“You know what it is, don’t you?” the guy said. He pointed to my bare feet as I hobbled by his campsite. I had not noticed him. Instead, I had been looking down at the earthy black trail that led to the communal waterfall. With my head down, I inched along and watched for protruding stumps or rocks. When I looked up, he smiled as if he knew the answer. About 45 years old, the man was of medium build with a full head of curly gray hair. Darkly tanned, his skin was damp as if he had just come fresh from the ocean.

“What do you mean?” I said.

I’m not sure why I was so compelled to drive all the way to Spokane from Orcas Island (6+ hours) to visit my grandparents' resting place but I have wanted to do the trip for several years. Parts of it were grueling with long stretches of endless highway.

Yesterday while mulching my flower garden with straw, I startled a praying mantis. He/She was smallish in size and rather leery of me. We had a conversation, or should I say I conversed with it. As he/she scrambled into a flower bush, I apologized for scaring him/her. "I'm going to be messing with this area while I weed and tuck in straw. I don't want to hurt you so show yourself while I'm doing this," I said and went on my way to gather the more straw not sure if my message registered.

As I moved around the flower bush laying down straw, I noticed the praying mantis peek his/her head up, still leery. "Oh there you are," I said. "I see you. I'll be careful, I promise."

Ever alert, the insect put his/her front legs together in prayer fashion and sitting at the top edge of the flower bush watched me as I finished mulching the area. Before I moved on, I smiled at him/her. "I won't bother you anymore," I said and continued down the flower bed.

I have had praying mantis in my flower beds for 4-5 years. This one was smaller than the others. I also have a pet little green frog that shows up from time-to-time and lounges behind a small wooden box in my outside cabinet. He's gone now—at least for a while.

Nature is a wonder.

Now that I’m in my 70th decade, I wish I could say I’ve reached a pinnacle of success, but the reality is I’m not even close.

I was thinking about trees today. About how trees have been so instrumental in my well being, about why they “chose” me to tell their story…

Calvin Splinter & His Splendid Splinter Ideas makes the long trip to Naknek, Alaska

The first time I heard marimba music I was headed to the Washington State ferry for a commute back to Orcas Island from Friday Harbor.

Most of Calvin Splinter’s map of the Kingdom of Lumaria was illustrated on an extended visit to Norway when my grandsons were younger.

Here I was again on Orcas Island for the fourth time. I had dragged my ass back from Traverse City, MI, my car stuffed with art, clothes, and Tullie, my cat, feeling completely demoralized.

Magicians pull rabbits out of hats, animated characters snap their fingers and disappear, writers make up whole universes and I … well, I’ve been known to make something out of nothing. They call it “manifesting.”

The first all-consuming garden I attempted was in Santa Fe, NM 1998. Swallowed in depression and unable to maintain an income stream of any consequence, I decided to garden.