Wiley Slough

Today was supposed to be the Chuckanut 50k. My progress towards a finish was going fine, until I rolled my ankle, bad, in the last quarter mile of the Ebey Kettles Run in late February. Nevertheless, I intended on toeing the line, perhaps with an ankle wrap, and tour the Chuckanuts today.

Nevertheless.

The world has changed dramatically in the past three or four weeks, although the birds of Wiley Slough are not in the loop. The coronavirus has hit the United States like a Hurricane Katrina, knocking society off its moorings. The government prohibits gatherings--first it was 250 or more, then 50, and now 10, or less. Chuckanut sadly postponed, like everything else. I'll let others write about the particulars, but this is a time like no other, where we are supposed to stay home, and businesses are shuttering everywhere.

Well, maybe I'll say a little more. It is a time of fear. Fear of grabbing a door handle, fear of getting too close to anyone, fear for our relatives and friends, fear for ourselves. There is uncertainty, with announcements from DC, the Governor, the Mayor, every day, ratcheting down our freedoms for the benefit our public health. A common good. Only two or three weeks ago, things felt relatively normal. But now, Sauron has come to the Shire.

But not so much Wiley Slough, one of my quiet places, on Fir Island. Instead of Chuckanut, or even a long run, I took a slow walk through some of my favorite marshlands. The water level is down lower than I think I've ever seen, and a pair of mudboots might've made for.a wholly different adventure, off trail.  Eagles, hawks, herons, waterfowl, an owl hooting, unseen. A slow walk as opposed to a sweaty run. The worries remain, but a little bit of outside goes a long way.

Friends, the best of health to you--both physical and mental--in these difficult times.