June 18, 1983
It started as a slow, soggy solo sojourn.
In spite of these negative implications, there were many sights of splendor to
make the trip worthwhile: five or six deer just off the road;
a fat, gray squirrel scurrying up a tree trunk;
an earth brown salamandar hiding in the middle of the trail;
regal purple heal-all, thimbleberry blossoms, delicate white iris,
ferns already grown taller than I am;
some fragrant and ever-lovely Washington lilies and a few ripe wild
strawberries—(you can bet they tasted as good as they looked!).
It ended as a day when I was glad I had gone out in the rain.
Lone in-the-rain trail walker was Mary Fulton.