From Raging Storms to an End-of-Year Pause
This is my final installment on the 2025 Monthly Ecolog Series in which I have attempted to document the changes in our garden each month of the year. In this episode, we talk about the weather that dominated the Pacific Northwest - but also some reflections on the Solstice, the holidays, and this moment in which we pause and take a breath before going on to the next great thing...
However or Whether We Weather the Weather – Nature’s Super Power
The weather was the big story this month in the Pacific Northwest, from the Fraser River Valley, BC, Canada, down into Washington and Oregon, with communities along major river areas in Washington (e.g., the Skagit, Snohomish, Nooksack, and Snoqualmie) hit particularly hard. Some areas were drenched with 14 inches of rain over 3 days while “Godzilla” atmospheric river systems hovered over the region. The warmer-than-normal temperatures added snowmelt to the volume of water surging down the mountains, following the paths of least resistance, and cresting levees, riverbanks, and historic records in the process. Soils are saturated everywhere; mudslides, washouts, and toppled trees have taken out major roads. It’s such a mess.
Our hearts go out to all the farmers with their land inundated, seed destroyed, machinery damaged, and livestock stranded – not to mention all the people dealing with getting rid of thousands of pounds of insulation, dry wall, and other soaked materials from their homes. On a positive note, people from all over the nation are stepping in to help; local organizations are coordinating resources; and communities are helping one another as best they can.
Meanwhile, here at Barbolian Fields, although our precipitation totals were nearly double the normal monthly amount, it still amounted to only about 4.5 inches. (We are protected by the Olympic Mountains. For comparison, Quinault, located to the west, had almost 38 inches).
Even for us, though, with the added snowmelt, it was a LOT of water! This is a photo of the Dungeness River, just over the hill from our home. We could no longer follow our normal walking route.
The wind, though, was another story. What a wild ride! On one occasion, it went from 10 to 60 mph in about 20 minutes and climbed to 69 mph before the night was over. Major branches broke off some of our tall trees in the back field, but fortunately, nothing hit our roofs and we still had electricity (at one point, over 300,000 people across the region were without power, so we were lucky).
The willows whipped wildly back and forth and proved to be a great buffer for the shrubs on the other side. The shrubs, for their part, served as a buffer for the smaller plants on their leeward side … and on down. Somewhere under a pile of dried grasses, hunkered a little mouse and their family, I am sure.
A Pause on the Solstice
And then we reached the turning of the solstice … We take a moment to light a candle on this longest night.
Oh, Silent Night…
In many respects, this has been a difficult year. The extent of human suffering and ecological destruction literally makes me ill, and I feel a definite need to separate myself from all the daily anger and outrage. But perhaps there is a shifting of the tide. The solstice is a tipping point toward the light. It is an opportunity to pause, step outside, and take a deep breath — and in so doing, to feel more removed from what is “happening” and more connected with what is real.
“The way we walk in this world is like a prayer, so step softly, gently, and with respect.” (Rumi? Where did I find this quote? My apologies.)
A path forward.
As we end this year and step into the next, we are in an “in between” state, which I learned from the artist Keiko Tanabe in a recent watercolor webinar, is an example of the Japanese concept of “Ma.” It is the space between things – whether objects or time – a space that in some ways defines what is around it – a space that allows life to breathe, grow, and connect.
She said, “Without dark, there is no light,” which we can notice immediately in a painting – but how about in our own lives?
And … “How do we capture the simplicity and clarity of something like the stillness of early morning?”
Which is what I thought about when I stepped outside barefoot very early one cold morning and realized how wonderful it was to see stars – which I hadn’t seen in a long time – which meant clearer skies and, therefore, temperatures dropping closer to what they should be at this time of year – which meant some of that rain would turn into snow in the mountains – a snowpack that we will need come next summer….
The Garden After the Storm…
I took a walk through the garden, such as it is, messy and strewn with branches, skeletal shrubs and trees that have pulled inward until the days grow longer, bedraggled broken stems offering scraggly seedheads bent toward the ground, exposed bindweed vines twisting up tree trunks, hidden bird nests now revealed, and multiple shades of sepia and wet leaves, punctuated with striking red highbush cranberries (such a wintry treat!). Among the brown and broken, I found a surprise: new artichoke shoots! In December! They look a little weather-beaten, but promising.
Some large limbs from the old big-leaf maple where the treehouse captured pirates and raccoons for decades now lie in broken pieces on the ground. The cedars and firs still stand tall, despite some injuries.
I cut a few branches from the storm-broken limbs. Grand fir needles can be steeped in water to make a strong tea, and with added honey, can be made into a sweet syrup that is particularly festive added to a little soda water.
I added the cedar branches to an outdoor wreath and also hung some in a garland across an indoor archway to bring some of their woodsy scent indoors, much like a cabin in the forest I used to live in long ago.
Scents have such a power to transport us to a faded memory. It makes me smile.
I picked sage, rosemary, and thyme for adding to soups and appetizers; there is still some kale and chard that volunteered in the greenhouse, which I am now thankful for; and yes, there are still some wild huckleberries, but I left them for my little bird friends who are foraging to survive.
In a sunny spot grows a calendula blossom and several hopeful buds – and even though I treasure this plant for so many other reasons, for that winter optimism alone, I will always grow them.
Making It (and Making Things) Through the Holidays
I like to think of December as a quiet month, but for me, it is not. In fact, it is my busiest month of last-minute crafting, often using things I grow or forage. Instead of the romanticized version of chestnuts roasting in an open fire, it becomes a hectic time of cooking, making, gathering with family and friends, reaching out where we can… We have in our blended family of adult children, grandchildren, peripheral and chosen family members about three dozen people. I try to make everyone a little care package, including a little something for their pets.
This year, we made everything from gingerbread cakes to dog biscuits. I was not the soap factory I was last year, but I was cranking out granola like a hippie in the 70s – and of course, there was canned applesauce, apple butter, dried apples, Cornelian cherry spreads, and canned plums. Thin willow stems are easily bent and woven into stars.
[The medlars continue to percolate in a 6-gallon bucket and will make exotic vinegar for next year.]
But the truth is, at some point, I’m going to have to realize that I can’t keep up with this ideal – and maybe the season is better celebrated with just a smile and a hug.
Back to the Garden
When it gets to be too much, I sneak away for a moment to my favorite places in the garden.
Of course, there are many reasons to grow a garden – not just a part of your secret bug-out escape plan. Growing food seems to be an oft-proclaimed reason (for whom, not always defined). But be forewarned, once you enter, you can disappear for hours – even days – so whether you are escaping or being swallowed up whole, you decide…
Seriously, you don’t even have to call it a “garden.” It can just be a spot. And the more often you go there, the more you might want to add to it – just a little something here and there – and maybe find something to sit on, quietly, and marvel as the seasons go by, as I have tried to do in my monthly reports over the year. And then the next thing you know, you realize it is so much more than a little weed patch with an old chair placed in it – maybe it has even become a wildlife sanctuary of sorts – a place where you can connect and even belong (being one of the wild ones), along with everything else that comes and goes there.
Because a garden is ultimately about connection.
(Note: It might be time for a new chair…)
I admit, I did not “do” a lot of gardening this December. Gardens are not always something we DO to. No, I let it rest and was more of just a visitor. A family of deer have found shelter in the concealing areas between the hazels and willows…
They have also been regulars at the bird feeders, which I regularly fill to help the small feathered ones through the harsh parts of the season. I shoo the deer into the orchard where they can find plenty of apples. This afternoon, I found Stellar’s jays, sparrows and finches, and even a little hummingbird, all puffed up in the cold, sipping from partially eaten fruit. Where I once felt upset at myself for letting so many “go to waste,” I now feel happy that so many animals are enjoying them.
And when the weather is nice (or even not), who can resist getting out into Nature’s garden? We are so privileged to live where we do, between the mountains, the rivers, and the sea. Within a short time, we can be standing beneath a waterfall blasting over a hillside with such power that a crowd of tiny humans cheers beneath its spray – and we all leave smiling! (and somewhat wet)
And a Moment to Pause…
Sometimes we need to be reminded to not get too caught up in the self-imposed urgency of all of our “to-dos.” The garden can wait for now. The kitchen can wait. I can close the door on the mess in the back room for now. There will be plenty of time for pruning in January.
Once we get past this season of holidays, it feels like true winter can begin. A time to exhale. Pick up an actual book and turn pages. Calmly. A time of quietude and reflection – and a little creative garden planning. (Of course, I realize I am very privileged to be able to say this … and for that I am most grateful.)
But for now … we come to the end of the year … let’s just pause and enjoy this moment of “Ma.”
Thank you for following this 12-month challenge of recording the changes in our ecological gardening experiment. (I can’t believe I actually finished it!) Perhaps next month I will do a summary and think about what’s next – but for now, it is time for a breather.
My New Year’s wish is that those who are facing cleanup challenges from the floods can obtain the resources they need and (eventually) be able to do the same (meaning, take a well-deserved breather!).
My focus and resolutions for the New Year:
Sow joy. Cultivate compassion.
Help a farmer! Buy local!
And most of all … take care of one another …
Peace on Earth,
Blythe
My partner, Christian, sent your bog to me, knowing I am likewise connected to, and inspired by the seasonal shifting of light and darkness on this beautiful planet. Its rivers, mountains, oceans, and our our “own” backyard gardens are are grounding sources of joy in this troubled world.
What a wonderful comment, Marcia – thank you! Is it not a bit overwhelming at times? We sound like kindred spirits. I would like to meet you.
Your post is so full of love – as always. Thank you, Blythe. Be well and please keep writing. From your heart to ours and back again.
Thank you, Mark. We need love in the world now more than ever. You have taught me much about what love means in a much larger sense, one in which every small effort is important.