March 15, 1925  

"The world here is full of giants. I have reached the rugged edge of Salt & Timber. The air is no longer dry like the desert. It is heavy with the cold, sharp spray of the Pacific and the scent of damp sawdust. It is a place of immense scale-where the towering redwoods meet the relentless gray of the seas.

In the logging camps and the coastal towns, there is a grit I haven't seen since the steel mills. But here, the labor feels tied to the earth itself. I spent the afternoon sitting atop a high cliff, watching the fog roll in like a tidal wave over the jagged rocks below. To my back the ancient foresta stood silent and watchful; to my front, an endless horizon that feels like the vey end of the world.

There is a certain peace in the Pacific Northwest-now stretching up toward Washington as they say-where the salt air clears the lungs and the scale of the timber reminds a man of his own meeting place in time. I am far from the cobblestones of the East, standing where the land finally gives way to the deep.

                                 Eli