Driving in late August from Spokane to our Heyburn State Park cabin in Plummer, then down to Moscow, I was struck once again by the incredible beauty of the Inland Northwest during harvest-time.

Does hearing one’s name called by God signify that one is loved and chosen by God, or that one is delusional, perhaps dangerously so?

Some might claim that in the Inland Northwest the nights are not hot enough and the air is not humid enough to create that real wrap-around Dog Day experience from which night and shade offer little respite.

I grew up picking blueberries in the Blue Hills south of Boston.  In early July I’d rise at dawn, climb Old Baldy, and fill half a small bucket with the low-bush powder-blue bluets that flourished there amid the slabs of granite, sweet-fern, and shrub oak. Enough for breakfast, unless I spilled the bluets sliding down the shale.

FāVS.News is a social web that contributes to the social fabric of our region and beyond.

Having assumed that truth and beauty lay in fullness I clearly needed a lesson in the value of negative spaces.