Lots of poignant essays about the environment of the Pacific Northwest. A lot of them made me sad, but I guess that's just the way the world is. ( )

This book of essays about the Pacific Northwest is part memoir, part naturalist's view of the area on both the east and west sides of the Cascades, and part environmentalist's gentle but pointed statement. But as with many things that are this and that, it wasn't enough of any of them for my tastes.

Lindholdt knows the topics firsthand, as a young laborer taking any job that paid, when that job was handling disposal of industrial waste so dangerous that he still carries the scars, as a young hunter deciding whether to pull the trigger or not, and as an environmentalist in a neglected part of the country often more concerned with immediate economic advantage than long-range environmental maintenance. The author's own personal story is Interspersed with the life of the nuthatch and the great floods that made the landscape in the Ice Ages.

But for some reason the balance is off; what memoir he provides is interesting, but I want to know more about him just when he breaks off, more about his friends as he leaves them at sometimes critical moments, and that distracts me from the view of wildlife that he tells as well. He takes the reader back and forth between the two very different environments without enough direction, so that I sometimes had to figure out what landscape he was describing. His language is beautiful, but sometimes he changes direction so abruptly that I would reread the preceding paragraph to make sure I hadn't missed a transition. Eventually, the digressions make sense, but with a jolt.

Llindholdt clearly knows his territory and how to write. He made me want a little more.

If I had to summarize this book briefly, I'd say that it combines the masculine, working-class focus of William Kittredge's writing with the environmental and gender sensitivity of Terry Tempest Williams.

But this book is more than just a derivative combination. Consisting of a group of essays addressing issues concerning the people and environments of the northwestern corner of the US, Lindholt's book explores themes of masculine identity, family, government-versus-local, environment, and pollution.

It's clear that the story of his family - particularly the men in his family (father, son, himself, others) - cannot be told without also telling stories about violence, class, environment and pollution. His narrative loops through their collective experiences, drawing attention to parallels - like his father's dying of prostate cancer and Lindholt's scarring around groin and thighs as a result of chemical burns - and poignant connections - like his son's death by drowning which contrasts with the larger theme of water and its importance in the life of the region and the author.

It's hard to do this slim book justice in a brief review; the weight of it requires measured reading, so that the droplets can slowly grow into a great wave of emotion and thought-provoking observations. ( )

The writing in this book is generally quite well crafted. It's easy to find yourself in the places that Lindholdt describes, and I love that in a book (sometimes called querencia or sense of place). Generally I don't mind environmentalism pervading a book, and I support it. But Lindholdt's raw nerve, bleeding angst environmentalism is tough to take. Not that his is ranting and rabid, it's just that he writes it with such pain and angst that those passages just aren't enjoyable to read. Couple that with his admittedly sad and painful loss of his son to a kayaking accident and you get a book that reads more like a painful therapy assignment than an enjoyable read. I got the sense that I was snooping on some private hurt that really wasn't for me. Although I think it was generally well crafted, I had to abandon it. ( )

An English professor at Eastern Washington University and concerned naturalist, Lindholdt gifts us with a splendid collection of essays that are related to the inlands and waterways of the Pacific Northwest but carry a universal message. His essays are beautifully written, sensitive, honest, and philosophical. He tackles industrial pollution, technology, progress, and their impact on the environment and families. Mourning the damage he has seen, he quotes Edward Abbey, environmental apologist reminding Americans that “…growth for growth’s sake is the ideology of the cancer cell.”

This can be a difficult read. The author struggles with the death of his father and his son. Following the recommendations of minister and doctor, he finds “… writing about one’s troubles as a splendid way to open them to light and air.” He also turns to nature to help him work through his grief by taking journeys in the wilderness and contemplating its power. Lindholdt reflects on experiences and controversies of his own and others. His writing clearly exposes concerns and visions.

The essays are varied and all geared towards making the reader consider their responsibility and accountability for the health of earth’s ecology – for the care of animals on whom we depend and with whom we share the planet – for what we have destroyed and now crave to have back – for our relationships with each other and our politics.

Lindholdt currently has a wavering faith in technology, governments, and the goals of the general population. He does, however, have hope that conservation messages, our own wisdom, and nature will be strong enough to enable recovery from damage already inflicted.

“South of my family’s acreage, among roots of alders and poplars and willows, Walter Creek is sourcing still, the liquid surfacing invisible at first, at last a legible trickle inches deep and one foot wide. The water purls. It sends up notes like early music. It quickens the willows and grass. You are within earshot of water.” ( )