I am releasing a special revised and expanded edition of my critically acclaimed award-winning essay collection, Overstory: Zero, Real Life in Timber Country. I touched-up a few of the original pieces, cut one altogether and added ten new essays written between 1996 and 2013. This 2nd edition has the same look as the original but runs about 100 pages longer with the new material. It is available now on Kindle and Nook. I’m in the process of placing it with Apple ibooks and there will be a 340 page trade paperback on the market November 1st 2014. The e-book versions sell for $9.99 and the paperback will go for $15.95.
It was not really surprising but, well, disappointing to hear that I’d been called an “eco-terrorist” by one of my fellow Umpquans. The news was second-hand, of course, which somehow made it worse. Whoever pronounced the judgment, whether she or he, hadn’t bothered to tell me about it, but let it slip, off-hand, as if it were a well-known fact.
“Him? He’s an eco-terrorist,” as though there was nothing more that need be said, as though I had it printed on my business card, “Bob Heilman, Eco-terrorist.” Continue reading
I sincerely believe that the break-up of the American West into smaller states is desirable and inevitable. I realize that probably seems outlandish, but then, unless you live here, you are an outlander and can’t be expected to understand. Continue reading
Upriver from Tiller the river pours through a narrow channel between gray basalt rock faces into a deep, still pool where salmon circle slowly, waiting for fall rains. The Spring Chinook salmon arrive here in June after a two hundred mile journey upriver from the ocean. Continue reading
THE MAIN THING
The main thing is to have a big breakfast. It’s not any easy thing to do at 4 AM, but it is essential because lunch won’t come for another seven or eight hours and there’s four or more hours of grueling work to do before you can sit down and open up your lunch box. Continue reading
The look and feel of the wood got to me. Funny how that works, how a rough-sawn pecky cedar 1×12 in your hands can conjure up memories, put you for a moment right back where you were fifteen years and more years ago. I paused for a moment, holding the board but awash in the ghost smells of sawdust, gasoline, motor oil, rusting iron and damp cotton Lone Star work gloves. My sixteen-year-old son and my nephew, eighteen, stood looking at me. Continue reading
The first thing I had to do was to abandon the speech we’d rehearsed, which, if I recall it correctly, began with something like: “Hello, my name is (your name). I am an enumerator with the United States Department of Commerce (display your badge) and we are conducting the 1990 census in your neighborhood. With your permission, I would like to ask you a few questions regarding your household.” Continue reading