Friday's postcard, and a preview for the week ahead.
February 10, 2023
Tiny vortices swirl with reflected clouds in this late-in-the-day photograph from the Little Spokane Natural Area in north Spokane.
From my wanderings and visits with friends the last couple days I’ve learned I’m not alone in celebrating the return of the light, as mid-February unfolds with longer days and, recently, sunshine. So much sunshine that I’ve put on sunscreen the past couple days. Saturday is the off day for The Daily Rhubarb and I will use it to catch up on some reading, housekeeping, and selecting the music I should avoid on Valentine’s Day.
On Sunday I’ll share the first installment of the Provenance project, entitled The Geology of Us. As you can discern from last Sunday’s preview, it explores the wondrous fact that so much of what our bodies absorb as essential elements comes from exploding stars. The piece will include a slice of recent news about the role of the Laser Inteferometer Gravitational-Wave Observatory (LIGO) at Hanford in a recent discovery about where most of the gold in the cosmos comes from. It sounds like a far-fetched story (and that’s literally true), but it’s real enough and I’ll footnote it for you in Sunday’s piece.
If I may, I’d like to add something, here, that I meant to share in last Sunday’s piece. It was supposed to go near this testimonial to my dad, and how he artfully balanced his ardent Catholicism with his devotion to science. Here’s part of what I wrote:
I well-remember the day a senior priest in our diocese told our Sunday school class how upset he was that junior high instructors were teaching sex and evolution. I doubt he knew my father was in charge of that curriculum, both designing and defending it.
Rather than being afraid of empiricism my father was enthused about science—not just the discoveries but the process. The scientific method made sense to him. His attitude was that cognitive reasoning was God-given; not the work of the devil. He saw the wonder of the world and brought it into his classrooms. So far as I could tell, he had no problem grasping and accepting the science of evolution even though it involved timescales that discourage a literal interpretation of Genesis.
I meant to include this photo of him, from his science classroom at Curundu Junior High School.
On Thursday, to start the Washington Nukes series, I’ll share Hell and High Water in Ellensburg, a forty-year-old piece about how the financial collapse of the Washington Public Power Supply System (WPPSS) nuclear program provoked a fierce backlash in this small city in the middle of the state. It may seem like old news but it’s a timeless story about how local and regional democracy works, and how blunders on the scale of WPPSS can radicalize ordinary people.
When I covered Kittitas County government as a young reporter, one of the people who made a lasting impression on me was Irene Rinehart. A former English teacher, she was elected to the Ellensburg City Council in 1967 and served, continuously, for nearly two decades. She passed away in 2003.
When you pass by Ellensburg on your way to or from Seattle you may notice signs for Irene Rinehart Riverfront Park, which is on a bucolic stretch of the Yakima River just upstream from where the river bolts to the south into the Yakima River Canyon. It bears Irene’s name because she is credited with pushing the city to acquire the property (shaded by towering hardwoods, with small riverside lakes) when it became available. It’s a great place for a swim and a family picnic. She was widely respected, even by her opponents, for her civility, independence, and her homework. She had done her own research on the WPPSS nuclear program and was one of two council members who, presciently, voted against Ellensburg’s involvement in what became the WPPSS debacle.
Here’s a short excerpt from my July 1982 story:
Mrs. Rinehart has been a fixture on the city council since 1967. She has a Ph.D. in English, has taught the subject at several universities, and makes good use of the language every other Monday night. From the time it finishes the pledge of allegiance until it adjourns, the Ellensburg council does its business to the tempo of the articulate, verbal muzak of Irene Rinehart. She approaches every issue the same—with a stack of homework and a long list of questions. No question is too simple to risk asking and no matter on the agenda too insignificant for her to be satisfied to understand. If that trait had been shared by the WPPSS board of directors the Northwest might have been spared an enormous tragedy. Had it been shared by a few more members of the Ellensburg council in 1976, at least one town might have been spared.
It may seem like a small thing, but having met her, interviewed her, and reported on her work I was delighted when I learned the City had named the park in her honor. She deserves to be remembered, and emulated.
A bit closer to home, here’s a link if you’re interested in knowing more about the Little Spokane Natural Area. Happy hiking… Have a good weekend and thanks for being here for this first week of The Daily Rhubarb. Hope it’s been worth your while.
—tjc
Purchase Beautiful Wounds: A Search for Solace and Light in Washington’s Channeled Scablands.