On the way to Outpost:  Camas lilies no longer bathe the prairie in blue, as brown creeps along edges and heat waves rise from asphalt.  Autos and RVs stream like rivers from Wallowa, but finally, barn swallows swoop and titter, and grasses waft the scent of wild.

In the week after July 4^th, Gerry and I journeyed to the Wallowa Mountains to be a part of Outpost, a week’s retreat that is part of Fishtrap, an annual gathering of writers.  Ten writers and our leader, Robert Michael Pyle, trooped in a van to the Zumwalt Prairie, a Nature Conservancy Preserve.  This prairie, an hour’s travel from Enterprise and Joseph, Oregon, is one of the last intact bunch-grass prairies in our country.

Each morning we met in the school house building to write Riverwords—a river of words as Bob Pyle explained—based on his invitations:  “On the way to Outpost,” “Out here on the Zumwalt,” “The cheat grass swayed above the swallow’s shadow.”  He talked about writing and butterflies and we wrote and read our pieces, from poems, to fiction, to something we found surprising, to descriptions of senses:  touch, taste, sight, sound and smell.  As Bob said, “All is nature—all writing is nature.”  Sue, one of our writers added:  “We are all made of stars, just accumulated in different forms.”

M.S. Merwin:  I wish to tell the story of the trees

I will have to tell it in a forgotten language.

Every afternoon, we were free to roam the prairie, write, think, share conversations, sleep.  Several of our group woke every day at 5:00 a.m. and spent hours hiking the prairie swales, reporting at breakfast of all they had seen and heard.  We slept in a bunk house, but most writers slept in tents, scattered around the nearby prairie.  Wonderful cooks prepared three meals every day and baked cookies, too.  They kept us supplied with iced tea and lemonade, helped erect tent wings for shade, and joined us for readings.  We brought our own wine.

We took a field trip to the Buckhorn Lookout.  From there, we gazed in awe over miles and miles and eons of time toward Horse Creek, Sheep Creek, Imnaha River and Hells Canyon, in which the Snake resides.   My poem about Zumwalt Colors the next morning ended:  “Beige on chocolate on shadows on amber/Ridges to canyons to cliffs to rivers/Infinity flows that way.”

We visited ancient Nez Perce grounds, observing and feeling and sniffing the ponderosa pine trees slashed, but still growing tall, for the gum inside the bark for medicinal purposes.  We saw blue penstemon, white and yellow yarrow, purple lupine, pink sticky geranium, and other flowers, as well as a coral hairstreak butterfly and bluebell tiger moth—courtesy of Bob.

I went seeking inspiration to continue writing.  Gerry accompanied me to take photographs and he, too, was inspired to write.  We left with new friends, new writing, deep connections to the land where we lived for five days, and a renewal of respect and love for Bob Pyle—and with new knowledge of butterflies.

All photos by Gerry Morrison:  www.gerrymorrisonphotography.com

NEWS:  MOONSHADOWS, my debut mystery, was released July 22 by Five Star Publishing!  My reading tour is set and I am so excited!  Great reviews from Kirkus and Booklist.  Wonderful blurbs from Ridley Pearson and Anne Hillerman​.  The story takes place in Ketchum and Hailey, Idaho, in the 1920s with Nellie Burns, photographer, and her black Labrador dog, Moonshine.