How the Wilderness Changes You

In the fanged forest, there are no kings

Coastal grizzly bear. Photo by author.

The rain still feels like home

I now live in a near-desert in the south of France, a place that has barely received decent rainfall in more than two years. Cactuses sprout from volcanic gravel in the drive-through. Lizards scuttle up the evening walls of my garden. Sometimes, I cycle past the unmistakable shape of a snake squashed flat on the road.

But I didn’t grow up here. I grew up in the UK, where it rains all year at the slightest provocation. And the moment I got the chance, I moved to Vancouver, Canada, a city with an impressive 1460 mm of rain per year.

It’s not that I like rain. Irish genetics notwithstanding, I’m a heliovore, a biological engine made to turn sunlight and alcohol into prose. Still, I’ve spent most of my life under low clouds, listening to that arrhythmic drumming on the roof, and when it rains in my current home, it makes me think of the old ones.

Add to that the endless self-referential capacity of social media.

Today, my Facebook feed surfaced a post I made fourteen years ago. Towering mountains, dense forests, and grizzly bears snatching salmon straight out of crystal-clear rivers.