(Suspect Phyllostachys vivax. This is very big stuff - diameters up to 4 inches and heights to maybe 60 feet. This grove occurs in the neighbourhood where I grew up, on a tract of land that was once a farmer's backyard, but has been untended for 50 years now.
Always surreal to see such an iconic plant of the tropics growing so happily here on the North Pacific Coast.)
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(On my recent visit to Spokane I was struck by the sci-fi aesthetics of this building going up on the far side of the river. The crane dramatically frames and accents the distopian structure below, its bold red steel startling against a classic vibrant blue Gold Side sky.
Tourists often complain about cranes ruining their photos, but I find them uplifting.)
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(This ancient outbuilding, one of a few derelict structures still surviving from what was a working dairy farm near my home when I was a child, has knob-and-tube wiring. As you can see, it was a two-element system consisting of cloth-covered wires strung on insulators. In living areas they were usually hidden inside walls, but in basements, attics, service buildings, and outdoor applications, they were hung along rafters, down siding, and under eaves, as here. [Note the old-school porcelain insulators – no longer wired – on the rafters.]
Though alarmingly primitive to modern eyes, knob and tube wasn't much more dangerous than recent methods. The main reason it disappeared was that it required twice as much labour as the single integrated cable introduced in the 50s, and was therefore twice as expensive to instal.
I believe that old farm dated to the 20s [the other 20s, I mean], when knob and tube was industry standard. But this shed was apparently still rocking it in the 70s, while in active commercial service.)
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(I made this fudo [look left; hanging from the bell] in 2009, for friends in Spokane County. When I took care of their farm for a few weeks 6 years later, I posted a photo of it here. It was still looking pretty smart then, all things considered.
On a visit last month I noted that 16 years' continuous duty in the desert hadn't done it any favours. But given the conditions, the old warrior still serves our patron well.)
(The Spokane Regional Health District is an arresting sight, inspired as it apparently was by the architecture of West and Central Africa. I can't remember seeing such a structure anywhere before. And I certainly wouldn't have expected to find one serving as a government building on the Gold Side of Washington – arid though it is. Hats off to an inspired county facilities committee.)
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(This 20-odd year apple met its end last week, a victim of its own success. In the late 20th century, varieties such as these, bearing heavily but not growing very tall, became all the rage; they really pump out crop and it’s all in reach, at least of picking ladders and apple hooks. Since that time, little else has been planted.
Trouble is, this blueprint results in a top-heavy tree, balanced on a root ball smaller than evolutionary spec. So one good breeze on dry soil, and that’s that.
Sometimes traction and tree surgery can save such casualties. In fact, in the ancient abandoned orchards where I grew up, many of those old heirlooms actually bore from a reclining position, having fallen in some winter storm and retained enough root contact to keep producing.
But those were hardy, full-sized, union-built trees, falling where no-one cared what they looked like, of a wet, dormant season.
And so this beautiful new-guard girl is done for. How sad to lose a thing that gave so generously for so long.)
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(As I recently pointed out, at high summer you can often raise bread dough outdoors in the shade. An 80 to 95-degree day ought to do it.)
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(At 287 feet, the vault over the Washington State Capitol Building in Olympia is the highest free-standing masonry dome in North America, and the fifth-highest in the world.)
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(This is Phytolacca americana, called poke in the American South and Midwest, where it's a rampant weed. [And also a wild edible, though just how edible is a plant that must be boiled in four changes of water to stop it killing you is worth discussion.]
I've never seen pokeweed on the North Pacific Coast till this summer, when I spied it growing on two neglected bits of land in my neighbourhood. The iconic, high-growing, and monopolising Southern brakeweed first evaded recognition, so far from its natural home, till I'd confirmed it online, where I also found that poke is now listed as an incipient invader here.
I'm about certain this is yet another misfortune of climate disruption. Protected before now by our wet, grey, cold weather, the new drier, hotter North Coast is proving quite hospitable to this latest headache, as well as many others.)
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(US national day of demonstration, 14 June 2025. The photo depicts just the Capitol steps, where the speakers appeared, and maybe half the crowd below. There were about twice that many more on the front lawn and approaches, and maybe that many again on the sidewalks of the city, waving at passing drivers and receiving their honks of support.)
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(Kids love treehouses, but the treehouse years are few and fleeting, and as the demographics of a neighbourhood age and change, those much-loved adult-proof hideaways quickly return to the source.
This one is relatively unusual, in that it was built by adults to an actual plan, and features a host of architectural novelties. (It's also not even technically a treehouse, since no part of it is a tree, but I'm sure the child who owned it considered it one.)
And though its construction was obviously both time-consuming and expensive so far as such structures go, within just a few years – that probably seemed like months to the child's parents – its owner grew up and out, and with no other potential residents in the vicinity, even this carriage-trade example became uninhabitable.
Which is why you see many more abandoned treehouses than occupied ones.
So next time you see an occupied treehouse, take note. Because chances are you're seeing impermanence in action.)
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(Betula pendula. The catkins ripen from the stem to stern, so for a short period in the spring, the trees are covered with two-toned flowers.)
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(This lone beach ball rolled past my front yard during a windstorm last week, from unknown origins and pursued by no person. As I was then occupied, I was unable to run after it and corral it. Next day I was in the back yard, and here it came again, travelling in the opposite direction this time, along the lane behind my house. I have no idea if it ever returned to its home, or if its erstwhile owners even know it's missing, but St. Benedict, any road, would not approve.)
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(Turtles have always been rare on the North Coast. Unlike the other three reptiles that manage to survive here [this one and this one and this one], they're egg layers, and the rotting wet and lack of spring sunshine makes that problematic. So it was that I, an inveterate turtle lover, had only ever found a single one in the lake I grew up on. On summer days I used row quite a distance to see him, hauled out on his log of choice.
In the intervening years the lake got severely over-developed and the swampy shore where our lone turtle lived turned into lawn. The very log he used to bask on was ripped out of the lake. Since that time, about when I was in college, I've only seen one other turtle here, in a nearby lake just a few years ago.
Then, while walking the dog near some containment ponds last week, I encountered six (!) of them, lined up on a log beneath the first real sun we've had this year. Sadly, they were too far away for a recognisable photograph, but as I rounded the corner, I found a small one, about the size of an adult's hand, close enough for my phone to steal a shot. Still too far for positive species identification, but the Western painted turtle [Chrysemys picta bellii] being functionally our only native, this is probably that.
This must be how it feels to bag a photo of Sasquatch.
Next day, a friend posted photos of a similar line of turtles in my childhood lake, about 6 miles away. Both events have blown my mind.
It's hard not to draw the conclusion that this is yet another symptom of climate disruption. Less rainfall and elevated temperatures have almost certainly raised the turtle fertility here. I'm delighted to see them, but it's one more indication that our unique North Coast environment is rapidly disappearing.)
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