We will have a blue moon, the second moon in a calendar month, on August 30, 2023.  This reminds me of a conversation with my son Mac, when he was very small.  I love when kids are adamant about what they know.  At least until they are teenagers, then its not quite as cute.

Blue Moon

“Mom, where’s the moon?”
“I don’t know.”
“Maybe there’s a blue moon.”				
“Maybe, but it isn’t really blue.”
“Daddy said there was a blue moon.”
“I’m sure he did, but it just means there are two moons in one month.”
“When’s the moon blue?”
“I don’t know.  We’ll have to look at a calendar.  It isn’t really blue.”
“Then why is it called a blue moon?”
“I don’t know.”
“Maybe there’s a blue moon tonight.”
“‘Blue moon’ is a phrase; it means something that doesn’t happen often.  We go to the mall once in a blue moon.”
“What color is the moon?”
“White, or yellow, or orange.”
“Daddy said there’s a blue moon.  I’m going to ask him.”
“Okay.  But it isn’t blue.”
“You’re wrong!”
“Maybe.  That happens...once in a blue moon!”


[photo credit pexels.com]

The day before my mom and I left to visit my oldest son Mac in San Diego, I gave horse loading lessons to my husband Doug and my younger son.  Luckily, my horses load easily.  The trailer and truck were ready to evacuate if needed, my husband was trained up, and I could leave the house and animals in good hands.  It was dryer than dry out there; Spokane was hot and crispy. All it needed was a spark, and high winds were predicted. 

The Thursday morning that we left for San Diego, Doug checked the weather, and saw there was a hurricane warning for southern California and Baja.  High winds were predicted.  We flew out anyway.

Upon arrival in San Diego, Mac said, “What hurricane?”  He checked the weather and shrugged it off. 

By Friday, the hurricane warnings were more worrisome, it was expected to hit Sunday.  Meanwhile, wind-blown fires erupted around Spokane, friends and acquaintances were evacuating.  Our house and neighborhood were fine, and still are fine, but we watched the evacuation areas grow throughout the day.  I juggled my attention back and forth between San Diego storm warnings, and Spokane area fire updates.  Still, we visited beaches and coastal towns, ate well, and saw beautiful scenery in cool lovely weather.  We enjoyed the calm before the storm. 

I know fires.  I know evacuations.  But I haven’t been through hurricane-worry before. I’m good at worrying.  Soon Hurricane Hilary was downgraded to a tropical storm.  We visited another coastal town, an oyster farm, and a botanical garden.  We watched ocean waves and tasted local beers.  We vacationed and enjoyed the sights when we weren’t watching the weather news.  They predicted flash floods, dangerous winds, and overwhelming downpours once the storm arrives. 

Two large fires consumed thousands of acres in Spokane County.  One was eight miles south of our house, and another 20 miles northeast.  Then we heard about the numbers of houses lost in the fires back home.  Hundreds.  I felt the pull of Spokane, and a deep sadness for the folks evacuated, and all the homes lost.  I have evacuated for nearby fires before, but our property has never burned.  Yet. The wind either blows the fire toward you, or away. Like a flip of a coin.  We listened to reports of smoke so thick it closed Interstate 90.  Air quality levels were off the charts.

In San Diego, the air was clear.  The tropical storm hit Sunday.  Mac and his girlfriend Shayla still weren’t worried, they’d experienced inches of rain in the area before.  The storm gradually got stronger during the day, but we still went out, explored, walked, shopped, ate lunch, and planned dinner at their apartment.  Going outside was like walking into a lukewarm shower.  When Mac and I walked the dog mid-afternoon, we started out in a steady shower, that quickly became a deluge.  My light raincoat, the cute city coat with the pink lining, did not repel the rain.  That raincoat shall forever more be known as the rain sponge.  Our clothes soaked completely through.  Little rivers of rain ran off our heads, down our hair, onto our eyelashes, into our eyes, and down to add to the ankle-deep water running along the road curbs, rushing for the storm drains. The wind was still mild.

As we ate dinner that night, the rain intensified, and finally the predicted wind added a sideways slant to the drops.  It started to really look like a tropical storm, tree branches swinging in the night.  The winds got higher, but never felt dangerous.  It turns out our San Diego family was right.  By Monday morning, all was fine.  The highways were open.  The airport was open.  We could check in to our evening flight.  Other areas of the state had flooding and washouts, but we only had a few branches down, with lots of leaves and bark littering the roads.  We watched the weather and saw the predicted path of Tropical Storm Hilary: North and up to the edge of eastern Washington.  Up to Spokane. Go Hilary!

The morning after our return flight, the remains of the tropical storm hit Spokane.  It rained hard for hours, knocking down the smoke, quenching the hot spots, and giving the firefighters a break.    One day of reprieve, before the weather dried out again.   This time, this week, this year, we survived a tropical storm and raging wildfires.  I feel like it was only luck, it could have been us hit hard by a hurricane, or our house burnt in a fire, instead of others.  It all depends on the luck of the draw, and the whim of the wind.   

After the chipmunks moved in, the sunflowers bloomed.  I’ve planted sunflowers before and gotten a few short wimpy individuals.  Now and then I would get a tall plant that would blow over in our summer winds.  Being unsuccessful in growing them, we bought bags of sunflower seeds and thistle seeds to feed the birds.  We had the pleasure of admiring the yellow flashes of the goldfinches and other seed lovers.  We even had downy woodpeckers taking sunflower seeds out of the feeder, placing them in a crack in a fencepost, then pounding them open to get to the rich seed.  Avian tool users.

Then chipmunks moved into holes under our backyard pine tree roots.  We watched their staccato movements as they explored, carefully approaching the seeds.  At first, they picked up the seeds the birds would drop.  Later we would lay out extra loose seeds on a stump for them to find.  They filled their cheek pouches to bulging, and then hid the seeds for later.  It turned out that they stashed and buried many of the seeds in the vegetable garden.

I’ve never been one to keep a neat and clean garden, and I let the volunteer chipmunk-planted sunflowers grow where they chose.  We had a park of sunflowers here and there, and they grew tall.  Some had large foot-wide single sunflowers.  Other plants had multiple smaller hand-sized flowers.  We watched as the yellow flowers followed the sun each day, turning from east to west. We watched bees and butterflies pollinate the flowers.   As the seeds started to mature, we watched chipmunks climb up the tall stems to nibble on their personally planted sunflowers, as if they were farmers testing their crop.  Goldfinches and other birds joined the all-you-can eat buffet.

We didn’t harvest the crop; we left them for the birds to forage on through the fall and winter.  The sunflowers come back thick, year after year.  This summer we have a jungle of sunflowers in a large patch.  Bright yellow petals color my pleasantly messy garden.  The sun worshipping flowers first give shade to the birds on our long hot days, later they feed the insects, birds, and chipmunks.   The feeding animals drop seeds on the ground, planting next year’s crop.  If I’m not careful they will soon outcompete the vegetables.  I may let them. 

A while ago I resurrected a collection of my poems from the deep recesses of my electronic files.  It was a chapbook-sized collection (a small booklet) of poems about wildfires and wildland firefighters.  I liked the poems.  I had sent them out to several journals and contests over the years, including five poetry contests between 2011 and 2014.  One poem from the collection was published, but no contests were won.  I paused for a few years, but I really wanted to share those poems.  In mid-2022, after yet another unsuccessful contest entry, I gave up and decided to just print the booklet on my home printer, bind them by sewing through the midline with one of my vintage sewing machines, and give them as gifts to family and friends.  In preparation, I shared the final draft chapbook with my writers’ group one more time before proceeding with my plan. 

My writers’ group people vehemently vetoed my plan. They thought the poems deserved to be formally published, not printed at home.  They insisted.  I frowned.  They insisted some more.  I sighed at the idea of a lot more work to find a publisher, but finally agreed with my friends. What’s another year or so in the slow process of getting my poems out there…

I researched more contests and started sending the poems out again.  Contests aren’t free; many charge a reading fee.  That’s okay, because I have an official writing business now, and can claim the entry fees as losses.  I was not optimistic as I sent each contest entry out.  A writing teacher long ago said you hardly ever win contests, especially when they offer prize money.  Nonetheless, I was determined to give it another try.  I would do it for my writers’ group, to honor my support system.  Then, when it didn’t work, I would home-print my collection after all and give them away as Christmas presents to family, friends, and my writers’ group. 

Guess what happened?  Eleven entries and submissions later, I have a publisher.  It wasn’t a contest, just a submission to a press that prints poetry books.  Ravenna Press in Edmonds, Washington, will be publishing my chapbook, Fire Triangle, in a volume with two other authors’ chapbooks.  It will be part of their “Triple Series” and should be published in the Fall of 2023.  Learn more about Ravenna Press and the Triple Series here: http://ravennapress.com/books/series/triple-series/. 

I’ll share more details later, as I learn more, and as the publishing date gets closer.

In the meantime, thanks to the members of my writers’ group that pushed and prodded and insisted I get off my rear-end and send those poems out again.  I am thrilled that my collection of fire poems was selected for publishing, and I’m doubly thrilled that it will be published by a Washington press.  The fire poems are set in the Northwest, and it is fitting that the publisher is also in the Northwest. 

Of course, I didn’t win any money. I’m pretty sure I won’t get rich writing poetry, essays, and blogs, but I am truly enjoying this writing and publishing adventure.   First a humorous memoir published, now a poetry chapbook on the way… and then what next???