i don't keep many pictures of myself, so i asked my partner if she would find one of hers for me to use for this introduction. "something you think would be a good encapsulation of me," i said. i thought it might take her a while to find one, but she sent me the picture on the left in minutes.

i'm with a douglas fir that was born long before me; and with respect from us and protection of the forest, will be here long after my body has been recycled into the earth. it's bark is at least as thick as my forearm is long. it is charred from a life-giving fire that may have helped its children germinate and grow. it has been bored into by those whom it houses and feeds: lichen and moss, birds and insects, squirrels and bacteria, fungi and water. it's roots hold the hillside i'm standing on together, as it has for countless decades. (we can't count its rings, its age, without inflicting harm.)

i have one hand on its trunk, the other gesturing adamantly toward it. you can't really see my face, but believe you me, i'm very excited to be meeting this tree. from the path i'd been on, i walked as carefully through the ferns and undergrowth as i could to stand where i am, reach out and embrace, this tree. i've turned back toward the path to to my partner, my best friend, and my dog, to rhapsodize this tree. i'm exclaiming, "this tree is at least a hundred years old--probably more! it's endured logging, its been burned, dug into, rocketed by wind and rain and storms...and its still standing. its still here."

like me.

casper mcwilliam [they/them, or he/him]
settler on traditional, unceded indigenous territories that have been cared for since time immemorial by the xʷməθkʷəy̓əm, Sḵwx̱wú7mesh Úxwumixw, Stó:lō, and səlilwətaɬ Peoples