Hour-old raindrops fall from the rocky overhang and slam my very large leaf. All around me, leaves float on the stream and collect in dams.

I strip to my bandeau and return to the cast iron Lodge pan in the sink, an expensive and intimidating piece I probably shouldn't touch.

The sun is setting, but the only orange thing we see is a fluorescent fungus, a gorgeous specimen with overflowing folds.

We’ve traveled 2,000 miles to see the ocean claw at the jagged edge of everything I’ve known and the whole state glisten with winter rain.

We hopped back on dry land and rounded a bend. Ahead of us, a brown bear strolled toward us like a casual fellow hiker.

We’re on a mission to find something we lost, and we know exactly where to look: where the white pine recedes to chalky scree.