Cough, cough. Like creatures on an alien planet, we gaze through the murk at the neon orange sun. Not that I recommend this, unless you kept your special, unrecalled eclipse glasses on hand. Apparently, even when shrouded in smoke, the sun still has the power to fry your retina.
Speaking of the eclipse, our family actually stopped at Multnomah Falls on Eclipse Day, on our twelve-hour sitting-in-traffic odyssey from Salem, Oregon, to Richland, Washington. I'm grateful we did, since, although the Lodge came through, the Gorge in general likely won't look like this again for a while to come:
What with fires and floods and hurricanes battering other parts of the world, our little corner of the map can start to feel like a Bruegel painting: a pleasant enough place, if you ignore the guy drowning.
The guy plowing might not be able to reach Icarus in time, but he could still considering donating a few bucks to an organization like Presbyterian Disaster Assistance, which is working with local congregations in Houston after Harvey and with local organizations around the world, when they face their own catastrophes. (This concludes our public service announcement.)
In the meantime, we still have to eat! (Which is one message of the Bruegel painting, I suppose.) Take a time-out from pondering natural disasters to remember natural wonders. Like this oddly-formed potato found at Alvarez Organic Farms.
Or the meals we can enjoy with the summer bounty, while we gather at tables with friends and loved ones.
One heartening sign, post-Harvey, has been all the stories of the community working together. Communities don't just spring up; they are built. And our Bellevue Farmers Market is one brick in that building, where we come together with the farmers and artisans of our state to celebrate good food and good practices. Have you read the Mission Statement? When the world is alternately drowning or aflame, it will make your eyes mist. Which is a good thing, since it will help wash out some of the smoke particulates.