While on the Main Salmon River this summer, I found myself on a yellow raft with two guide gals and a guest, talking and reminiscing about art and community and creating. From that conversation stemmed a series of collaborative poems and art. I crafted words and my dear friend Jazzy developed the phenomenal illustrations. You … More Tools
This fall, I began an MS in Watershed Sciences at Utah State University, working with Jack Schmidt to study fine sediment remobilization in Lake Powell under potential future reservoir conditions. I am in graduate school to learn and apply quantitative approaches, and to couple these techniques with my established background as an outdoor professional, creative, … More Evaluating the long-term future of fine sediment in Lake Powell
This is not about your masculine fragility. This is about our power and our safety. This is not about your need for affirmation. This is about our constant degradation. This is about seams of womxn’s bodies shredded wide, creases stuffed with tears and alchemy and protective pride. This is about the certainty we rage, passing … More Me too.
Another morning and I’m sitting on a dory — a newer sensation — but this time the Tuolumne perches on a trailer around the side of the Idaho boathouse instead of on a sand and gravel mixture buffeted by water. This time I don’t have to go cook breakfast, go clean up camp, go wrangle … More Didn’t We Just?
I remembered how to be graceful today with others but mostly with myself after two days of puffed stoicism I cried delayed tears of release. I had creased myself into the folds of fear new caskets compact and necessary. Here I move through another space in the not-so-peace of wild things. I thought I knew … More New Caskets
I drove past a river today unexpectedly and found myself jealous of the fisherman purging her depths. I should learn to fish so I can stand unbothered. Maybe my truest want is to be not just on the river but with the river, in the river, of the river. How to be human? I ask … More Requiem For A River
When I step out into the Flagstaff day and all around the sky of blue does shine only then I ask with dread and dismay which godforsaken Subaru is mine? The stickers slapped upon dusty old flanks display contrived originality. Nary do help the cruel distinction make these candy-colored testaments of glee. Ski racks, rust … More A Flagstaff Sonnet: This Is Not My Subaru
This is the space of spirits where you and I forge together not collide. Living becomes dead and dead is once more Alive. Water pools and pours over needy, broken shreds of glass turned sand turned boulder turned obstacle turned vantage point and we stand. All together at once we shift to the molten movement … More This Is The Space Of Spirits
I started writing today about supposed impermanence evidenced by frost noon-deleted and as I was dithering in three weeks of January gray convincing myself this too was fleeting my memory shifted to another segment of reality when I began this very same poem twice removed three months ago. Jumping from season to season is necessarily … More Seasonality
right now forever flows freely but only incrementally for exists a headwaters dam and where salmon should spawn instead suffocates healing breath. Mountains recede abdicating their peaks for knolls of simplicity and braid the streams ever-so-quietly as if a sandbar is all they can say right now. This is all they can give. Meanwhile the mainstream roils … More The River Drainage Of Despair