Explanations for unexplained geological phenomena range from the plausible (glacial deposition, earthquakes, erosion), to the adorable (pocket gophers), to the ridiculous (aliens). While part of what makes a place like Mima Mounds so fascinating is this mystery, it is a strange experience to walk through a landscape that the modern mind cannot explain. Foxgloves rise from the rounded earth, a garter snake darts across our path, western meadowlarks call to each other from small stands of Garry oak, and in every direction great big domes extend, regularly spaced, to the horizon.
“I wonder if this is what it felt like to be a human being before science,” I say to Elena.
She shrugs—a native Minnesotan, she’s in her element here. Until the colonizers showed up, Western Washington was predominantly prairie. Under aggressive wildfire suppression, grasslands gave way to the evergreen forests that lend the state its nickname today. Mima Mounds NAP is some of the only remaining prairie in Washington. In a month, lupine will bloom here, and these mysterious mounds will be coated in purple. We plan to come back then.
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