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The Man Who Built a Mountain
Frank Manowski and the Slag Pile in Black Diamond The year was 1960. A small boy was in first grade at Kibler Elementary. His teacher, Mrs. Lewis, distributed 12-by-18-inch sheets of light brown construction paper to her 35 students. She instructed them to draw a crayon picture of something they liked. Billy sketched a coal…
From There to Formentera
June was my last of five months traveling through Europe. The trip started in early February 1978, several days before my folks flew to Paris to visit Danica. She was studying at the Sorbonne for a year abroad. I arrived in Luxembourg and made my way south to meet them. Our first three weeks involved…
Where Do Trees Come From?
Five years ago, in early May 2021, I came upon a recently fallen tree in Lake Sawyer Park. It blocked the trail, so a large chainsaw was used to remove a chunk, leaving a clean face for counting rings. I had time that afternoon, so carefully counted each ring with the tip of a pocket-knife…
15 Years Later
Mom died 15 years ago today. A few days later, a good friend placed his hand on my shoulder and told me, “You just lost the best friend you’ll ever have.” Truer words have rarely been spoken. We knew it was coming. She had COPD – Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease. Like many of her generation,…
XIII
After receiving several of my CD compilations, a fraternity brother, Brad Caldart, suggested creating one with my top ten songs. I took his challenge to heart and began compiling lists of possible entries. That was well over a year ago. I’ve promised several times to quit producing CD collections, only to do so again and…
Tom Stoppard Is Dead, Long Live Tom Stoppard
There’s a hole in my heart. Slowly, inexorably, depressingly, one by one, my literary heroes pass away. The latest, Tom Stoppard, generally regarded as the greatest living English playwright, died November 29, 2025, at age 88. And before him, Tom Wolfe (2018), Terry Teachout (2022), and Paul Johnson (2023). Tom Stoppard had a way with…
Of the Big Lake, They Call Gitche Gumee
Growing up on the West Coast, the Pacific Ocean was our natural draw. During my early years, before memories even formed, our family made its annual summer trek to Grayland. We always stayed in the same 12-room motel, a long walk across sandy dunes and scattered beach grass to glimpse the ocean, which was still…
Tony Kombol’s Fateful Day
Growing up in the extended Kombol clan meant at least four family gatherings each year – Easter, Father’s Day, Fourth of July, and Christmas Eve. Occasionally, there was a wedding, an anniversary, or a Sunday assemblage added to the mix. Grandma (Lulu) and Papa (Tony) had five children. For me, that meant four sets of…
Spring Fever, Cedar River Boat Racing, & Bob Morris
The spring quarter of college, 1975, was upon me. I needed one more credit to graduate. A new life was opening after 17 years of schooling. I had no interest in grad school, getting a job, or even thinking about one. My ambition was to embrace a newfound freedom and focus on learning outside the…
My Living Theater
April 1975 – the final quarter of college and the end of 17 years of schooling. My afternoon job at Rogers No. 3 coal mine conveniently came to an end. Six months of 17-hour days driving from Enumclaw to Seattle, attending classes at U.W., studying, then on to Ravensdale for eight hours of grimy work,…
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