I have mentioned before my lack of esteem for the banana slug. I still think "frankenturd" every time I see one. Nonetheless, I have come to respect their role in the hierarchy of squish that is Oregon winter. The squish that moves certainly rules the squish. Banana slugs are the substrate of Oregon's formless and funky firmament come to life; the antennaed embodiment of the higher squish as it were.

We are slowly adapting to living in the world's prettiest mud-puddle; the only place where water-bugs occasionally take flight and you occasionally see a fish hitch-hiking. There's just no question that hanging out in a small aluminum cave and fighting the perpetual onslaught of wet dogs and muddy boots is a real bummer. The flip side of that being that it is nice to have no reason to go home, stay home or be home.
At this point, the trailer and tipi have become a place to sleep when we have to work the next day. Otherwise we have been scooting back and forth across the Cascades to find a sunny spot or some rain that has at least enough class to show up as snow.
Packing up all the mammals into the van and heading for some back-country has been hard on the van's suspension and the local goose population; the amount of down insulation required for family camping has probably put us on the goose-mafia's hit list. Thanks to the fairy godmother of outdoor gear, Stella has a down suit with built in mittens and footies. It makes her look like she has flippers but it serves it's porpoise.