hope needs to be much bigger. We need a vision for humanity.   

I vaguely remembered Jetsunma Palmo's name so I went to the internet for more information. I was reminded that she was the subject of a book, Cave in the Snow, written by Vicki Mackenzie (published in
1998). A friend of mine recommended the book to me a few years ago. I read it and loved it. This morning I am thinking I should read it again. The book is the true story of Jetsunma Palmo choosing to live alone for twelve years in a remote and high cave in the Himalayas, and  her emergence from the cave with a vision to establish a women's convent in India. She then worked to bring that vision to fruition. That is the power of vision.

Yesterday I went downtown, and as I walked, I felt some dismay. I was seeing a lot of poverty, and I thought that what I was seeing was a lack of hope. And I may have been. However, today I think I was seeing more. I believe what I was witnessing was a lack of vision. Regardless of what is happening politically, we cannot surrender our dreams to those in power. They cannot dream for us; their hopes and visions are too limited. We are more.        

I now see Advent as a vision quest. We light candles that wait on our communal and personal altars. In that waiting there is God, who is also waiting - waiting again to be born in the caves of our minds and hearts to bring light into our world. That light is not for a select few. It is for all to see - and live.   

    

"Because of our God's deep compassion; 

the dawn from heaven will break upon us,

to give light to those who are sitting in darkness

and in the shadow of death, 

to guide us on the path of peace."      

Luke 1:76-79  ( Zechariah speaking to his newly born son, John. Perhaps he sang this prophecy; we really do not know.)   

  

        

   

image: San Leandro, March 2025

Food for Thought

 The following excerpt from Nan C. Merrill's rendition of Psalm 137 came to me this morning in an email from Friends of Silence. I am reminded that we all need to give some thought as to where, and with whom, we are dropping anchor.  The image of the anchor is believed to have had deep meaning for early Christians who were suffering persecution, and I found some lovely  images online. The word anchor is actually not mentioned in the Psalms or any part of the Hebrew scriptures, but does appear in the New Testament in Hebrews 6:19 and in the story of Paul's shipwreck in Acts. Nan C. Merrill never claimed that her renditions of the psalms were translations. However, I do at times like today, find inspiration in her work.     

As I was pondering all this, I decided to eat an energy bar. I am about to take a walk, and I do not believe that the few slices of apple that I ate earlier will sustain me for much  longer. While perusing the cupboard, I found a well-aged RX Bar which I ate. I just realized that on the label, there is a depiction of an ancient Christian image of an anchor.

  

Thusly fueled, I go forward, grateful that we are held.      

   

  

Hide not from Love, O friends,
sink not into the sea of despair,
the mire of hatred.
Awaken, O my heart, 

that I drown not in fear!

Too long have I sailed where'ere
the winds have blown!
Drop anchor!

 

~ Nan Merrill, Psalm 137 from PSALMS FOR PRAYING    

  

     

One Key, Many Doors

 In the dream Tyler and I are at a lovely hotel in San Diego. He is scheduled to attend a conference; I am along as the spouse. While the dream does not reveal what kind of conference Tyler is to attend, we know he has a friend George, who is attending a real estate conference in the same hotel. We have learned that George is perturbed. His complaint is that he bought a very expensive suit and tie, and rented a luxurious limousine for this event. Upon arrival, he realized such items are not needed. 

George visits our room and tells me that his wife, Joy, is not happy, and has decided to stay in their room all day and watch tv. I think to myself that surely they have come too far to such a beautiful place just to watch tv. Even though I do not know her, I suggest that she and I go to the hotel gym, which is reported to be very extensive.  He replies that he thought that was a great idea and that he would go talk to her. I decide to visit the restroom in the meantime. Despite our luxurious surroundings, the bathroom is the very small bathroom in the first house where my parents and I lived on the ranch. I find that odd, but not particularly concerning.

When I return to the main living area, I am surprised to see George and Joy standing there. We all hug. Tyler, who apparently had stepped out for a few minutes, joins us. There is much laughter.  I then realize that I actually had not met George and Joy until now, but the laughter and hugs makes me feel like I have known them for a long time.

 I also realized that George was able to access our room without us letting him in. I commented on that, and he casually responded, "All our keys open all doors." 

I woke this morning with a smile and a sense of expansiveness. I hear "In my Father's house are many dwelling places (John 14:2)."  

We have the key to go where we need to be. Regardless of our destination, we will always be in the vastness of God that can be found in our very own hearts.  

    

  

      

      

   

"I will lead you along fresh trails of adventure,

 revealing to you things you did not know."     

Jesus Calling, Sarah Young    

 

image:  an older photograph, mine. 

Wisdom of the Stones

 "When I look inside and see that I am nothing, that is wisdom. When I look outside and see that I am everything, that is love.” 

Sri Nisargadatta  (1897-1981)

 

The photograph was taken at the Hickison Petroglyphs on our journey home via Hwy 50 through Nevada.  A beautiful journey. This morning I am pondering that very small stone in the foreground. Even stones are on a journey, and it was a blessing to be with them for a short while. I have much to think about. 

       

 

    

   

image:  September 2025 

I Should Memorize This

 Just in case you, too, are struggling with the barrage of news articles, opinions, hyperbole, virus threats (computer and otherwise), and blatant untruths, just to name a few.  Remembering I am part of the plural helps. We are still being carried forward. We belong to the Whole. This birth, like so many, is painful. Let us breathe together. We have been giving birth for a long time.

"Freshness Comes from There"  

There is a way of passing away from the personal, 

a dying that makes one plural, no longer single...

When life is this dear, it means the source
is pulling us. Freshness comes from there.

We are given the gift of continuously dying
and being resurrected, ocean within ocean.
 
~ Rumi 

image: San Leandro, August 2025

Held

 I received the following post a few days ago, and I fell in love with the image of Mother Earth carrying " flowers and fruits, birds and butterflies, and many different animals" in her arms. I began to imagine her with a head of gorgeous hair that was filled with all this beautiful life, so full it overflowed all around her.  

Jesus, too, touched the earth, and knew her rhythms so well that he based some of his teachings on them. This is worth remembering. As I read this post I also thought of the attached photograph. I was surprised I could find it since it is from 2015. The gardens in San Leandro began changing during and after the drought, and of course, with good reason. Sometimes, however, I miss the overflowing abundance that began to disappear during that time. Our young landscaper who comes once a month to lend hand and expertise to our small front and back gardens told me this morning that she again senses some change in all the gardens she tends to. She feels the plant's responses are more subdued. She added, "I think the earth feels humanity's stress and concern with all that is going on."  I believe that as well. We are of the earth, and the earth is of us. There is no separation.  

"The earth has been there for a long time. She is mother to all of us. She knows everything. The Buddha asked the earth to be his witness by touching her with his hand when he had some doubt and fear before his awakening. The earth appeared to him as a beautiful mother. In her arms she carried flowers and fruit, birds and butterflies, and many different animals, and offered them to the Buddha. The Buddha’s doubts and fears instantly disappeared.

Whenever you feel unhappy, come to the earth and ask for her help. Touch her deeply, the way the Buddha did. Suddenly, you too will see the earth with all her flowers and fruit, trees and birds, animals and all the living beings that she has produced. All these things she offers to you. You have more opportunities to be happy than you ever thought. The earth shows her love to you and her patience. The earth is very patient. She sees you suffer, she helps you, and she protects you. When we die, she takes us back into her arms."

~ Thich Nhat Hanh

 As quoted in First Sip     

         

image; San Leandro, 2015

Fields

 This morning I woke from a dream where I am standing and watching two tall and lean young men playing what I am tempted to call volleyball. They are playing in a field of knee-high yellow grass. The ball is red. There is not a hint of competition between them. As they gently lob the ball back and forth, their movements are soft, even elegant. There is no rush, no leaps or spikes, no lunging after a missed ball. There are no missed balls. There is no extraneous movement whatsoever, only a gentle back and forth arcing movement. It is calming to watch the rise and fall of the red ball. I do not remember how the two young men are dressed, but the combination of the red of the ball and the yellow of the grass is  beautiful. I hear no conversation or laughter, but the scene feels very real and alive.   

I woke thinking of my yoga class, maybe because my mat is yellow. Before class begins, there is conversation and laughter as each of us position and unroll our mats, and settle in. I find comfort on my mat, and I think most of the class does on theirs. Our various mats remind me of rafts that carry us individually, but also collectively. Silence settles in and class begins. Our journeys are not identical, but for a while we travel together. I believe healing is real.       

     

Enlightenment is like the moon reflected on the water. 
The moon does not get wet, nor is the water broken. 
Although its light is wide and great, 
The moon is reflected even in a puddle an inch wide. 
The whole moon and the entire sky 
Are reflected in one dewdrop on the grass. 

~ Excerpt from "Original Face" by Dogen     

The Taste of Aging

 The tangerine, hard and leathery, sat in the basket 
with some obviously much fresher fruit.

 I picked it up. 

"Not edible," I judged, and started to toss it in the green waste.  

For some reason, I stopped and cut it in half.

Curiosity, I guess.  

The fruit, yes very small, was deeply colored like sunset.   

I cut the halves once more, and tentatively tasted. 

The sweetness overwhelmed me;

 How could something so small and withered  

quench such a deep thirst that I never knew I had?  

    

say/2025    

     

image:  Villa Maria, October 2025

Morning By Morning

 Yesterday I woke to a morning sky that brought a message of calm. The sun had not yet risen over the horizon, but pink-edged wisps of clouds were strewn across the morning's  blue sky, silently hinting of a gentle hand adding finishing touches just before the presentation of the day.  

This morning I spotted in the midst of the clouds a clearing that for just a few moments was heart shaped. I smiled, and gave thanks for these love notes from the sky.   

I  took no pictures of these brief moments. However, I leave you an offering of yellow and purple spotted on my morning walk, and a short verse from Nan C. Merrill's version of Psalm 105. My copy of her book is almost 20 years old, and no longer holds together. I find it difficult to replace a beloved old book that has seen much use. It feels like trying to replace your grandmother.  I am grateful for Friends of Silence who reminded me yesterday of this beautiful psalm.  Regardless of the translations or renditions, the psalms call us to trust. Yes, that is a call to faith. We need these reminders.

As spring and summer follow
autumn and winter,
so our lives have their seasons.
Help us to live in the eternal moment,
awaiting your perfect timing
in all things.

 from  Psalm 105, Psalms for Praying, Nan C. Merrill   

      

      

 image: Yellow and purple for the first day of July, San Leandro, CA       

Standing on the Promises

 I have not told too many people about the dream that led me to decide to not retire from active ministry in January. I feel nudged to tell it now. 

In the dream there is a baby girl. She is not my child; I am tending to her for a friend. I am enjoying her presence. We laugh and talk together. She is a baby, so she is engaged with exploring all sorts of sounds. Her whole being is alive with communication.  I am speaking to her, not of grand thoughts, but those words and sounds that help me to encourage her to know her own love and her own shining brilliance. In the dream I am even changing her diaper, and since in this waking life I am an only child who never had children, I have never changed a diaper in my life. I continue to laugh and speak with her. 

When finished with the changing, I pick her up once more and we walk outside. We continue to laugh and "talk" with one another. We come to a road, but we do not cross. Then on the horizon to my left, I see thick dark clouds billowing. These are the darkest clouds I have ever seen. I simply stand with this smiling child in my arms. Neither one of us is afraid. Then from these boiling clouds I see a legion of heavily armored warriors thundering towards us, each astride a war horse that is also heavily armored. Darkness and thick dust threaten to envelope us but a light surrounds us. We do not run. The dust does not fall on us, but it is all around. The beautiful child does not cry, nor do I. In fact, we are still smiling, content in the moment of simply being with one another. I hold her lightly, but I know I will not drop her. I am holding her from my very core.  

I woke from the dream with a sense of certainty that now was not the time to retire from my community. I am grateful for that decision. I have learned to dig deep. I also try to talk to just about every child I meet. I think many of them are being born for a purpose that I may never know, but I want to be an encouraging presence now, even if it is only for  a few moments as we ponder strawberries in the produce aisle. 

I think of this dream this morning because I have just read a page from Steven Charleston's Ladder To the Light. Charleston is an elder of the Choctaw Nation. In addition to this role he has served as the Episcopal bishop of Alaska, as well as president of the Episcopal Divinity School. He is a steady unifying voice of courage on Facebook. I am deeply grateful for his presence and his writings. The following is from Chapter 3, "The Rung of Hope", page 57. 

 

Don't let the dark clouds fool you. They may pretend to own the heavens, stretching from horizon to horizon, ominous and commanding; a permanent shadow over our lives. But I know their secret: there is a world of sunlight behind them. One day, when the wind of change pushes them apart, that light will return to bathe the earth, to restore the vision of every person, to set right what has been broken. Stand firm in what you know and believe. Look up and do not be afraid, for when you feel the first breeze of hope, the clouds will soon be chased from the sky.   

 Yes, we are in serious times, but they will not have the last word. Blessed be.  And yes, on Sunday we will be singing "Standing on the Promises". It is a wonderful old hymn. Join us from wherever you are. The door is open and we sing to the wind. 

         

        

   

image:  East Bay Regional Park, Late Spring 2025

        

  

The Brightness of the Soul

 "The human heart is a capacity for God. Prayer, then, is the development of the art of communion. We are called to develop the disciplines required for loving and open communion with God, the world, others, and ourselves. We need to recover the art of communion and so recover the universe as God's, and rediscover our roots in God, in the world, in one another, and in our inner selves." 

Rachel Hosmer and Alan Jones
   
When I first read this quote from Friends of Silence, I did not recognize these names although Alan Jones sounded vaguely familiar.  I searched the internet, and discovered that Rachel Hosmer was a nun and the founder of the Order of St. Helena. Alan Jones was an Episcopal priest and dean emeritus of Grace Cathedral in San Francisco.  I am finding that when I am researching a name on the internet, I frequently need to sort through names of basketball players, film stars, and CEO's.  Such are the times we find ourselves in. I am not entirely comfortable in these times, but I do not get a sense that God does not always call us to seek comfort; we are called to become aware. Sometimes that can be pretty uncomfortable. However, discomfort does not mean that we are doing something wrong. It means we are exploring what our souls long for us to know.    

          

    

image:  The Brightness of the Soul, June 2025

Thank you, Rachel Carson

 "Those who dwell, as scientists or laymen, among the beauties and mysteries of the earth are never alone or weary of life. Whatever the vexations and concerns of their personal lives, their thoughts can find paths that lead to inner contentment and to renewed excitement in living. Those who contemplate the beauty of the earth find reserves of strength that will endure as long as life lasts. There is symbolic as well as actual beauty in the migration of the birds, the ebb and flow of the tides, the folded bud ready for spring. There is something infinitely healing in the repeated refrains of nature--the reassurance that dawn comes after night, and spring after winter."

~ Rachel Carson in THE SENSE OF WONDER

Quoted in today's post from Friends of Silence 

If those in power would simply learn to view the world, not as a source of potential plunder, but rather as our sacred environment in which all live, much would change, and probably quickly. Let us remember: when Rachel Carson was working to stop the use of DDT, there were many who did not want to listen to the science, who did not want to risk change, who  feared the loss of profit. Yet, change did happen and because of her work, bald eagles, a majestic bird we in the US claim to love, still exist. As do all of us.   

 Today, on the day before summer begins, let us pledge to renew our sense of wonder and gratitude. Then in that Spirit, let us join those who are working diligently to protect national parks, open spaces, the air that all creatures breathe, and the water all creatures need. We are more than pawns of the propaganda that feeds only fear and the hunger for power. That is a hunger that can never be satiated, and it is deadly. 

Summer solstice blessings to you all. Remember, seasons do change. Take heart. 

   

image: I do not have a photograph of an eagle, but I celebrate these distant relatives.  Coyote Hills Regional Park, 2025 

 

     

Why I Keep Photographing Flowers (and trees and rocks and other stuff)

"Self-Portrait as a Tuning Fork"

There is, perhaps you’ve felt it,

a moment when the day falls away

and your name falls away and

everything you thought you knew

falls away and for a moment

you know yourself only

as whatever it is

that continues—

your whole body abuzz

with the eternity of it—

and you quiver

as if struck by the great hand

of what is true,

becoming pure tone,

a vibration, a wave,

a human-shaped resonator

tuned to the frequency

of life itself,

and though later you might try

to dissect what happened,

in that moment you’re too abloom

to wonder how or why,

you simply are

this ecstatic unfolding

knowing the self as I am,

so alive and so infinite

you tremble like a song.

~ Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer

image: "Community", June, 2025, say

We Are...

 I love this poem. It encourages me to hold on to the belief that we are more than our minds. It encourages me to hold on to the belief that we are all connected. It encourages me to hold on to the belief that we are souls.  We do not have souls like we have a wallet. We are less, and we are more. 

Yo No Soy Yo

I Am Not I

I am not I.

I am this one

walking beside me whom I do not see,
whom at times I manage to visit,
and whom at other times I forget;
the one who remains silent while I talk,
the one who forgives, sweet, when I hate,
the one who takes a walk when I am indoors,
the one who will remain standing when I die.   

   

Juan Ramon Jimenez   

        

You don’t need to change who you are—you only need to remember.

Jack Kornfield 

   

image:  CA Buckeye with Ladybug, Oyster Bay, San Leandro
   

The Pull of Water, Part 2

 As I mentioned in my post entitled "The Pull of Water, Part 1" we camped one night in a beautiful site that overlooked Lake Pillsbury, and the night before that we camped at a site on the lake. There, we talked briefly with a soft-spoken man who lovingly spoke of the lake's beauty. He encouraged us to go see the other side of the lake to see the elk. On our way out of the forest we did indeed stop at the other side and walked towards the lake.  In the distance we could see the elk gathering at the water's edge. We did not actually walk as far as the edge of the lake in order to avoid disturbing the delicate flora.   

During our journey to the forest, we periodically spotted signs that read, "Save Lake Pillsbury". When I got home, I read that Lake Pillsbury is controversial because it came into existence when the Scott Dam was built on the Eel River in the 20's. Indigenous people and those who are ecologically oriented contend that the dam should be removed so that the river can again flow freely, and the dam has been decommissioned.  Certainly if the salmon and other fish of the Eel could actually have a say, I am sure that they would vote for freeing the river as well.   

Yet, for those who frequent the lake and for those who make a living on the lake, the decision is not so straightforward. Recreation and the quest for solitude aside, another consideration is that Lake Pillsbury is the closest source of water when there is a forest fire.  Some concern has been expressed about the elk. Fortunately, I knew nothing about any of this while we were there, so I could just innocently savor the peace of the lake before the area's vacation season was underway.  I found Lake Pillsbury to be a place of healing, yes even with the wind, and the memory of the lake is staying with me, partly because we were able to talk briefly with someone who loves the lake and who quietly encouraged us to "go and see the other side". 

Ultimately, that is why we travel. We learn to not only look, but also to see.   

  

    

image:  "The Other Side of the Lake", May 2025