July seemed to melt into August this year, with its relentless heat. The thickening dust of a thousand tractor wheels pulverizing the earth in the race to harvest perishable fruit filled the orchard air with a thick layer of particles. Little relief could be found in the eerily still nights with nary a breath of fresh air to ease the blistering heat.

Just when you thought it couldn’t get worse, smoke from fierce forest fires across Oregon and as far north as Canada blanketed the Gorge, smothering the oppressive heat to the valley floor with the weight of a hundred horsehair blankets piled onto a feverish child. I sought some sense of beauty in this scorching summer solstice, but even the fiery sunsets that once painted the horizon with their blood red glow were obscured by the smoke’s density.