Smells of the Pacific Northwest and other memorable geographic smells

My brother hooked me up with some music in college by The Young Fresh Fellows "Sounds of the Northwest." The introduction sounded like something from a filmstrip or an old tourist film--with tracks of seagulls, crashing waves and a ferry horn. I loved listening to this while in my Midwest exile, as it reminded me of home.

Today I was reminded of the smells of the Pacific Northwest as my olfactory nerves drifted me toward memories from the years of traversing the lands of the South Puget Sound. The landscaping material known as "beauty bark" sits in huge mounds in my rental complex waiting to be laid out. I smelled the stuff long before I saw it on a walk this morning. I thought of all the smells that I smelled here, different from all the odors of South Dakota and other places in the Midwest.

+ Tacoma Aroma (a distinct and pungent odor, maybe something like "Sex Panther" cologne)
+ A faint smell of the various evergreen trees combined with the dampness after a rain.
+ The air of the Salish Sea, a bountiful combination of sea life and brine--yet not quite as strong as the ocean.
+ The powerful spring blossoms of April and May.
+ Fresh scones from the Puyallup Fair.
+ Fish and clam chowder cooking at Ivar's.
+ The thin coolness of the Alpine air in the Cascades.
+ The powerful smell of hops coming from the many local breweries over the years. In my youth, it was Olympia and Rainier. Now it's Red Hook.

I could live without Tacoma Aroma (it's not as bad as it used to be in the 70's and 80's), but the bark, dampness and evergreen scent takes me to a better place.

I am also reminded of the smells of my Midwest exile:

+ The smell of hog processing at the John Morrell plant in Sioux Falls (aka "The Morrell Smell).
+ The smell of heat, corn and humidity all over East River South Dakota.
+ The smells of harvest time--processing hay, corn, soybeans, wheat and other grains--it almost inspired me to think of whole grain breads and a stew full of vegetables. That smell helped me find joy, exhilaration and relief for finally feeling a chill in the air after 6 months of heat.
+ Manure
+ The overwhelming smell of grasses that go absolutely crazy in the spring after laying dormant all winter.
+ The almost complete lack of odors (outside of manure) during a harsh winter.

The only time I enjoyed the smells of the Midwest was during the harvest time--about an 8-week period where I watched the hard work of people who help provide our food. People worried, celebrated and toiled with passion. I disliked the smells for the most part, and the harvest time almost made up for it. I appreciated those smells, but the smells of the Northwest can never be replaced.

The Hunter Chronicles (part 2)

I couldn't write anymore about Hunter today. The grief is exhausting. In place of writing a longer entry of The Hunter Chronicles, I sent a donation to the place where we adopted Hunter in Waukesha, Wisconsin. I sent the accompanying note with the donation (I also sent the above pictures):

Hunter was a 2-year old (almost 3) chocolate lab my wife and I adopted at HAWS in April 2000 (29th? 30th?). He was about the best birthday present I ever received. I had never had a dog in my home. He was the best dog I could ever imagine--great with everyone in our growing family. He loved rides in the car, walks, chasing a ball and cuddling. We had two daughters while we had Hunter--he loved them and tolerated them (very necessary).

We were his third owners, and my wife told him we would be his "forever family." All he ever wanted was to be with us. His health declined over the last 2 years, he lost about 30 pounds, and we put him down on Veterans Day (Nov. 11) after 12 1/2 years of life. We had a good day together to say goodbye. We took Hunter on some of his favorite nature walks, gave him some of his favorite treats, a trip to the beach on the Puget Sound, and a bath. He wasn't alone his last 72 hours of life. We have holes in our lives and hearts because he is gone.

I've dedicated a song to Hunter's memory in my own daily living, "What A Wonderful World" by Louis Armstrong--I think of him all the time. If I knew what Hunter was thinking, the song seems to match his thoughts. I wanted to share a little bit of Hunter's story and offer a small donation because of the great experience we had at HAWS, and thank you for holding on to Hunter for us before he became part of our family. We are thankful for what you do.

My kind of beach

The beach always ranks as a top destination spot for my family and me, but to what kind of beach shall we go? I have traveled to beaches in Southern California, Nicaragua, Virginia, Massachusetts, Florida and Rhode Island. I will always love the lower development cool, drizzly, and cloudy beaches in Washington. Sunny and warm is my least favorite weather pattern. If you're looking for sun 'n' fun, I would recommend going somewhere else.

My family made fun of Moclips, Washington, growing up. We drove there once for I don't know what reason--our destinations of choice involved places that had more services available, like Ocean Shores and Long Beach. As a kid I lived for the trip to the Ilwaco Bowl bowling alley. I prefer Moclips now. Even though we saw people walking along the beach and even saw a wedding party a few hundred yards to the south of our little spot, it felt like we had the place to ourselves. My dear wife and I escorted our children to their favorite kind of outing in the world. It doesn't matter if we hit the Puget Sound or the Pacific Ocean--they can spend hours at the beach running around, picking, digging and exploring. The boundaries are natural and wide. They run, and we kind of follow them.

However, this trip to Moclips was also about family gathering and celebrating milestones--this time, my parents 40th wedding anniversary. I once had this image that perfect family gatherings were possible, if not at least expected. I observed in my childhood that this was a fleeting desire. An attempt to hit a moving target. Family gatherings are not perfect. We all have our imperfections and brokenness, and we do our best to recognize the blessing of family and enjoy the presence of one another. We prepare meals, we play cribbage (my youngest brother trounced me), watch baseball, share stories, and of course--play at the beach. My parents got to watch the whole imperfect, but blessed conglomeration of relationships that is our family.

The reason I like going to Moclips and the Washington beaches is I get to be in my favorite weather and contemplate the gentle yet powerful process that is erosion at work, and I get to do it in a peaceful way. It's the best witness to God I've had in a long time--the evidence of God's action is all around us, yet so subtle, like the undercurrent as it peels the sand away from the bottom of my feet. I can't do a thing about that sand that moves from under my feet. With that movement of sand, I am reminded that my time of two years of part time ministry, full time parenthood and their gently rhythmic yet powerful day are coming to an end. I return to full-time employment tomorrow. I have written more than I have in years, and I've realized that writing is a foundational activity for my balance. I've learned that writing is not a good activity in and of itself--most message boards have made "the pen is mightier than the sword" concrete. Where my writing will go from here, I do not know. Though the erosion may take away the resources from one place, surely they will be deposited somewhere else.

Reliving the field trip through tourism

In some places I have lived, some points of the city were only viewed when visitors came from out of town:

Twin Cities, MN: Mall of America
Copenhagen, Denmark: The Little Mermaid

The Milwaukee, Wisconsin, metro had good things to do, but not in the classical tourist sight-seeing fashion. In Wisconsin, cultural tourism is the way to go. Some of the best times my dear wife and I enjoyed during our 2.5 years there involved basic activities that locals enjoy as well: eating brats/sausage, cheese and the abundance of beer; fish fries (amazing cultural activity--I once read Wisconsin is the highest fish consumption state in the country), enjoying the beautiful autumns, walking near the lake shore, attending sporting events in Madison, Milwaukee Brewers baseball, and Lambeau field. All of these places involve good interaction with locals, something that cannot be promised at a particular tourist destination. I'm not anti-tourist (though I can only handle being a tourist in small doses), I like to find places to visit where I can talk to locals about life in that place.

Seattle has more sights similar to Copenhagen and the Twin Cities. With some visitors coming to town recently, we were off to the kid-friendly stops, the Seattle Aquarium, Pike Place Market and the Space Needle. The Seattle Aquarium is an interesting conglomeration of school/summer camp field trippers, tourists, and local families. I attended at least 2 field trips to the Seattle Aquarium as a child, and visited there on other occasions. I know field trips still occur in these days of slashed education budgets and increased standardized testing, but my anecdotal observation says field trips are dying as an educational experience. That makes me feel melancholy about education. Ultimately, my children will know much more than me in their lifetimes, but I believe in the field trip education experiences I had as a child. The girls and I thoroughly enjoyed the aquarium that day--the best part being that they could touch sea cucumbers, sea anemones, sea urchins and starfish. If the place wasn't crawling with street urchins, I could have hung out there poking and gazing at the sea life for hours--ah, to explore without a schedule--but we let the girls spend the most time there. If I could have been any kind of scientist, it would have involved oceanography.

Of the non-touching exhibits, we liked the jellyfish and the seals the most. We see a lot of jellies on the Puget Sound, but at the aquarium, we were able to examine their intricacies in clearer water behind Plexiglas. Watching seals in captivity is a love-hate experience. They interact with the humans like no other sea life I have seen; they were hamming it up and made us all laugh several times. I wonder about mammals in captivity. I'm sure plenty of people are appalled by the whole enterprise, but I also value the appreciation and awareness about God's creatures that comes from a visit that my girls take to the Seattle Aquarium.

The Space Needle is a place for great views of Seattle and the Puget Sound, but it's not the only viewpoint available in the region. If you want to dodge people taking pictures of one another, purchase expensive provisions and kitsch, the Space Needle is for you. It deserves one or maybe two visits in a lifetime--it might have been enjoyable if the girls weren't so hungry and cranky. I think I got whiplash from keeping my head on a swivel all day--keeping track of two busy girls in a big city takes significant effort, which is probably why my parents didn't take my brothers and I to downtown Seattle on a regular basis.

Now that I have just about squarely hit midlife, I'm the one providing direction and guidance more often in more settings--this little tourist trip represented a shift of roles for me as a Pacific Northwesterner. Our visitors provided me with an opportunity to refine my cultural attache routine for whomever makes the trek to the Seattle metro. Come on over!

Dog provides insight to end of life care

Lorne Greene provided my first insight to canine aging with his ALPO commercials. That makes our lovable, geriatric, anxious, co-dependent chocolate lab somewhere around 86 years old. He has a little trouble moving around, he doesn't hear or see as well as in younger days, his appetite is fading and he's covered in benign tumors. He's still glad to see us and likes to go for short walks. He still seems happy enough for living, though he would mask any sadness because he would never want to disappoint anyone in our household.

The big problem is his skin. We're adding about every possible supplement and using high quality food to improve the massive flakes that come off his skin daily. We have to bathe him several times per week (4-5)--which doesn't sound like much, but when it takes longer to bathe the dog than to get ourselves ready, the time adds up. But I look at him, and I don't want him to be miserable, so my dear wife and I take turns with bathing and sometimes tag team to get it done, so that he can suffer a little less. We look how happy he is in general and think it can't be his last days just because of a SKIN condition. He's been such a low maintenance dog for years and doesn't do annoying things much beyond crotch sniffing and shedding. I've been humbled a bit and try to give him as much love as possible. He doesn't demand much, just a little attention every day (unlike our children). This slow dying process has made me wonder what the end of my life will entail. I ponder how much of a burden I will be and how much frustration I may cause my loved ones. I look at my dog's eyes and wonder what's going through his mind (I know what goes on in his dreams, it usually involves running).

I think he knows I have been frustrated with his care giving--but he's forced me to think about what compassion is supposed to look like. The circumstances are different as a pastor when I have to be compassionate for my work. Some days I feel genuine compassion in pastoral care, but sometimes compassion can be a function of the job description, and I figure it's important to proclaim God's compassion in what I do, even if I don't feel it. God is infinitely more compassionate than me--so I don't carry that burden.

My chocolate lab is sitting in the tub, with medicated soap clinging to his skin and offering him a few extra hours of relief. I know I'm not the first one to have these insights of death, life and wonder. However, I also know we each face the reality of what the end of life will be like whether it's from our pets, our parents, with a friend, or serving the dying in some other way. It can last an instant, or over several days and years. Time to attend to my dog, though he may worry about disappointing me, I don't want to disappoint him today.