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All of the banner background photos on this site were taken by Whitey.
Above is a close-up of the bark of incense-cedar (Calocedrus decurrens) in winter.
It must be September...the native Douglas asters (Aster subspicatus) have begun blooming at the entrance to my property. And all is well.
Finally! Rain!
Eugene had not had what I consider significant rainfall—that is, a half-inch or more in a day—since 15 April 2026. No kidding. So much for the Pacific Northwest’s reputation as cloudy and wet, eh? Then, on Wednesday, 02 September, it began raining here again. And by Sunday, I’d had a total of 1.50 inches in my rain gauge. Yahoo!
Just like that, local unirrigated lawns began to green up. Licorice ferns—a wet-season epiphytic fern that goes dormant during the summer drought—began unfurling their new fronds...only 24 hours after the rain began. And needle dams (see photo below) re-appeared along streets and forest roads.
My attitude notched up noticeably, as well. I used to be a pretty summer-friendly guy. But not anymore, now that summer across the continent—and across the world, at least in the so-called temperate zone or middle-latitudes—has become something many of us no longer embrace, but simply endure.
Of course, we might not have another significant rain here until the end of October or even early November. That happens. But the fact that the ground has been nicely moistened during the past week spells reprieve for many plants and animals, both native and non-native--and a lot of us humans, too.
It also spells the end of Eugene’s notorious Filthy Season, when agricultural dust—from agricultural practices on the tens of thousands of acres of grass-seed fields north of us—blows in almost daily, for weeks, on the diurnal north winds. At last, my solar panels have been rinsed of the filth that has accumulated over the past weeks. And Eugeneans’ windshields will no longer be daily coated with yet another layer of dust.
When I harvested my ‘Himrod’ grapes a week or so ago—before the rain—I had to rinse them in three different changes of water, until I’d removed most of the accumulated dust. The rest of my vegetable garden benefits from my weekly use of an oscillating (overhead) sprinkler that keeps the food clean. But the grape vines are beyond the reach of the sprinkler, so the dust just accumulates.
On a more cheerful note, it’s harvest time in the garden, when tomatoes (see photo below) end up in the freezer as purée; potatoes are dug and stored in the shed in wooden flats covered with black plastic; and apples end up as applesauce in the freezer.
This past summer was especially memorable for me because I had a substantial peach crop and “discovered” peach sauce, which is incredibly delicious either alone or atop vanilla ice cream. What a wonderful treat!
And Life goes on.
Along the single-lane forest road where I walk every week, there was clear evidence that the first rain in months had arrived just the day before. The needles--mostly Douglas-fir needles--had accumulated along the road's shoulders over many weeks, and with the flowing runoff from the pavement, formed the classic needle dams that are very regularly spaced along the edge of the pavement. I won't go into the physics of how this happens, but it's just such a joy to see them.
And here's my locally famous Tomato Wall on the south side of my house--the perfect microclimate for tomatoes. Six 'Early Girl' tomato plants provide more than enough tomatoes for my household as well as for a few neighbors and friends. The wall also serves as important shade for my south-facing windows in fall, as the sun daily descends lower in the south sky. Without the tomato vines, my house would overheat in late summer and fall. In winter, on the other hand, when I truly need the solar heat, the sun is more than welcome--and it's no longer hindered by the tomato vines at that season.
(This page updated 08 September 2026.)
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