I’ve always been one to love a good interconnected narrative. It’s the reason I spent much of my twenties poring over the mysteries of LOST, attempting to unravel the connections between survivors and Others and past, present, and future. It’s why in the span of two weeks, I watched every single film in the Marvel Cinematic Universe, diving into a meticulously layered chronicle of S.H.I.E.L.D., Hydra, Nine Realms, a Mad Titan, and a team of avenging heroes.
To those who have seen its verdant shores, it will come as no surprise to learn that Kauai is one of the wettest places on Earth. The peak of Mt. Wai’ale’ale, perpetually shrouded in mist at 5,148 feet, receives approximately 450 inches of rain each year. But even natives of the Garden Isle were shocked by the storms of April 2018, when 49.69 inches of rain fell on Kauai’s north shore in a 24-hour period, setting a new national record—and drowning farms, roads, and homes—in the process.
The first time I ever saw Zion National Park was by accident. In July 2001, as my family was moving (and driving) from the San Francisco Bay Area to Washington, D.C., our trusted Chevy Suburban ran into trouble in the desert outside Las Vegas.
In the waning days of this past July, a killer whale—soon to be known to the world as Tahlequah—gave birth to a calf in the waters off the coast of Victoria, British Columbia. The event was a cause for celebration for Tahlequah’s endangered pod, whose 75 members had not seen a live birth in nearly three years. But within less than an hour, the calf had stopped moving.
Like so many adolescents who reached their formative years in an era of grunge, my introduction to Seattle came through music. I first heard its beauty in the voice of Chris Cornell, and I felt its darkness and melancholy in Kurt Cobain’s anguished howl. The city was strangely captivating for a place I’d never been—sparkling blue in summer, misty gray all winter, and the source of so much that channeled my teenage emotions.