My daughter died suddenly in 2023, at age fifty-three, of a brain hemorrhage. I scattered some of her ashes in Lassen Volcanic National Park, a place I had backpacked into and birded for forty years-my daughter had been there with me-that burned in 2021. Since my daughter's death, I have felt, at times, that too much of what I loved was gone. The psychologists now say the last stage of grief is not acceptance, but meaning. I'm still working on it. tires checked coolers, tents, flashlights check, check, check and the box of ashes . . . her last camping trip in the photo chiaroscuro trees and shadows trying to imagine shades of green before the fire