by aramatzne@gmail.com | 13 May 2024 | Roads Taken
“You know, the point of business cards is to share them.” JB is my colleague and friend. He’s a good man, capable, knowledgeable. He’s also my antithesis, an extrovert, a people person. He engages with anyone; has a thousand questions. He’s the nicest of schmoozers, sincere, and genuine. JB collects business cards and has a special folder that holds the ones he receives. He notes where and when he received them. This is a level of dedication that I cannot muster.
Business cards are one of my nightmares. I prefer not to give them out. Perhaps this stems from living in Japan, where business cards are a formality. They are offered with humility and a polite bow; there is reverence. I don’t take myself this seriously.
“Yes, JB, I know what business cards are for.”
“Are you going to use them today?”
“Maybe. I will do my best to give out business cards today,” I declare. We are at a day-long workshop with people from state and federal agencies, biologists, consultants, policy people. It’s a lovely setting on the Columbia River, and despite the gray November day, I would rather be outside.
We enter the building, JB dives into the fray. I go to the bathroom.
I am wearing wide-leg trousers. I love these pants, though, like most girl clothes, the pockets are left wanting. Not quite deep enough to be genuine pockets, but deep enough to lull you into believing something in your pocket will stay there.
I stand up, pulling up my pants, turning to flush simultaneously. The silver business card holder, a gift from my mother (another extrovert), slips from my pocket and into the toilet bowl. Gratefully, the toilet contents are gone, and the case turns sideways against the outflow, stopping its downward spiral. I can only laugh. I reach in, retrieve the case.
I expect the cards are entirely soaked but open the case to find only a few wet edges. Regardless, I empty the case into the bathroom trash and wash the case, my hands, the case again, my hands again, and finally, I pocket the case.
Loitering in the lobby between talks, a man approached me, introduced himself.
“I work for PUD.” This is not auspicious to me. I know PUD is the public utility department, but I would never, ever introduce myself as working for PUD.
I give him my name. It blows by him. We chat for a few minutes. His interest is clearly not related to work or the conference. I don’t know how to extract myself.
To my great relief, JB joins the conversation. The three of us talk for a few minutes. JB now knows the man’s life story and sees that a professional connection could be valuable. I know otherwise but hold my tongue.
Finally, JB turns to me and says, “Did you give him your card?”
“Well…” I politely decline to offer a card.
I took this photo after fleeing the scene. I was grateful to be above the clouds and beyond the realm of business and its cards.

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by aramatzne@gmail.com | 29 Apr 2024 | Roads Taken
It was Memorial Day weekend, late May, though there was still snow. The spring bird song was incredible. Wildflowers were blooming. Pronghorn babies were popping out. And the mosquitoes were voracious. They were so thick and so wild for blood. I took this photo in a wild hot spring at Hart Mountain Antelope Refuge. For some reason, the mosquitoes didn’t linger over the hot spring. I lingered where they didn’t—my own Hart Mountain refuge.
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by aramatzne@gmail.com | 4 Mar 2024 | Musing
Where is my humanity?
A big man, Indigenous
With wilderness in his mind
Coffee freely offered
Brings an offering of gratitude
Passersby engage or shun
Gaining momentum
Fearful of the irregular actions of
A big man, Indigenous
A hearse passes
The line of cars streaming behind
A big man, Indigenous
Stands, crosses himself, bows his head
A young Black man stops, shakes hands
Says good morning
A big man, Indigenous
I will offer a bite to eat as I leave
The police chief visits
A big man, Indigenous
No move along, no aggression
Equals in their place
He walks, not well, right knee seized
A little wildness in his gait
A big man, Indigenous
Shakes his head, steps a fancy dance
Away across the street
A big man, Indigenous
Follows his morning agenda
I slink out the back door
Good intention devoid of action
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by aramatzne@gmail.com | 19 Feb 2024 | Roads Taken
…to a bookstore near you
Timber Press will release Best Little Book of Birds: Coastal Washington in June. Look for it at your favorite local bookstore – and if you can’t find it there because, say, you live in Oklahoma, I recommend ordering it directly from Timber Press (available for preordering, too) or from Powell’s Books.
WooHoo!
Gratitude to the amazing photographers Steve Lenz, Greg Smith, and Matt Vann and to the Timber Press team of editors, photo editors, layout and design people, and the whole crew that worked behind the cover, unseen and unnamed. Thank you!

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by aramatzne@gmail.com | 5 Feb 2024 | Musing
Rocks + bones; Rocks, yes, rocks; Rocks 🙂
As you may know, I moved recently, and for the first time in almost three years, I’ve unpacked everything. I’m not long in the furniture department, but I’ve got rocks, shells, and bones covered, from Australian abalone to obsidian blocks and a complete moose skeleton.
Who needs chairs?

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by aramatzne@gmail.com | 31 Dec 2023 | Roads Taken
2023: The year in review
This year’s photos cross landscapes and time, the eternal and ephemeral. From the spiraling mazes of Southwest canyons to the glowing night sky of the Arctic and a handful of people in between, 2023 was about scale.
May 2024 flow easily and provide expanded horizons.
Thanks for tagging along. xoxo T











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by aramatzne@gmail.com | 27 Nov 2023 | Roads Taken
Winding down
My time in Svalbard is rapidly slipping away. The dark is comforting, always there, no matter the hour or weather. There is no need to rush to catch the last bit of the day before sunset. I draw the curtains against street lights.
The moon is back. It rose above the horizon the other day, almost full. It fills the clouds, and the mountains glow snowy bright, rivaled only by Mine 7’s reflected light.
I am ridiculously grateful for a smartphone smart enough to capture the dark. My night photography camera skills are lacking, as is a tripod.




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