Caspers-ghost-4ever - 😎

Master of None Season 3, on Netflix on May 23rd

As the sun was rising.

Always a good time

Guido Crepax

Zinaida Serebriakova - The Shoots of Autumn Crops (1908)

Camas: Camassia quamash

The bulbs of this native flower are edible & valuable sweeteners shared or traded as gifts of local Oregon tribes. Tribal families took care to pass down traditional harvesting sites across generations: despite genocide and colonialization the shared traditions are still implemented today. During spring to late summer, the bulbs can be unearthed. Once harvested, the bulbs might be ground and stored in cake form. During gatherings, families bake the bulbs in earthen ovens by layering them over hot stones with branches of native shrubs, herbs, and trees, then cooking the bulbs until tender and sweet. This plant is cared for & valued by many Oregon tribes: The Kalapuyans of the Willamette Valley and the Nez Perce, who in 1805, shared their bulbs with members of the Lewis and Clark Expedition, rescued the party from near starvation.

Read that again: “rescued the party from near starvation.” - despite it all, Native people treated colonizers with compassion. #respectnativepeople #unlearnAmericanHistory

-Edited content from oregonencyclopedia.org

“Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions. You change direction but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm isn't something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do with you. This storm is you. Something inside of you. So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn't get in, and walk through it, step by step. There's no sun there, no moon, no direction, no sense of time. Just fine white sand swirling up into the sky like pulverized bones. That's the kind of sandstorm you need to imagine. And you really will have to make it through that violent, metaphysical, symbolic storm. No matter how metaphysical or symbolic it might be, make no mistake about it: it will cut through flesh like a thousand razor blades. People will bleed there, and you will bleed too. Hot, red blood. You'll catch that blood in your hands, your own blood and the blood of others. And once the storm is over you won't remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won't even be sure, in fact, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm you won't be the same person who walked in. That's what this storm's all about.”

Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore