ADMIRALTY Hill by Lisa Ward

On a clear May morning, I climbed up Artillery Hill at Fort Worden at dawn. Before reaching the bunkers and the spectacular view over Admiralty Inlet, I stumbled upon Memory's Vault, an installation by Richard Turner featuring the poetry of Sam Hamill. The poetry is engraved onto bronze plaques, mounted on tall, concrete columns that stand scattered within the trees. Standing there, with the first rays of sun filtering through the forest, the experience of this place, this artwork and these words felt very moving. Later that day, I would receive an email from my aunt and uncle saying that they had decided to sell the land that my grandparents homesteaded in the San Juans - a place that has always been integral to my soul. The experience on Admiralty Hill that morning suddenly took on even greater significance. I doubt I'll ever forget it. I've included the first part of Sam Hamill's poem here.


A Lover's Quarrel

By Sam Hamill

There are some to whom a place means nothing,

for whom the lazy zeroes

a goshawk carves across the sky 

are nothing,

for whom a home is something one can buy.

I have long wanted to say,

just once before I die,

I am home.


When I remember the sound of my true country,

I hear winds 

high up in the evergreens, the soft snore

of surf, far off, on a wintry day,

the half-garbled song of finches 

darting off through alder

on a summer day.


Lust does not fatigue the soul, I say. This wind, 

these ever-

green trees, this little bird of the spirt -- 

this is the shape, the place of my desire. I am free 

as a fish or a stone.


Don't tell me 

about the seasons in the East, don't talk to me 

about eternal California summer.

It's enough to have

a few days naked

among three hundred kinds of rain.


In its little plastic pot on the high sill,

the African violet

grows away from the place

the sun last was, its fuzzy leaves

leaning out in little curtsies.


It, too, has had enough

of the sun. I love the sound of a storm

without thunder, the way winds

slow, trees darken, heavy clouds

rumbling so softly

you must close your eyes to listen:


then the blotch, blotch

of big drops

plunketing through the leaves.

Eagle Pilon by Lisa Ward

After a month of photographing, drawing and then building replicas of electrical towers for my show at Sierra Nevada College, they always capture my attention. This image shows a regal example of the power pilon I have affectionately named "the eagle" just north of Delta, UT.

Ward Charcoal Ovens by Lisa Ward

A late afternoon visit to the beautiful Ward Charcoal Ovens, reminiscent of the Trulli Houses found in southern Italy. An oculus at the top of each dome emits a light shadow similar to that at the Pantheon. The resonance of sound inside the structures is incredible.