Originally featured in an outdoor art exhibit, "Connection to Land," hosted by Agroforestry Northwest, at Raising Cane Ranch in Snohomish, WA (Sep. 2025). It is also the newest version of my poem originally entitled, My Roots Smell Like Diesel. 

Roots of Diesel

the diesel engine rumbles awake
disturbs the dew
on leaves of pasture
 
wakes me
roots me
 
this start is expected early
6 sometimes 7
days a week 

the engine idles and warms
prepares
 
for a day of hard work
down the logging roads
up the clear cuts ablaze with
sunrises and sunsets
 
the weight of first gear on the gravel drive
his boot heavy on the gas pedal
 
the log truck jerks and starts
as it grumbles towards the road
 
“Another day at the salt mines,”
dad mutters to himself with a sarcastic grin
pulling on another Hickory
 
another day working
to warm the home
to stoke the fire
 
not just a job
but a way of life
 
to this day
the smell of diesel
takes me back 
 
to my roots
that lumber and wakes me
reminds me reminds me

Skagit Valley strawberry fields sweetened by the Salish sun. Study prep and experiment. Stained fingertips apron and spoon. Pare bubble simmer the tune. Muscles argue and tendons confer push and stir. Steam saps the water from the loam. Strawberry stains the countertop and seines of memory. Flame and flavor pucker the palate. Wound the wrist lick the fist. Mark me. Make me. Save me for pots and pancakes. Warm the stove thresh the fruit. Cradle the jars hot glass cools ladle too far. Fingertips burn and earn. Lids and lips seal drop and pop. 12 hours pass at the morning break. Rows of jars tinny ring all ours dip the knife strike the jelly slakes the belly. Backbone aches cut soil and crown. Strawberry moon begins.

This labor my love runs root deep. A taste experiment a love testament.

Let’s repeat. 

This poem was originally published as a postcard and copies distributed at a local Redmond business (Spark Pizza) as part of Read Local Eat Local, a poetry project by the City of Redmond's Poet Laureate, Ching-In Chen. (Sep. 2025)

The rain pelted the leaves as we picked pink raspberries at a nursery out on the                     
Skagit flats
only a few minutes west sits the Salish Sea salt and blue and islands of San Juan
to the northeast you’ll run up against a volcano of ice and jutting peaks and to the west rainforest and hills river green
it was warm as I plucked and popped a few raspberries in my mouth
I couldn’t help but think of miniature roses peeling off the white bulb
I’ve always thought roses smelled like raspberries, they are in fact kin
these pink translucent beauties definitely look the part
with a nice light flavor and color, these were my first
the bushes and my clothes heavy with water drupelets droplets
we keep picking – daydreaming about jam and compote and berries atop mountains of oatmeal and crisps and cobblers and summitting peaks and dessert at the top
standing eye height, I nuzzle into the bushes and breathe in earth and breathe out
my prayer for bees – already thinking about next year’s raspberry rain

This poem was originally published as a postcard and copies distributed at a local Redmond business (Hoffman's Fine Cakes and Pastries) as part of Read Local Eat Local, a poetry project by the City of Redmond's Poet Laureate, Ching-In Chen. (Sep. 2024)