A Different Sort of Summer

Wildfire smoke, logging, a dry spring, and learning to live with a changing mountain.

The dog days of summer are upon us, but with a sense of impending doom they didn’t always have. Though I’m seeing lots of success in things like the garden, the bunnies and projects - something’s off, and it’s making it difficult to stay positive.

Having worked in oil in a past life, I have a respect for the necessity of industry but also still hate seeing trees disappear.

Logging and Mining

On a few clear mornings I’ve woken up at 5 a.m. to the distinct sound of a huge blade cutting through thick tree trunks and the crash of them hitting the ground. Rolling over and trying to get another hour of sleep only resulted in awful dreams involving a Lorax, so I got up and made tea. Thankfully, the logging has gotten farther away, but with my hearing more attuned than it once was, I can still hear them, and my quiet mornings are less than quiet.

In an entirely different direction, mining has started on an old claim. Where there’s been no one for years, there are people and trucks and industry poking holes in the ground in the name of exploration. They abruptly closed a favourite route I used to get to town.

Between the logging and the mining, my backroad options have narrowed down to one, which is better than none, I suppose.

The best it’s been in a few days as the smoke lifts for a moment, showing the clouds above.

Smoke Season

The world has an orangish hue. It’s here early and blowing in from all directions. The appearance and smell of wildfire smoke cause anxiety in people everywhere, but living in the middle of nowhere carries its own weight. I have a list and an emergency plan, but being prepared is on my mind daily.

There isn’t any rain in the forecast for a while, making me wonder if this is how it’ll be for the rest of summer. When I was a kid, I loved the uncomfortably hot days and an excuse to jump in the quarry, but now, with the addition of smoke? I’m not a fan, and truthfully I’m already looking forward to winter.

Our trail cam captured a few pictures of this momma bear and two cubs looking for water. Sorry guys, you’ll have to head down the mountain.

The Spring

Last winter brought very little snow, so the melt didn’t fill the underground aquifers that feed my spring. This time last year it was easily giving us over 1,000L per day. I hoped the work we put into catching all of the natural flow would help keep it running through this dry season, but no. For the first time in 6 years, there simply isn’t water.

Thinking About Climate Change

With industry moving in all around, smoke in the air and a dry spring, it’s hard not to think about our changing world. Things are heating up, regardless of what people believe about the causes; living through these changes makes them impossible to ignore.

The trees become houses, pulp and paper products.
Bigger houses, more houses.

The minerals become technology and jewelry.
Newer, shinier.

The oil (where I once worked) becomes fuel, plastics and more.
Travel farther, buy more.

I’m not innocent of consumerism by any means, but having moved into the woods away from it and learning to live as self-sufficiently as possible - having it on my doorstep hits a certain way. That said, I preach against being a NIMBY (not in my backyard), and so, I’ll have to deal with it for now.

Will this be a new normal on the mountain?
I really hope not.

A quiet moment in my garden and a breathtaking sunset. I’m glad that I planted fruit trees last year, when water was abundant and getting them established wasn’t too difficult.

Finding the Positive

With the logging will come improved roads I’ll be able to use next year. I’ll also be able to explore a part of the woods that was impossible to get to before. Seeing the trees disappear is difficult, but next year new seeds, which have been lying dormant for a long time, will surface and begin re-establishing the woods once again.

The wild hares are still hopping around the yard. The ducks chase the cats away from their pond, which is somehow holding more water than it did last year. I’m hoping this summer is a one-off and winter brings deep snow and filled aquifers next year. For now, keeping up with watering the garden is becoming a challenge, showing me that I need to find better ways to make the most of water in years like this.

Still in the wake of a death in the family, the emotions around it feel similar. The forest will heal, so will I, and with that healing there will be growth.