YETMO

"Espresso and the Taste of the Salty Northwest"

Recently I vacationed in the Great Northwest. Harstene Island, to be precise. Or it is Harstine? The state says the former, but the locals vote for the latter.

Rumor has it that the townsfolk prevailed and new signs will be sporting the roadways shortly.

Harstine Island is in the Puget Sound, that magnificent and massive body of water that captivated explorers and Native Americans alike.

But now the Northwest is less about salt water than it is about logging, although both the timber and fishing industries have been taking it on the chin.

After only a few days driving around this region anyone can easily see the effects of the timber trade. Omnipresent signs advise motorists of the latest clear cut and reforestation dates. Varying tree heights and colorations dotting distant hillsides betray past harvestings.

Even National Forests are not immune to the loggers' lethal leveling.

How limitless these lands must have looked 50 or 100 years ago and how endless seemed our wood resources. My host informed me that trees pulled from forests are getting even smaller each year.

But this narrative is not intended to indict timber. Rather, it is to acknowledge that what once appeared ours for the taking is not as prevalent as we thought.

Replanting efforts are both noble and evident. And while firms should be rightly applauded for their business and environmental good sense by planting tens of millions of trees yearly, it's clear that the scenic quality of this great region has been altered permanently.

Majestic mountains will always have the distracting and disheartening patchwork appearance that resembles a suburban lawn mowed by an inebriated homeowner.

But what does this have to do with espresso? Maybe a lot. Smack into the midst of two separate timber harvesting areas were roadside espresso stands.

I could think for days and weeks about matching words and concepts without ever once hitting upon lumberjacks and espresso. Maybe lumberjacks and longnecks, or pancakes, or rocky mountain spotted fever, but never timbermen with tea cups.

What bodes this? What great and grand changes are afoot in the lumber world and our country at large. One can only imagine.

Maybe smaller trees will produce smaller houses. Maybe forests will regenerate faster than every 75 years. Or maybe trees will grow to uniform heights -- a zoysia forest, if you will.

Maybe in 200 years all forest land will look the same and evidence of logging will be virtually non-existent. Anything's possible. Pigs might fly.

Just ask the logger lounging over his linguini and morning capuccino.