Author: Michael Stevens

“I don’t know what I am doing,” is often a dharma practitioners refrain. Not knowing is very auspicious, although it may seem a bit frustrating in the moment. When I am learning a new...

To say Buddhism in America is at a crossroads is to understate the obvious. Standing at a crossroads always entails a decision as to which way to go. We have received transmission of the...

Although it is adjacent to a neighborhood, one can still hear the Deschutes softly whispering as it flows along a popular hiking trail. It is an urban river at this point, but one can...

We are on the bank of the North Santiam River where it flows into Detroit Reservoir. This is apparently a very good fishing spot. Several fishing boats, with antenna-like rods sticking out in all...

Storm clouds have been gathering all afternoon and now they speak in thunder. Wind is whipping all things moveable as plants, tree limbs, awnings, and my shirt are batted about in a rhythmic dance....

You can still see a thick cable laying along an old logging road left over from a harvest conducted in the late 1980s. The cable will be here until rust cuts its way to...

Today the desert lives up to its namesakes—dry and deserted. Summer sun is evaporating what little moisture remains in the soil and plants are withering into dust. A few hardy asters peek out from...

The Riley Ranch Nature Preserve is somewhat of an oddity within the city limits of Bend. Odd, because it represents a rare decision by a recreation-driven agency to allow nature the opportunity to recover...

We have a habit of assigning names to things. Being a student of wildflowers, I marvel at all the common and Latin names given to plants. Those who hike with me sometimes roll their...

It looks out of place. Dark green arrow-shaped leaves, woody stems, huge blossoms, and spiky fruits look like they would be more comfortable in a Southwest arroyo. But here it is, growing out of...