Musings by Paul

Grafitti...or Art? Corktown, Detroit, USA

2012-01-22T22:34:00.000-08:00

On a recent trip to Detroit, Michigan, I had an opportunity to visit some areas that most tourists don't get to see. My insatiable curiosity tends to take me off the beaten path and I have the occasion to see art in it's more primal form. Some areas of Detroit are...how shall I delicately say this? I won't mince words, but some areas are blighted. Ironically, those same areas give rise to an urban art form that at the least expresses frustration and despair, and yet often presents a defiant hope in a colorful palette on an otherwise dreary canvas.

It is easy for us to dismiss such as mere gangland scribblings or the rantings of frustrated residents. Yet in the context of urban decay often brought about by economic downturns or the mismanagement of municipalities, it can also be a ray of hope or an exhortation to do the right thing...or perhaps even to praise the good things of a community. At the very least, it can provide a measure of brightness and color on an otherwise neglected wall of an abandoned building.

"The Dream is Now"

These are seen in an alleyway in the Corktown neighborhood of Detroit. This area was originally founded in 1834...one of Detroit's oldest neighborhoods. Now it is given over to abandoned buildings, empty lots...and possibly among the best urban art I have seen.

No...it's not all pretty. Despite the color and artistry there are also the ubiquitous gang tags amidst the detritus of urban decay

As the sign says, this area dates back to 1834. To put it into a historical context, this was a community before Lincoln became president and before the start of the Civil War...and before Oregon became a state. The skyline of downtown Detroit can be seen in the background.

This is the Michigan Central Station, built in 1913 and designed by the same architectural firm who designed Grand Central Station in New York City, also in 1913. During its heyday the station had an immense waiting hall, shops and restaurants, and an 18-story office/hotel tower. The advent of the automobile led to the demise of the bus and interurban service, and rail travel decline eventually led to this grand old building being abandoned in 1988. It has sat empty ever since. This shot is taken from the same spot as many of the grafitti images above.

Yet despite such reminders of bygone times and present decay, hope still springs forth. Colorful expressions remind us that people have not given up. Such is urban art.

For more on my visits to Detroit, see my other blog entries: http://musingsbypaul.blogspot.com/2011/11/detroita-harbinger-of-things-to-come.html

http://musingsbypaul.blogspot.com/2011/11/gentler-side-of-motor-city.html

Favorite Images of 2011

2012-01-02T22:33:00.000-08:00

This is a new tradition, where I present my favorite images of each year. As I noted last year when I started this, the criteria for this category are simply: it has to be a nice image from a technical perspective. It also needs to be reflective of this past year and perhaps associated with an event or one of my trips...it needs to tell a story. In some cases I've added a link to the blog article if you want to read more about the story behind a particular image.

Enjoy!

This is a Great Blue Heron, with a minnow in it's beak. I took this while driving through the Ridgefield National Wildlife Reserve just north of Portland, in Washington. It was taken from the car window (because one must stay in one's vehicle while driving through the Reserve) and took almost a half-hour of patiently waiting for just the right moment. My mother was with me and she was so thrilled to see something as beautiful so close.

In March I went to Northeastern Washington for a construction project. After my meetings I had some time to kill before my plane left so I poked around Spokane. I happened upon an Episcopal Cathedral that overlooked the city and I went inside. This was taken from the lectern, into the Nave. http://musingsbypaul.blogspot.com/2011/03/off-beaten-path-part-2-sacred-and.html

The Dalles, Oregon, approximately 90 minutes east of Portland and reminiscent of a bygone era when rail was the primary means of travel over long distances. Now the freeway is barely 50 yards away and this waystation is no longer used. Taken in April, during a Sunday getaway.

Late summer, in the garden. We let a couple of artichokes "bloom" (which we had never seen before) into this beautiful shade of blue. Apparently the bees really liked it as well, and it wasn't unusual to see three or four buried among the petals...or whatever they're called.

During the summer I made several trips to Elko, Nevada for some work at the Goldstrike mine, the largest operating open pit gold mine in North America. Prior to coming onto the site I had to take several days of classes about mine safety. When one sees the size of the equipment at the mine, one quickly understands why. This is me in front of one of the ore trucks...and it isn't even the largest they have at this mine! http://musingsbypaul.blogspot.com/2011/08/theres-gold-in-them-thar-hills.html

In September I was in Chicago, Illinois for a conference and classes. I took some extra time to explore and came across this fountain and the little girl playing in the water. I was captivated by the pure joy in her face, and the image of the water cascading over her arms gave me the impression of an angel. It reminded me how important it is to never lose touch with the child within us.

I encountered this abandoned farmhouse near Highway 395, south of The Dalles in central Oregon, on one of my many little junkets off the beaten path. This was taken in October, and reminded me of a haunted house one would find on Halloween.

The Oregon Coast and Cannon Beach, taken from Ecola State Park in November...testimony that often our best weather is in the late Fall.

Meet Lilith, the daughter of our neighbors. This was taken during a Halloween event at our local Farmers Market.

The delicate dance of a butterfly on a flower. This was taken at a butterfly exhibit at the Detroit Zoo, in Michigan. I'd heard much about this and made it one of my stopping points during a business trip there. It was difficult selecting a representative photo, after chasing any of a dozen species in the exhibit. It was also a glimpse of beauty that I needed after seeing urban blight. Here's more: http://musingsbypaul.blogspot.com/2011/11/gentler-side-of-motor-city.html and http://musingsbypaul.blogspot.com/2011/11/detroita-harbinger-of-things-to-come.html

I love New York! We visited it twice in 2011, and this last time in December David and Miranda were living in the Lower East Side. This is nearby their place, looking down a typical street. In the background is the new World Trade Center tower under construction. Seeing it so close gives one a feeling of what it must've been like on September 11, 2001.

I have an affinity for birds and I thought it fitting to begin and end this entry with a bird photo. This was in Central Park, NYC, also in December. We were so engrossed with the gray and the black squirrels that this little fellow almost went unnoticed had it not been for the bright red color against the gray starkness of the bare trees. This is a Northern Cardinal, and yes there is a crest on his (her?) head.

By the way, all of these images are untouched except for some minor cropping.

I also wish for each of you a happy and prosperous 2012, filled with love, laughter, and good health.

Christmas sneezed on New York

2011-12-22T23:49:00.000-08:00

Yes...it does sound rather crass to think of one "sneezing" on another, yet that is precisely what Christmas is in New York. One sees entire buildings dedecked with ribbons, lights and all manner of decorations to herald the holiday season, not to mention the store window displays. Absolutely delightful!

And so it was on our latest NY adventure. We had already been there twice during the summer months but thus far had missed out on seeing the city in her full seasonal spendor. All that was missing was snow.

What is New York without Rockefeller Center and its Christmas Tree? (This was purely a lucky shot, taken while wading through a crowd without really stopping. I tried looking for Alec Baldwin of 30 Rock...but I think he was getting kicked off an airplane somewhere when we were here.)

Radio City Music Hall, where we saw the Rockettes.

Macy's, with its wooden escalator and giant mailbox for one to send a letter to Santa.

The window displays were truly a wonder to behold. Most had some form of animation, and those that didn't were simply a splash of beautiful color.

Remember what I said about bedecked buildings?

Even when away from the major streets like Broadway or 5th Avenue, store windows still found creative ways to express the holiday cheer, such as these Christian Louboutin shoes.

No matter where one is, one is never far from a famous landmark, such as the Chrysler Building shown above

This is the Time-Warner Center, with Columbus Circle and Central Park seen through the window.

While strolling through Central Park, we saw this beautiful Cardinal. Certainly the red color was perfect for Christmas. I think it was hoping the squirrels would leave something behind.

Despite the glamor and glitz of Fifth Avenue and all the store displays, one can still find simple expressions of the holidays, such as a couple bringing home a small Christmas Tree on the subway.

(If you enjoyed this, you can also check out our visit in 2010: http://musingsonanewyorkminute.blogspot.com/)

The Gentler Side of Motor City...

2011-11-16T22:05:00.000-08:00

Yes...I did promise to show the softer side of Detroit, didn't I? Some of you will recall reading about shuttered automobile assembly plants, abandoned houses and derelict buildings in my last entry (http://musingsbypaul.blogspot.com/2011/11/detroita-harbinger-of-things-to-come.html). Well, here are some aspects of the city that are downright awesome!

The Detroit Zoo has a butterfly exhibit in which the little critters flit about without a care in the world, other than to pay no mind to twitterpated photographers chasing them for that perfect shot. I cannot say these are perfect, but it was fun and entertaining. As for what kinds of butterflies...I have no idea (though there is a Monarch in here somewhere), so if any of you happen to know, please email me or add your comments below.

The last two images have a funny story. Apparently one of the attendants in the room saw me chasing the butterflies with my camera and said I should come to where she was standing. "Look at these two...they are posing for you." Indeed they were. I had to wonder if I were witnessing some sort of mating or courtship ritual.

The Butterfly Exhibit is in one of the earliest buildings in the Zoo, which was originally formed in 1912.

The Zoo has many more exhibits and wildlife than mere butterflies of course. Here is a link for more information: http://www.detroitzoo.org/Animals/Habitats/Wildlife_Gallery

Detroit...a Harbinger of Things to Come?

2011-11-14T18:17:00.000-08:00

My travels recently brought me to Motor City, USA. Being the car guy that I am, and have been so since I was a teenager, this is a mecca of sorts. I had also heard that Detroit had been hit especially hard by the downturn of our economy, and that large segments of the city was laid to waste. I was curious, yet despite what I had heard and read, nothing could prepare me for the experience of seeing it for myself. True, no part of the United States has been spared the effects of the Recession, but the centers of American manufacturing in the northeastern US were probably the hardest hit. I was both humbled and shocked at what I saw.

It was sad to drive past shuttered factories and abandoned automobile assembly plants...vast parking lots covering tens of acres...empty except for the occasional security car (who wanted to know why I was taking photos and of course wouldn't let me in for a closer peek). It was even sadder to drive past block after residential block of boarded-up, abandoned or burned out homes. According to some reports, entire neighborhoods have disappeared and become devoid of homes.

This is Ford Motor Company's Wixom Assembly Plant, where Lincoln Continentals and Thunderbirds were assembled and shipped across the country. Originally built in 1957, this was one of the oldest and largest Ford plants and produced more than 6 million cars over a 50 year period, until it was shut down in 2007.

Up to 4,900 employees worked here in the heyday of production, and a little over a thousand when the plant closed. Here is a video of the day the plant shut down: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UMfhxk0i0EM&noredirect=1

The effects of the plant closures (and Ford wasn't the only one, by any means) was devastating to the community. Detroit was also known for it's beautiful pre-Depression era architecture...buildings such as grand theaters, luxury hotels, offices and other skyscraper buildings that rivaled those in Chicago and New York City. Even those were not spared the fate of abandonment. Nothing drives home the economic state of a region more than to see a 16-story building...gutted, derelict and left to the effects of weather and vandalism. This is the Lee Plaza Hotel, built in the 1920's as a luxury residential hotel.

A street-side view of this building shows a hint of its former glory, with graceful arches and columns now closed behind chain-link fences and sidewalks overgrown with weeds. More can be seen at this site: http://www.forgottendetroit.com/

Another phenomenon which I did not expect was the number of burned-out houses scattered throughout the city. One cannot drive more than a few blocks before encountering the charred hulks like those pictured here. It wasn't just single family homes, but skeletons of apartment buildings, former motels and commercial buildings were also seen repeatedly. A quick Google search found a couple of reasons for it, one of which is a so-called tradition going back to the 1980's called "Devils Night" before Halloween where empty houses are set afire. http://www.burnedoutdetroit.net/about/ and http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Devil's_Night.

Also, Detroit fell victim to a number of other inner city issues such as urban flight where many fled to outlying suburbs, leaving empty homes behind...which became targets for vandalism, squatters and arson. The reasons for leaving of course, are legion. Allegations of corruption in city government offices and racial tensions are among the ingredients of the soup of recession that bubbles throughout the city.

The feelings of despair and depression are palpable as one drives through some of the neighborhoods. Drug addiction and the collateral damage that accompanies it are rampant. One can wonder but when one cannot find work, be it meaningful or survival, it is no surprise one seeks whatever means one can to alleviate the pain and frustration.

What is the solution? Is it as simple as providing jobs for people, so food can be placed on the table and a roof over one's head? Is it so one can hold one's head up in pride, knowing one contributes to the community...and to society?

It also begs the question of what is the true cost of corporate profit. When is the bottom line so important that the community must suffer so that investors meet their goal? What is government's role in promoting or affecting the corporate decision process?

Having traveled to "real" third world countries, I am at a loss to differentiate with what I have read, seen in images, and now with my own eyes here, in what we would like to call the developed world.

Is this our future? That depends on how one contemplates the questions presented here. I am not a bleeding heart liberal who advocates taking what one person works hard for, and giving to another simply because they don't have it. However...I am also not a hard-nosed conservative who guards my possessions rights at all costs.

There must be some middle ground...

(Comments are welcome...and lest you become too depressed over this picture I have painted, stay tuned for some truly lovely aspects of Detroit.)

A Market for Fairies and Monsters

2011-10-30T20:24:00.000-07:00

Halloween...when the thoughts of children (young and old) turn to "what will I wear?...or perhaps more realistically, "what will I be?"

This year the Montavilla Farmers Market, as part of its finale for the end of the market season, held a Halloween costume party for the neighborhood children (and yes, many adults indulged their inner child and also came bedecked in costume). The kids could go to each vendor who would have treats for them. That's Lilith in the above photo.

Nicolette, a market employee, hisses for the camera.

One is never sure what will happen when two people show up with the same costume. Fortunately, it looked like the role of hen and rooster was settled quickly. Erin, the Market's volunteer coordinator is the hen...on the left in case you couldn't tell.

Violeta, another frequent Market volunteer also happens to be "officially sanctioned by Multnomah County Library System as a 'story teller'" (or so says her husband Michael. She does work for the library) and told stories for the younger children.

There was also a place for decorating treat bags. Market volunteer Nancy Jo helps with the coloring.

Eli and Claire as Luke Skywalker and a butterfly

Chef Jason McCammon helped with letting the kids make ghoulish treats, including "severed fingers" (small weiners wrapped in dough and dipped in ketchup. Thanks also to Flying Pie Pizza, just down the block, for letting us use their oven to roast the finger treats)

Chef Jason carved this lovely pumpkin just for the market. Jason also does ice sculptures with a chainsaw, for wedding receptions and other gatherings...if you are interested.

This young gnome poses with other gnomes at...yep, you guessed, Little Gnome Farms' stand.

Remember what I said about kids of all ages? Here we have what I presume to be..."Peas and Carrots", or Zenger Farms' very own mascot.

Thomas the Train and his two passengers bears testimony to the ingenuity of their parents.

Mother and daughter pose for a shot.

A young ladybug...but somewhere I recall that the older bugs have more dots?

In addition to the gnomes and fairies, there was the occasional crusading knight.

One easily associates the Farmers Market with produce, and especially strawberries...though I suspect one won't find too many this late in the season except for this happy one.

When I went to sample one of the "severed fingers", I was quickly asked if I actually helped make one. Well, no I hadn't, and despite my press credentials they were not going to let have any unless I made one...so here I am. They were delicious!

What market is complete without a wine purveyor? King's Raven Winery even had a little skeleton made from cut up plastic milk jugs.

It was a wonderful wrap-up for the market, and I have to give kudos to all of volunteers and vendors who have made this one of the best farmers markets in the city...and kudos especially to Beth for her organizing this Halloween party.

Yes, I did say this was the end of the season for the Montavilla Farmers market, didn't I? Actually there will be one more market on the Sunday before Thanksgiving. See you then...and it will probably be too cold for costumes.

A Shop of 'Wants'...and other scenes of Astoria.

2011-10-25T23:56:00.000-07:00

I recently visited Astoria, Oregon for a business meeting. As luck would have it, the day turned into one of the best in many weeks with the northern Oregon coast basking in clear blue skies and a warm sun…the sort of day that cause the photographer in us to call it a vacation day after the meeting was over, since these are rare in late Fall. Good thing I seldom leave home without my camera.

In my wanderings I happened to stop in a little shop. (For those of you who don’t know me well, I’ve been known to frequent antique stores in my quest for vintage cameras or other oddities in general). I also enjoy visiting with store owners when things are slow…and Astoria is one of those towns where things can indeed get slow. The Recession has not bypassed this town at all.

Farmhouse Funk is a cute little shop near the waterfront that sells cute merchandise with which one could decorate or equip a kitchen. Alas, no cameras, but I did meet Denise the proprietor, and we talked about the ills of the economy and how we have all had to learn to make do with less. She waved her hand around the store and commented “This is a store of wants. There isn’t anything here that people ‘need’”. I suppose it is true, and many shops like hers struggle to stay afloat. The number of vacant stores and boarded-up windows bear a stark testimony to those who don't make it.

As one of the oldest communities on the West Coast (celebrating its 200^th anniversary in 2011), Astoria has seen the rise and fall of the lumber and fishing industries and is now searching for its next renaissance. Although the location at the mouth of the Columbia River and Pacific Ocean beaches practically a stone’s throw away make this one of the most scenic spots in the state, one is never far from the reminders of Astoria’s glorious past that rivaled San Francisco to the south and Seattle and Vancouver to the north.

Flavel House was once the home of Captain George Flavel, a river bar pilot and successful business man, and is a fine example of Victorian architecture.

Remnants of old fishing piers that tended ships and supported canneries, and logs that used to go to local mills are now destined for places across the ocean. The city is rich with history, yet it cannot escape the realities of our current economic malaise with people struggling to make ends meet…and to perhaps survive.

A decrepit pier, remnants of piling...and a steel structure of some sort are all that remain of a once-flourishing fishing industry (and no, I'm not sure what the devil that structure is!). The Astoria - Megler bridge in the background connects Oregon with Washington as it spans the Columbia River.

Just a little to the south of Astoria is the town of Cannon Beach, with Haystack Rock in the distance. This is taken from Ecola State Park. Despite the melancholy one gets from the demise of industry and the remnants of a past glory, one can always get a lift from the spectacular scenery...that will never fall prey to the vagaries of economies.

Also, if you happen to visit Astoria and need (or should I say "want) any funky items for your decorating tastes, be sure to visit Farmhouse Funk (http://farmhousefunk.com/), and say hello to Denise.

The Child Within Us

2011-10-09T08:22:00.000-07:00

Last week I spent a few days in Chicago attending a Professional Services Management conference. As is my custom, I spent an extra day checking out some of the sights of the Windy City, especially since the weather was spectacularly beautiful…much better than the rain in Portland, apparently. In my wanderings I happened across a park with a fountain near the Navy Pier.

Fountains are an interesting thing…they attract kids, and kids become these giddy little balls of squealing energy as the water plays tricks with them. Have you also noticed how unaware children are of people watching them? How unself-conscious they are?

This little girl was enjoying playing in the water…so much so that she didn’t care how wet she became, or how cold the water might be. It didn’t take much persuasion to have her go back into the fountain for some photos.

How often do we let the child within us out? When was the last time you cavorted in a fountain, without a care in the world and not worrying about how wet we are? I suppose that can be figurative as well as literal, and with a media that continuously reminds us of how serious this world is we need to find ways to play.

One of the discussions in my conference was how to involve those of the Millennial Generation in our work places and in our strategic planning. Who are they? “Millennial” is a term apparently preferred by those born after 1980 from a survey conducted by ABC’s Peter Jennings, and are mostly the children of us Baby Boomers. Millennials saw their parents work long hours, and thought "we don't want that". We (collectively) filled their time with sports, dance, and all manner of activity so they didn’t have the free play time us Boomers had when we were growing up. Yes, it’s a different world, but…

One of the characteristics of a Millennial is a desire for balance in work and play, and this is something us Boomers need to take into consideration as we move into management…and towards retirement. We need to recognize this different approach to life if we are to hand over the reins of our companies (and our world) to those following us.

There are a number of differences in perspective between the Millennials and the Boomers discussed in the seminar, and I came away with some good lessons. Not the least of those lessons is a need to not take ourselves seriously. That doesn’t mean we don’t work hard…we do, but we need to play as well.

We need to let the child within us out…often!

September 11...Thoughts on New York

2011-09-10T10:42:00.000-07:00

Yes...I know. There is a plethora of articles, recollection of memories and gatherings to commemorate this tenth anniversary of that fateful day. I hadn't planned to write anything myself, but an article in our local newspaper caught my attention. It was tucked away in the business section and probably missed by all but the most diehard reader (which I am every Saturday morning, with a steaming cup of coffee next to me)...and yes, this is the paper version of the paper and not the on-line version...though I thought the article important enough to include the link: http://www.oregonlive.com/newsflash/index.ssf/story/cantor-fitzgerald-surviving-911-and-thriving/0d0f1c907c7c47118ecd9d83593c7299

The article is about Cantor Fitzgerald, a trading company that occupied the 101st to 105th floors of the north tower of the World Trade center. Perhaps no other company suffered as great a loss as they had, with 658 of the 960 NYC employees perishing that day...all who happened to be in the office at the time. One cannot imagine such decimation of a company's workforce. The only reason Cantor Fitzgerald's CEO Howard Lutnick is alive is because he was bringing his son to his first day of kindergarten. He was walking to the office when the plane struck the north tower.

What I find especially compelling about this story is what Cantor Fitzgerald did in the following weeks and years. As a commitment to the employees who were lost, the company dedicated 25% of its profits for five years following that event to supporting the families of those employees...to the tune of $180 million! The company also paid for the health care for those families for 10 years. On top of all that, the profits for the day on each September 11th each year were given to good causes.

Wow!

It is in the midst of tragedy that people reveal what they are made of. Mr. Lutnick's comment couldn't sum it up any better: "I didn't think there was a choice. Either we take care of our friends' families or I'm not a human being."

Having visited NYC on a couple of occasions and our son David now living and working there, I have developed a deeper appreciation for the uniqueness of that city. This story reinforces that appreciation. Below are a couple of photos taken in 2010 during one of those visits.

This is taken in Battery Park. It is a scupture that was in the plaza between the World Trade Center towers and was salvaged while sifting through the wreckage. The holes and dents are stark reminders of the destruction that day.

This is Ground Zero in June, 2010.

The experience of September 11, 2001 and the years following have taught us much...of ourselves as individuals, as a nation...and also as corporations. The examples of those who survived inspire me to be a better person and to not take family and friendships lightly.

(For more about our visit to NYC, visit my blog: http://musingsonanewyorkminute.blogspot.com/)

"There's Gold in Them Thar Hills!"

2011-08-21T00:28:00.000-07:00

"Gold in them thar hills"...despite the crude language, that phrase has sparked many a rush into the wilderness in the quest for the most precious of metals. Gold has always kept its allure, which is especially evident in the recent days of record prices...almost $1,900 for an ounce! Is it no wonder gold production is booming?

Last week I had the privilege of visiting an operating gold mine near Elko, Nevada. I say privilege, because the hoops through which I had to jump in order to be allowed to enter were nothing short of tortuous...though for good reason, which I found out after spending time there. The other reason I would say privilege is that I actually got paid to be there, which is always a cool thing.

I won't bore you with the details of what I did, but let it suffice that it involved checking out almost every building and structure in the mill area...lots of walking and climbing many, many stairs.

Yes, that's me in front of a 350-ton truck...and that's not even the biggest one! Those can carry 440 tons. These babies haul the ore out of the pit and to the processing mill...which is where I spent most of my time.

A view from the autoclave mill (the object of this week's trip) towards the roaster mill (in the middle distance) and the head of the underground shaft (towards the right, in the distance). The roaster and the autoclave are two methods of processing the ore and separating the gold from the surrounding rock. The mountain on the right, with the dark area at the top is a pile of the stuff removed to get to the gold-bearing ore and forms a dam behind which the tailings are deposited. Tailings are the materials left over after the gold has been removed...and yes it contains some nasty stuff. A rubber lining is used to prevent it from entering the ground.

It starts here, at the crusher where the ore is mechanically crushed into smaller pieces that are then carried by a conveyor belt to the mill.

Samples of the ore that fell off the conveyor belt. Was I tempted to take a souvenir? Sure, but security was understandably strict and one wouldn't even want to appear as if trying to put one in one's pocket...so a photo will suffice.

View from the Crusher towards the Autoclave building (on the left in the background)...

...and the mill building. Everything from the Crusher goes to the mill building where the ore is rolled in large mills, and the powder is mixed with water and other chemicals to form a slurry.

Imagine a giant drum filled with rocks and in some cases steel balls, and then rotate. Does your imagination give you an idea of the noise?

Imagine a room...no, a building full of rotating drums with rocks. Yes, hearing protection was required.

After the slurry is formed, it goes to the Autoclave Building, An autoclave is simply a pressure cooker where the slurry is mixed with steam and oxygen (and sulphuric acid, hydrogen peroxide and later with sodium cyanide), and exposed to heat and pressure. With all those nasty chemicals, it is no surprise that one is required to take more than 16 hours of safety classes before one is allowed onto a mine site.

Image of one of the six autoclaves in this building

One cannot imagine the sheer size of these buildings, even from these photos. We climbed stairs equivalent of 5 stories, 6 times...once for each autoclave.

As impressive as these machines are, perhaps what is more impressive are the steps the mining companies take in environmental protection and restoration of the land. I have to confess to a crisis of conscience when the offer to bid came into our office. Having recently read articles about mining and recent accidents where many miners were killed, I wasn't so sure I wanted to be involved in this industry. However, a little research showed me how modern mining techniques significantly reduce the adverse impacts and a shift in the attitudes of the mining companies showed a strong commitment to the protection of workers. This was made very apparent in the mine safety classes I was required to take, which were followed by additional classes on-site to become familiar with the site's specific hazards. Having met and worked with a number of people directly involved in the extraction of the minerals out of the ground, as well as those most involved with the protection of archeological and cultural resources, I felt much better about the process...though I have a very healthy respect for the nasty things some of those chemicals can do!

By the way, did you know that Nevada is the largest gold producing state? Did you also know that Nevada has the largest open-pit gold mine in North America? Yes...both are true.

Singing in the Rain - The First Montavilla Street Fair

2011-07-17T23:20:00.000-07:00

July...the middle of July, and one would think that Portland would finally be ensconced into summer. One would think that the middle of July would be a wonderful time to have the first Montavilla Street Fair, and that we would saunter down the streets, enjoying various food booths, savoring the visual arts of our local artists and craftspeople, and that we could mingle with our neighbors and listen to good music under sunny skies.

One would think so....but, this is Portland...and it rained. Hard. Yet in true Portland fashion, we enjoyed it anyway. We closed a couple of streets, set up the tents, wore our boots and slickers, pulled out our umbrellas...and had a great time.

Live music abounded (Stargazie is featured in the photo above, at the 79th Avenue stage)

At left is Schmidt's Body Care Products, one of the many vendors with tents on the street.

Did I mention that it rained?

Occasionally a tent needed to release some of the rainwater that pooled in the edges and folds, resulting in a cascade of proportions that would be at home in the mountains or the Columbia River Gorge. Here Arnon of Bridgetown Forge clears his tent. Bridgetown Forge makes the best knives, utensils and fabulous artwork, among other things.

Music here is provided by an assortment of artists, again at the 79th Avenue Stage (though the rain forced them to move into the space offered by Portland Garment Factory. If anyone knows the name of this group, please let me know.)

The lovely and ebullent Nicole of Union Rose, one of the many unique and wonderful shops on SE Stark, where one can find the latest in fashions and accessories.The parking space behind Bipartison Cafe and beside Portland Garment Factory became another space for vendors as well as a beer and wine garden.

Dancing Earth Massage provided free 5-minute massages.

Face-painting for kids (and adults too, I suppose) was available.

Of course, there is an election around the corner, and here we have Mayor Sam Adams on the left speaking with local residents, while Eileen Brady, a candidate for Mayor visits with prospective voters on the right (and no, that is NOT a reflection of their political leanings. After all, Portland's mayoral race is non-partison.)

Mayor Adams paid a visit to the Montavilla Farmers Market, which formed the western end of the street fair. Here he is pictured with the Market staff, board members and volunteers. Yes...he is indeed wearing one of the Market shirts. Way to go, Sam!

Mayor Adams having a serious discussion with Gretchen, the Market manager.

At the 78th Avenue portion of the Street Fair, one could learn all about Zipcar from these lovely ladies. (If anyone knows their names, please let me know.)

Mayoral candidate Eileen Brady with Chris and Kate Harback. Kate is the Board Chair for the Montavilla Farmers Market. Here is a link for Eileen's campaign web site: http://www.eileenformayor.com/

Eileen Brady pictured with Beth Kluvers, who is the Board Treasurer for the Montavilla Farmers Market and also sits on the Board of the Montavilla East Tabor Business Association (METBA), who put on the Street Fair. (Yes, Beth does look a little wet. We really do have umbrellas at home, and yes, they don't do any good there.)

Salon 419, which is located on SE 81st Avenue, weaves feathers into one's hair. I thought about it, but I was told I didn't have enough hair to have it done. I was disappointed.

The end result of the feather weave is really quite attractive, as these three lovely young women show.

"But, soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun!" We also had Shakespeare in the street. A troupe of actors from Milepost 5 presented a 15-minute dramatization from Romeo and Juliet. Here Juliet is in the garden, while Romeo watches from a distance.

"Oh swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon that monthly changes in her circled orb..." as Juliet speaks to Romeo.

Mia sports an ear piece fashioned by her daughter Lilith

METBA Board treasurer Beth Kluvers and Board Chair Dokken Ramsey (who owns Montavilla Wellness Center on SE Stark and 78th Avenue). Many thanks to them and all of the people who made this first Street Fair so much fun.

For more information about METBA and the Fair, here is a link:

http://metba.org/montavilla-street-fair.html

Faeries, Hobbits and Gnomes...Oh My! A Day at the Oregon Country Fair

2011-07-11T22:13:00.000-07:00

One of the items on my bucket list was to experience the Oregon Country Fair. Lest ye think that I am speaking about farm animals, carnival rides and baking contests...think again. This is a slice of Oregon culture that occurs every year on the second weekend in July, near the town of Veneta, about 15 miles west of Eugene. Started in 1969 by Ken Kesey and the Grateful Dead at a location in Eugene, it has grown to an event that plays host to more than 40,000 people over the Friday, Saturday and Sunday it is held. I could wax on about this, but I will let you read for yourself at a couple of websites: http://www.oregoncountryfair.org/ and http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oregon_Country_Fair.

Remember what I said about Oregon's "culture"? Perhaps counter-culture is a more accurate term, and so it was as we entered through the gate...and into another world.

At the original fair held 42 years ago, fairgoers were asked to wear costumes (remember, this was the tail end of the "Sixties", the era of Woodstock, Oregon's own Vortex...and of course, the Vietnam War and associated protests). The costume tradition has continued, and perhaps even blossomed into something truly wondrous...as you will see in the following images.

Upon walking into this new world, our first encounter was with this...tall wolf. Apparently a friendly one who seemed unthreatening to the youngsters.

Children are very much a part of this fair experience and there was no shortage of things to do for them. Everything from crafts to games and even strategically placed sanctuaries where one can nap.

Of course, what little girl doesn't secretly want to be a fairy?

...and don't many of us have a child within, wanting to express that same desire we had when we were little?

Perhaps the idea that one can become something different than what one is during the rest of the year is one of the appealing aspects of the fair? When one considers what the "real world" seems to offer at times, why not?

Man has always been fascinated by fantasies and mythical creatures. Look at the popularity of Harry Potter and Lord of the Rings...and yes, we saw a few Frodos.

Aside from the visual treats one enjoys just watching other people, there were many venues offering entertainment. Here is a juggling act (with knives) over four men forming a table by interlocking themselves in a square.

The visual treats never ceased. Butterflys and fairies were the most popular for women (like the one on the right, in black), and men seemed to favor leather kilts (on the left, walking behind the butterfly)

Hairstyles was yet another form of expression. Green hair (or hairpiece) as is on the right seemed the norm for the weekend, but I did find the stacked "do's" like the one on the right pretty amazing.

Another venue offered pirate skits...and yes, somehow pirates did not seem incongruent at all. We sat in on various speakers, some serious and some comical, and I especially enjoyed some of the poetry readings.

This couple would dance to music, only to suddenly stop in a frozen pose, until...yep, you guessed it. Someone put some money in the basket and the music magically started again. I thought these two were pretty cute.

Here is a hula dancer accompanied by a banjo...sort of the antithesis of dueling banjos.

This fair maiden somewhat epitomized so much of the fair...the flowers, the dress, the cape or robe..a carefree attitude.

This one fascinated us...and I'm not sure why?? (wink) Perhaps it was the leather chaps missing the seat, or the sequined panties? Maybe it was the purple hair topped with a sailor's cap. We stood for a long time trying to decide if she was really a he (yes, there was definitely some gender bending going on)

What fair isn't complete without some body paint? While most went with designs on their faces, there were some who chose paint as a covering rather than those pesky fabrics...clothes can be so confining! Joking aside, it was pure delight at the lengths people went to express themselves. I think the freedom to decorate, to dress and to "be" to their heart's desire is both exhilerating and refreshing.

ne of the biggest draws are the hundreds of craft booths throughout the fair, with everything from pottery to jewelry to musical instruments, such as the hand-carved guitar above. The artwork was amazing.

A recurring theme is to dress as one wants, limited only by one's imagination. Even some of the men that guided us to our parking spot when we arrived were dressed in...dresses.

Yet underneath this playfulness is a deep commitment to being green, which was a hallmark of the fair from the very beginning 42 years ago. Preparations for the fair begin a week before with cleanup from the previous winter's floods of the nearby Long Tom River (as it does every year), and much of the work is done by volunteers. Much of the food is local and organic (and yes, meat was available...I was happy!), and the plates, cups and silverware are all washed and reused. There is very little waste that enters the landfill.

Scattered throughout the fair are signs, with quotes or sayings...some pithy, some funny, and then some that seem at first to be somewhat non-sensical...until one ponders it a little more. The one above took a little bit to sink in for me, especially in light of what seems like general wackiness and play...and much of that certainly is, but there is a touch of truth as well. Despite what we look like, or how we try to portray ourselves and make each of us distinct from one another, we are basically related.

We went into this experience without any pre-conceived notions and certainly without prejudices (or as much as we possibly can, given our human nature). I came away with a new appreciation for not taking ourselves very seriously. This was indeed pure delight...and a little magical.

Fun, Food and Faces...Another Market Chef Demo

2011-07-10T22:19:00.000-07:00

As you regular followers of this blog have certainly already figured out, one of the things I regularly follow (or as regular as my schedule allows) are the Montavilla Farmers Market Chef Demonstrations. Each week the market has a chef from a local restaurant or other culinary institution give a demonstration of a meal, usually based on produce and food available at the market on that day.

Today's demo is by Paul Losch, of DOC, an Italian restaurant in SE Portland. (http://docpdx.com/) Paul will be making a summer vegetable salad with feta cheese and salsa verde...procured right here at the market, of course.

Paul's "Sous Chef" is Michael, who grates, crushes and cuts while Paul describes how to prepare the ingredients. (Many of the market demo chefs would love to have a sous chef to help during the demo, so if you are interested in working with a local chef, contact Erin, the Market Volunteer Coordinator at http://www.montavillamarket.org/support/volunteer/)

Chef Paul mixes the ingredients into a visual and aromatic treat (we could smell the basil as he cut it for the verde sauce). This is called Jardinière with Feta and Salsa Verdé. (Go to the Market web site for the recipe...believe me, it's delicious!! http://www.montavillamarket.org/chef-demos/market-chef-paul-losch/)

Of course, it isn't always about food. Our senses also include hearing, and today we were treated with the lovely sounds of Renee Castiglioni's accordian...I hope that's the proper name for her instrument? Please let me know if there is a better name.

One of the joys of taking photos of the market is watching little dramas unfold that would otherwise be missed as we pore over produce or other wares. Renee's music caught the attention of one young listener who seemed especially taken with her. Renee coaxed him closer as she knelt down (no small feat, apparently, as she still played her medley).

She finally coaxed the boy over, who even reached out and touched the magical instrument (or it certainly seemed so to him).

One of the market's vendors is Sino Baking, who make a delicious cheesebread called Paobread with a recipe that comes from Brazil (http://www.paobread.com/index.html). Of course, how could anyone refuse a sample from the delightful and smiling Courtney.

The Junior Chef Cook-off

2011-06-08T01:02:00.000-07:00

What farmers market would be complete without a demonstration of cooking prowess? Well, Montavilla Farmers Market went one step further. Instead of showcasing just one chef...lets do three! In a bid to even outdo having three chefs...lets have their kids do the cooking!

Voila! We have the first annual Junior Chef Cook-off. (For more highlights of the Market season opener, visit http://musingsbypaul.blogspot.com/2011/06/vegetable-express-has-arrived.html

The Cook-off is the brainchild of Daniel Miller, who also has Duckspoon, a web site about food, cooking and general goings-on locally and in the region. Daniel was also the Master of Ceremonies for the Cook-off. (You can learn more about Duckspoon here: http://duckspoon.com/index.php)

As part of the opening day festivities, the MFM featured the culinary skills of the next generation of chefs. Three local restaurants donated their skills and time for a worthy cause. Voting for one's favorite team consisted of placing tokens or money into one of three boxes, placed at each of the three cooking stations. The winner was determined by the amount of contributions in their respective box, and the proceeds went to the Dougy Center, a local grief counseling center.

The competition also used produce or other stock that is available that day at the market, which was donated by the vendors.

A representative from the Dougy Center shared a few words before starting the competition. You can learn more about the Dougy Center here: http://www.dougy.org/.

The three chefs who laid aside their knives and spatulas for their progeny were: Chef Tim Daly from Cheese Bar and his daughter Hannah, age 11. (http://www.cheese-bar.com/)

Chef Kenny Hill from Trebol featured his daughters Helena Bockstadter (11) and Iris Roy (3 1/2). Trebol's link is http://trebolpdx.com/kenny-hill/ (Iris was a little shy for the photo)

Chef Adam Sappington of the Country Cat (http://www.thecountrycat.net/about/adam-and-jackie) featured his sons Atticus (8) and Quinn (6)

Chefs Hannah and her sister work hard to cut those radishes just right.

Chef Helena adds a dash of this and a sprig of that...hey, remember I'm just the photographer. My role in the kitchen is usually limited to the sink and the dishwasher.

Here a lucky judge samples one of Chefs Atticus and Quinn's offerings - a pancake with chocolate. I think he likes it.

The winner of the 2011 Junior Chef Cook-off is...(drum roll, please), Chef Helena and her assistant, Kenny Hill! Congratulations, Helena.

Each Cook-off team received a trophy for their efforts. Of course, the real winners were those of us who were fortunate enough to sample the delicious food...not to mention the contribution of almost $200 to the Dougy Center.

The Vegetable Express has Arrived

2011-06-08T00:01:00.000-07:00

Many of us wait with bated breath for that day in June, when we can stride out of our homes, still pale from the gloom of winter and the dreariness of the rain-soaked Pacific Northwest into the June sun...and the first day of the Farmers Market. Down the street we go, toting our reusable sacks or baskets, and if we live too far away we ride our bicycles...onward towards that Shangri-la of produce, provisions and perhaps a little partying. Opening day for the 2011 season of the Montavilla Farmers Market has arrived!

After the rains, we didn't know how to move about while our eyes are blinded by the brightness of the sun...yet we did, and we loved it.

Groundworks Organic Farms is one of the Market's main vendors

Zenger Farms also provides fine organic produce.

Sweet Chaos is the perfect stop for some sweets...dunno about the chaos, though. They seemed pretty calm to me.

Food Lush makes her debut to the market with varieties of cheesecakes

Frog Meadows specializes in biodynamic farming practices.

Robert Richter is an energetic performer creating music that blends different genres from folk to blues to rock to Celtic played with passion and energy.

If one's musical tastes lean more towards the classical, then Vibe of Portland’s Creative Outlet gave us some fun, market inspired art projects for the kids...and music.

It isn't just about produce. Flowers to brighten one's home is also available.

A couple of our illustrious volunteers

For more information about the Montavilla Farmers Market, visit their web site at http://www.montavillamarket.org/market-programs/opening-day-celebration/. You can also see photos of the Junior Chef Cook-off at http://musingsbypaul.blogspot.com/2011/06/junior-chef-cook-off.html

Musings on Memorial Day, 2011

2011-05-29T13:50:00.000-07:00

Although I normally associate John McCrae's poem "In Flanders Fields" with Remembrance Day in Canada (where I grew up) in November, Memorial Day seems an apt day to read it once more.

In Flanders fields the poppies blow

Between the crosses, row on row,

That mark our place; and in the sky

The larks, still bravely singing, fly

Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago

We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,

Loved and were loved, and now we lie

In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:

To you from failing hands we throw

The torch; be yours to hold it high.

If ye break faith with us who die

We shall not sleep, though poppies grow

In Flanders fields.

John McCrae, May 1915

I visited a local cemetery (Riverview, in SW Portland) where there is a small area for those who served during the Spanish-American War, which occurred in 1898. This being Memorial Day, the graves were decorated with small American flags. Not all who are buried here died during the war, but served in that conflict.

It is easy for us to remember those who died in the more recent conflicts, and for my generation it is our friends, brothers and cousins who were lost during the Vietnam conflict. The Spanish-American war is one of those smaller skirmishes that lasted less than a year and focused mostly on Spanish holdings in Cuba and The Phillipines. As a reminder that our National Guard has been mobilized for conflicts much earlier than our current wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, so it was in 1898. Most notable about the Spanish-American War was the sinking of the battleship USS Maine, and Teddy Roosevelt's charge up San Juan Hill. It also signified the end of Spain's empire.

As I wandered between the rows of gravestones, I could read the names of each who fought. Some perished, and others returned home to resume their lives...though one cannot help but wonder how they may have been transformed though the experience. One cannot escape the same question for those of our current generation.

I uttered a "thank you" to all of those buried here...and to all who served in other conflicts...like those who lay in the fields of Flanders.

(For related Memorial Day Musings, you can visit http://musingsbypaul.blogspot.com/2009/05/thoughts-on-memorial-day-2009.html)

Something Old...Something New

2011-03-30T11:25:00.000-07:00

I have an affinity for old, abandoned buildings. I always have, even as a child I remember an old house near where I lived in North Vancouver, British Columbia. It was derelict, with the windows broken and walls kicked in by so many youngsters (and perhaps older kids) before me. I couldn't bring myself to do more damage, but the result of the vandalism of others allowed me a glimpse of something new. I think part of the fascination was seeing the guts of a building...the skeleton of the structure and the nervous system of the wires all played into the anatomical analogy.

So one can imagine my delight upon finding this abandoned powerhouse in Central Oregon. Originally built in 1910, this hydroelectric plant took water diverted from the White River (at the White River Falls), before meeting the Deschutes River a few miles downstream. It ceased operations in 1960 and fell into disrepair since. Like the old house of my childhood, one can imagine all sorts of people coming in and perhaps kicking in the walls and stripping the old turbines and generators of their guts. Personally, I tend to walk in somewhat reverentially...or perhaps cautiously so as to not fall through a hole.

This is what one sees from the viewpoint near the highway, as the White River threads its way through the canyon.

Built of stone most likely obtained nearby, the building blends in with the bluffs in the background. What I find particularly compelling is the process of decay, and how the structure continues to break down while the surrounding plants slowly encroach and take over.

Inside are the remains of the old Pelton water wheel turbines, the speed governors (just to the left of the turbine housing), and the generator. Almost all of the equipment has been eviscerated of their innards, like the copper windings that lined the stators and rotors of the generator (seen below).

I tend to view something like this rather poetically, and as a glimpse into the past. Of course the technology is primitive by today's standards, but one can certainly appreciate the ingeniuty of those who built such pioneering structures, that perhaps lit the first lightbulbs of the pioneer homes originally illuminated by candles and kerosene.

Close-up of the speed governor

Of course, General Electric supplied the equipment for many of the hydro plants built during this era.

Another view of the rusting hulks of the turbine housings

This is a view through one of several wall penetrations, looking up to the viewpoint from which the first image was taken, showing the canyon and the powerhouse along the river (at the top of this post). I don't know if this was a window or where a pipe used to come through the wall.

Nature will eventually take over and the building will vanish, allowing the wildlife to return.

White River Falls is a spectacular and beautiful sight, seen here from the powerhouse.

As for the something new, Henry Shukman writes in his article "After the Apocalypse", about the environment around the Chernoble Nuclear Plant after it's meltdown 25 years ago in 1986 and how nature is reclaiming the land around the plant, not unlike the White River plant...save for a very profound difference in how the radiation has affected Chernobyl's surrounding flora and fauna. To read more, see the link below:

http://theweek.com/article/index/213498/after-the-apocalypse

For more information on the White River Falls site, click here: http://www.oregonstateparks.org/park_36.php

Off the Beaten Path - Part 2, the Sacred and the Profane

2011-03-24T22:57:00.000-07:00

Second in a (random) series of my travels throughout the country. A couple of weeks ago I had the occasion to travel to Spokane, Washington on business. As it was, my work was completed earlier than i expected and I had some time to kill before my plane left to take me back to Portland...and I had my camera. As I drove back to Spokane after my meeting, I noticed a church tower on the hills behind downtown and my curiosity was piqued. I drove until I happened upon The Cathedral of St John the Evangelist, of the Episcopal Church. Construction was started in 1925, the building is of classic gothic architecture and could easily be at home in England. I started taking photos outside, but the rain prevented me from capturing any noteworthy images. However, a bold moment and the generosity of church staff allowed me some shots of the beautiful interior. For more information, here is a link: http://www.stjohns-cathedral.org/about/about_index.php

I love arches, especially when there are several in a row.

This is looking east, toward the Chancel and the Transept (Imagine a cross, and the transept is where the two parts cross. The chancel is the end or the "top" of the cross, usually at the east end.)

From the lectern, looking over the Bible

From Spokane I drove down west on Interstate 90 to the town of Ritzville, WA, a pioneer town that saw it's heyday during the growth of agriculture in eastern Washington. It's shrunk in size and probably on it's way to becoming a ghost town.

This is the Zion Philadelphia Church of Christ in Ritzville, built in 1888 and listed on the Washington Register of Historic Places. This is also of a Gothic architecture, though decidely less grand than the Cathedral.

I also stopped in the town of Sprague, just off the freeway...and it was like the freeway let time pass by this little town. There was the biggest collection of old cars and trucks from the 40's and 50's that I've seen.

Mary Queen of Heaven Parish was established in 1882, and this building was built in 1883.

An old tow truck...I really did feel like I went through a time warp, driving through this town.

Saturday Market - A Portland Tradition

2011-03-07T23:20:00.000-08:00

Last Saturday was one of those seredipitous days, where I had originally planned to work in the office for a few hours. A plaintive text message from our neighbor, asking for help in selecting a camera quietly but decidedly changed that...and certainly for the better. After an hour or so at the photo store, and a freshly-purchased camera in her hand, we headed for town to learn the art of photography. I am never one to pass up an opportunity for a photo expedition, especially during one of those non-rainy days that are so rare in Portland.

This particular Saturday also happened to be the beginning of the Saturday Market season, where one can wander by stalls of various arts and crafts and jewelry...while being entertained by all manner of musicians, performers and artists...and a host of interesting people. Our visit wasn't planned, but such is the manner of serendipity. The photo opportunities were...endless, as you will see.

I call this one Mr Silver. He stands still as a statue until, at a given moment he comes to life and juggles a pair of glass balls, mesmerizing passers-by.

Not sure what this one is, but he/it sure does blend in nicely...wouldn't you say?

Portland is known for it's bridges, but we also have our fair share of fountains which attract kids even in an early March day. Yes, I suppose we are all ready for Spring to arrive!

Most of us walk...or drive, or ride our bicycles. For those of us who prefer not to do any of those, we can ride a pedicab...with a trailer.

Today's entertainment happened to be an Irish-type band who reminded me of Dropkick Murphy. They were actually pretty good. The guy in front with the blue shirt was not part of the band (duh!). He was juggling sticks, and trying to match the band's rhythm. It wasn't working, but he did capitalize on the band's attention. It was all part of the atmosphere and fun to watch.

Portland's fashion scene has always been filled with those independent and eclectic sorts who march to a different fashion drum...or in this case, dance to an Irish band. I like how her hat and pants sorta match. Also, check out the guy wearing the balloon hat behind her.

...and what market would be complete without a balloon artist?

...or the street preacher reminding us of our sinful nature. (If you were deafened by the volume of his oratory, you could still read his message. Perhaps that's his "close-captions for the hard of hearing"?)

If the Irish band or the religious oratory didn't suit your tastes, there is always another musician to add his note to the music of the market. The guy on the right was looking for anyone who would pose with him and his guitar...for a slight fee, of course. I like his leather pants.

This one I will call "Art on a Bicycle"

Of course, what visit to the Saturday Market (or Portland for that matter) would be complete without a visit to the famous Voodoo Doughnut Store on Second Street, near Burnside? Today the line stretched around the corner and down the block. I'm afraid my own sampling will have to wait for another time.

And finally...here is the proud new owner of a Nikon DSLR. Congratulations, neighbor girl!

The Red Sweater Kid

2011-02-26T09:58:00.000-08:00

I stood on the perimeter of the group, choosing to watch rather than to participate in what was unfolding before me. It had some semblance of chaos, with kids running around yelling and screaming as kids often do, and the adults trying to rein in their excitement. My choice had some merit, since I was the one with the camera and I felt most comfortable seeing things through a lens of some sort. It offered a measure of detachment and emotional protection…or so I thought.

It was hot and dry and dusty. The ride in the car took us from the calm of our hotel, through the chaos of traffic in Eldoret where lanes seemed like suggestions and traffic lights often ignored. In addition to trucks spewing diesel smoke one also had to be on the lookout for various bicycles, scooters, pedestrians, cows and goats. On the fringes of the city the pavement gave way to gravel and then dirt, and finally two red ruts bouncing us into the clearing on the edge of Kambi Teso, a collection of mud and dung huts forming one of the many slums that is home to thousands. The rusted metal roofs blended with the red dirt, mud and dust to give the scene an eerie sepia feel.

It is one of the weekday lunches that is part of the orphanage’s feeding program for the children of Kambi Teso. For many this is their only meal. Technically these are not orphans, but for most the family situation is strained at best and in some cases riddled with drug abuse and despair. I watched the kids fidget about as the leaders got their attention to perhaps sing a song or hear a story. Our presence was a cause for excitement and many looked at us with a child’s innocent curiosity.

Occasionally one or another child would find an adult willing to pick them up and hold them. I took their picture, and it began to touch me deeply. One does not find something like this in the USA. We may have poverty, but nothing like this…nothing even close to this. I kept busy with my camera, but one little boy in a tattered red sweater made his way towards me. I tried to avoid eye contact, but then I felt two outstretched arms reach up and touch me. I took more pictures.

Questions boiled up in my mind. Dare I do this? What gives me the right to allow some connection to form between this boy and me? I will be here for a few hours, and then I will leave while this child has no choice but to remain in whatever circumstances are his. Where is the justice in this?

Other questions came over me. How clean is this kid? He certainly has not bathed in who knows how long. I looked down on his earnest face, caked with dirt and snot running down his upper lip. The brief feeling of revulsion gave way to profound sorrow and it took a herculean effort to keep from losing whatever composure remained in me. I reached down and held his hand as I walked to another vantage point for more photographs.

The hand was not enough. He stepped in front of me, arms outstretched up to me…insisting…imploring. I threw my camera strap over my shoulder, bent down and picked him up. Something released in me as a huge lump rose in my throat and tears welled up in my eyes. I looked away so no one would see.

My reaction even surprised me, and finally a peace came over me as we walked closer to the crowd. It no longer mattered what filth or parasite was carried. I don’t think he even knew from where we came, or if he knew anything at all beyond the red hills surrounding the slums. What did matter…and still matters now as I write, is that a human connection was made. It doesn’t matter how long or how deep it was. What was important was that I did pick him up. It established him as another being, with value and presence in this, what we call the great cosmos.

I often wonder what became of him, or what life has in store for the thousands like him.

(If you want to see more photos and thoughts of my trip to Africa, here is the link to a separate blog: http://paulsafricamusings.blogspot.com/ )

Green Energy or Visual Pollution?

2011-02-13T22:10:00.000-08:00

Last week I drove to the Yakima valley in south-central Washington to visit a potential project. Although the trip was work-related I seldom travel without my camera and I have no qualms over stopping at an unusual sight or interesting vista. It had been some time since I traversed Satus Pass on Highway 97, so you will forgive my surprise as I saw all of the wind turbines planted on the hills.

This has always been one of my favorite drives and I love the velvet-covered rolling hills on the Washington side of the Columbia River. I was not prepared for that vista to be peppered with a crop of wind turbines sprouting out of the verdant hills...and quite honestly not so sure I liked it. Please bear in mind I am very much in favor of green technologies and philosophically agree with the development of wind power wherever possible. However, I am also very nature-minded and do not like to see beautiful scenery visually polluted with objects that really do not fit in.

So therein lies my quandary...and I don't have the answer. I will toss the question back to you, dear reader. I would love to know what you think. You can leave your 2 cents' worth (or more if you want) in the comments below. Don't be shy.

Of course, Washington isn't alone in developing wind power. As I drove south (on my way home) towards the Columbia River, one can also see various wind turbine farms across the river in Oregon.

This was taken from a point on Highway 14, near the town of Biggs, Washington. Across the Columbia River is Interstate 84 curving along the base of the basalt cliffs.

Biggs Junction is a major switchyard for the Burlington Northern Santa Fe Railroad. Looking down from my vantage it looks like a model railroader's dream

This probably should have been the first photo. It is sunrise taken while hurtling down the Interstate at 70 mph or so. It's nice having an automatic camera...though I must admit it took a few tries.

Remember...let me know what you think.

On the waterfront

2011-01-27T22:42:00.000-08:00

One of the perks of my job is that I occasionally get to see an area most people don't often see. This week a project involved a structural evalution of an old timber pier on Portland's Willamette River waterfront. As part of that work, we hired a diving company to conduct an inspection of the underwater portion of the piling supporting the old dock...and I get to ride along on the dive boat. (OK...I had to do more than just ride along, but that is probably boring stuff for most of you so I will dwell on the fun stuff. Let it suffice to say that I let the experts do the diving part.)

The work day starts early, when there is no wind and the water is calm. This is a slip in Swan Island where several ships are moored and await maintenance and repairs.

We left the dock at Swan Island and cruised past the shipyards. Here a large Navy ship is undergoing repairs while in one of the yard's drydock.

The pier we inspected parallels the Willamette River just downstream of the Fremont Bridge. (Out of deference to my client, I will refrain from divulging the exact location of the pier in question.)

An underwater inspection involves much more than just scuba tanks and a diving suit. In this case the helmet included a spotlight, a video camera and a 2-way radio that allowed us to talk to the diver as he inspected the individual piling under the pier. I should note that recent heavy rains had caused the river to have the consistency of coffee with cream, with about 6 inches of visibility. The inspection generally consisted of physically feeling the pile with one's hands, "sounding" the pile with a hammer to detect any hollow portions, and taking core samples to see if there is any rotted portions within the pile. We also video-taped whatever the diver saw, but generally we looked at swirliing muddy water.

One sees all manner of wildlife on the river...including the two-legged river skipper. (OK...maybe it's really just a guy standing on a board and paddling along the edge of the river. he was just as curious about us as we were about him.)

Another shot of the Portland Shipyard drydock

There are several drydocks at the shipyards with ships sitting high and dry. Since I wasn't certain of the conditions on the boat (and being rather reticent about exposing my good camera and equipment to any risk of harm), these images were taken with my Canon point-n-shoot camera I usually take on my work-related expeditions...which actually doesn't do a bad job after all.

The Great Blue Heron

2011-01-23T22:04:00.000-08:00

I loved my last visit to Ridgefield National Wildlife Refuge so much I went back for an encore visit today, only this time I took my 87-year-old mother with me. One of the really nice things about the refuge is that one can drive the 4.2-mile auto route, which is a wonderful way for someone like my mother who's hiking days are long past to see the refuge and it's wildlife. There is much to see from the comfort of one's car, and the local fauna don't seem to mind the cars as much.

Today was a quiet day at the refuge, and most of the migratory birds were content to forage under the water. At one point we found a Great Blue Heron finding food in a drainage structure next to the road, which gave me the best opportunity to capture these images.

The Great Blue Heron (Ardea herodias)

The heron sees a potential meal. Bear in mind I was only 15 feet away, leaning out of my open window. (Some have said this particular shot/pose looks like a strange bird looking at us)

The meal must be moving around as the heron patiently watches...and waits

Score! See the minnow in the heron's beak?

A nice profile shot

Chess on Ice

2011-01-18T23:24:00.000-08:00

It started over a glass of whiskey and a cigar. Most crazy ideas do, don't they? An idle conversation about sports in general led to a discovery about more than a passing interest in an unusual sport...or at least one that is unusual to me. One must remember this is a rather genteel group of people, who have generally passed the age where a pickup game of basketball or (heaven forbid) soccer is on the docket and find more satisfaction savoring a good Macanudo and conversation. Does that mean we don't like sports? Of course not! We will watch as avidly as anyone.

Yet...participation becomes the big question. Into this profound topic enters one Neal Naigus, conversationalist, cigar afficionado and curling fan. Over the years we have gathered for our monthly smokeout, the occasional invitation to at least see what the game is all about largely went ignored. Not because we don't like Neal...far from it! It's just we are all busy with the stuff of life and...lets face it, most are like me who don't have enough time for the hobbies we have and are thus reluctant to pursue any new ones.

Of course, if I could combine something like this with a current hobby, like photography and perhaps a little writing, my interest perks up. So thus I find myself at Lloyd Center this evening, watching a curling event.

Most of us in Portland don't realize curling is popular in areas other than Canada or Scotland, but seeing 30-some people of all age groups gathered at the Lloyd Center Ice Rink convinced me. Tonight was the first evening of the 2011 Curling season, and these fans will compete every Tuesday and Sunday evening for the next 10 weeks.

What is curling? Basically it is a sport in which players slide stones across a frozen surface towards a target area with the intent of getting as close to the target and perhaps knocking the opponent's stone away.

In the above photo, the light blue circle in the ice is part of the target. The teams have stones with either red or blue tops to differentiate them.

As the stone slides toward the target, team members use brushes or brooms to control the speed and or direction of the stone.

Believe it or not, there is a lot of strategy involved in curling, and has also been called "Chess on Ice". The stones are made of polished granite weighing between 38 and 44 pounds and come with a handle that allows for some "english" in causing the stone to curve its path. Traditionally the stones come from a couple of specific locations in Scotland or Wales.

A very satisfied Neal, holding his curling broom.

If you are interested, you can watch this sport Tuesdays and Sunday evenings at 6:30, at the Lloyd Center Ice Rink. Here is a link to more information: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Curling

Ridgefield National Wildlife Refuge - A Drive on the Wild Side

2011-01-11T21:21:00.000-08:00

I like birds. In fact I like most any kind of wildlife. Any of you who regularly visit this blog will already know that. You will also know I have been trying to get that "perfect" Great Blue Heron shot for a long time. Well...last Saturday I hit the motherlode when I visited the Ridgefield NWR just north of Portland and along the Columbia River. Not only did I see many varieties of geese, but there are eagles, ducks, hawks, otters and muskrat galore. The Refuge has an area that is accessed only by car (meaning one is not allowed out of the car, so my photos were taken through the car window...yes it was rolled down and yes it was cold!!)

The refuge was established in 1965 for a particular species of dusky Canada geese, whose habitat in southern Alaska was destroyed during the earthquake in 1964.

Of course I found my heron right away, and just scant feet from my car. Apparently the refuge's denizens aren't bothered by seemingly inanimate objects such as cars that follow a predictable route along a gravel road. This one paid no attention as I and a number of other photographers and bird watchers clicked and gawked away to their hearts' delight.

This is a young eagle (eaglet?) perched on a branch.

A flock of dusky Canada geese gathered on the bank. In the background are tundra swans.

...coming in for a landing.

Tundra swans in flight

I like this image. A solitary heron perched on a branch. The pond is frozen and the sun creates an interesting, almost surreal effect with the backlight.

Another shot of my heron, backlit with the sun.

This gnarly old tree is on the north Carty Unit of the refuge, where one can get out and hike a number of trails. One can easily imagine a gnome or a hobbit peering from behind the trunk.

Favorite Photos of 2010

2010-12-31T18:22:00.000-08:00

Okay...another new tradition. Each year I will publish (or perhaps re-publish) some of my favorite images of the past year. What makes them my favorite? A couple of key things: the images need to be unusual, technically good and pleasing to the eye. The image should also convey some message or meaning for something I did or a place I travelled over the past year. It may also be whimsy on my part. It is also a sort of "Year in Review" for me.

This is a Wood Duck, taken in the spring at Crystal Springs Rhododendron Gardens in SE Portland. Apparently there are only a few places one can see these ducks, and this was one of my first expeditions with my new telephoto lens (Nikkor 70 -200mm f2.8 for you photogeeks)

Another bird shot. This is a Great Blue Heron that I had to stalk for quite some time before he/she allowed me to get close enough for this image. Apparently the prospect of a meal overcame a fear of me, and I was able to get a photo in flight with a snake in it's mouth. Late spring of 2010, near Vancouver Lake.

In April I went to Oklahoma for a business trip. This is oil country...in fact, this is perhaps one of the original oil patches since it's close to Texas. This of course is an oil well pump, also called a "pump jack" or a "nodding donkey" (thank you, Wikipedia). These are scattered throughout the countryside, next to the highway or nestled in the midst of wheatfields. At any given time I could see dozens as I drove to my destination (Anadarko, which also happens to be the name of a large oil company). There is some whimsy in this photo as well...I grew up in oil country when my father worked for Royal Dutch Shell, so seeing one of these elicited some memories for me.

This is Oklahoma City's memorial to the 168 who died (including 19 children) at the Alfred P Murrah Federal Building bombing that occurred in 1995. There are two arches like the one in the distance, separated by a reflecting pool. One bears the time immediately before the bomb went off (9:01) and the other one moment after (9:03). On the right one can see chair sculptures that represent those who died. Seeing the smaller chairs representing the children who were in the daycare and who perished was particularly moving for me.

Each year, near Woodburn (which is about an hour south of Portland) there is a tulip festival where one almost feels one is in Holland. There are acres upon acres of brightly colored tulips of any color imaginable. This is a dark purple one, taken while almost laying in the mud.

I love birds. Spring especially brings opportunities for delightful images such as these goslings pecking away on a lawn near my office in SE Portland.

We occasionally like to escape the city and visit the Oregon Coast. This is a seabird posing for me at the aviary at the Oregon Coast Aquarium near Newport, Oregon.

Also in Newport, one can wander along the old waterfront area and see sea lions and seals who have taken up residence on various rocks, floats and docks. These two are vying for a good sunny spot...I guess. Maybe it's a mating ritual? We didn't wait to find out.

During the Portland Rose Festival in June, one can watch Dragon Boat Races on the Willamette River. This is as close as I could get, even with a good telephoto lens...but I love the colors of the boats and the intricacies of the carvings. The person sitting on the head leans forward as the boat races to a bouy to grab the flag. First one to grab of course is the winner.

This is perhaps my favorite photo of 2010. I chased this monarch butterfly from flower to flower to capture this image. Taken while we were in New York visiting our son and his girlfriend in July. We were in the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens, near their home. You can see more of our trip at my other blog: http://musingsonanewyorkminute.blogspot.com/

I'll call this one "Ladybug on an Artichoke", taken in our garden at our house. (Both this photo and the butterfly in the previous shot were taken with my antiquated (pre-digital) Nikkor 28-105mm zoom lens. Not bad for a 18 year old piece of glass, eh?)

This is an old, abandoned hydroelectric powerhouse in central Oregon, south of The Dalles and around 2 hours from Portland. I think this was originally built around 1910 and ceased production in 1960 when the big The Dalles Dam on the Columbia River was completed. Pictured is the remains of a turbine and generator on the right, and a governor in the center. Over the years weather and vandals have stripped most of the smaller pieces leaving just the hulks. Portions of the roof have fallen or blown away, allowing the light to come in as you can see in the photo.

These last two images were taken on one of our explorations...part of a series entitled Off the Beaten Path. This is an old gas pump at an abandoned gas station along the highway in central Oregon.

An old McCormick Deering tractor, part of the detritus of a vanishing rural life in central Oregon. This was taken in the town of Shaniko, which used to be a center for sheep ranching but became a ghost town in the middle of the last century. Recently there have been efforts to restore the hotel and some of the businesses but the economy has taken its toll and this once-thriving town may yet again slide into a ghost of a former life.

What is Christmas?

2010-12-25T10:22:00.001-08:00

Our family celebrates Christmas on Christmas Eve, with a dinner, opening gifts and playing a game of cards. If the time works out we may attend a midnight Mass or service, but after a day of preparation and perhaps work, staying up so late may not work. All in all our tradition is pretty…well, traditional.

And speaking of tradition, one that has crept in and now seems to dominate our western culture is the commercialism that encourages us to buy, buy and buy more. Perhaps the most opulent example (and in my opinion the most offensive) is the commercial of the luxury car tied up with a red bow in the driveway, with the person standing beside it squealing with unrestrained joy. Spare me!

This morning’s Oregonian featured an article about how some spend their Christmases in less traditional manners, perhaps due to circumstances in their lives. We cannot forget how this recession has adversely affected the lives of many families and individuals, who have seen successful businesses slip away, homes fall into foreclosure and families separated. It may not even be the economy. One’s circumstances can also be due to choices one has made in one’s life. One’s choice of how to spend Christmas may also be a reflection of how one’s own life has been changed. Here is a link to that article: http://www.oregonlive.com/living/index.ssf/2010/12/christmas_slips_into_many_diff.html

I want to introduce you to a friend of mine. Her name is Kristin, and she is pictured with her dog Boo. Cute, huh? This was taken at our annual 4th of July party.

Of late she has been spending time volunteering in a homeless shelter in SE Portland, serving food to those less fortunate, and Christmas Eve day was no different for her. I have known Kristin through some hard times. I won’t go into her story, other than to say it is a remarkable one and to see her in this place is truly a blessing. Her Christmas present to me was a very simple one, a framed photo of Boo (and one I did not take!). What was and is important to her now is to share of herself with people most of us never encounter.

It was the simplicity of the gift, and the choice of her actions that moved me, and caused me to reflect on what Christmas really is. It is so very easy to get caught up in the frenzy of the holidays and to stress about finding the "perfect gift" for those in our circle of family and friends. Yet the best part is spending time with those who are around us. It isn’t about buying things and doing our part in keeping the economy going…no, it’s about sharing ourselves and especially with those less fortunate than us.

This, my friends, is Christmas and brings us closer to the manger scene…where a couple were forced to resort to sleeping in a stable rather than a warm room and bed. May we all enjoy the true peace and joy that comes with the simplicity of the season.

Merry Christmas to all!

A Farmers Market in December

2010-12-12T14:02:00.001-08:00

Long after most other farmers markets have folded up their tents, stowed away supplies for the winter and look ahead for next year's first fruits, the site of the Montavilla Farmers Market still bustles with farmers and customers, anxious for what is fresh and local.

What...you may say? This is December, and we should be packing the malls with Christmas shopping, our eyes filled with visions of sugar plums and such things! Well, it appears there is still a hardy cadre of consumers who love to interact with those who supply our sustenance, namely the farmers and dairy folk and bakers and those who produce the most delicious sausage. Once again the empty lot at the corner of SE 76th and Stark was abuzz with tents, trucks and tables filled with fruit, vegetables and all manner of produce.

I love this farmers market! It is apparent we will not be deterred by seasons or weather in our pursuit of all things fresh. Despite the rain and wind (albeit temperatures were in the high 50's...eat your heart out, Minnesota), more than 130 people came.

Just to prove how hardy we are, we will even eat ice cream...in December...outdoors! And we will enjoy it as well.

Most vendors set up a tent but a few offered their stuff out of the back of their truck.

Yes, it is an abbreviated market, on select Sundays through the winter months and only between 11 AM and 1 PM. There are only a few vendors still selling this late...just a fraction of what is offered in the summer. Despite that, it's fun to see the trucks and vans parked and tents covering the tables.

Luckily the mild temperatures allowed fingers to work those tiny keyboards as Market volunteers helped with questions, trading tokens or even offering a free loaner bag in which to carry stuff home.

What makes a market complete but pooches accompanying their charges as most walk to the market. Isn't that what makes this a true part of the community?

I am still pleasantly surprised at the bounty offered, even this late in the year. So many varieties of apples and pears...

...next to stands with onions and potatoes, complete with a coating of dirt from the ground in which they grew. How much closer can one get to the source of our food, without actually driving to the farm?

One really knows one has arrived when one is offered not just a simple button but a choice we can proudly wear on our lapel...or coat...or hat. Yes we indeed support our local farmers.

A Walk in the Woods

2010-12-05T22:02:00.000-08:00

Every once in a while we need to take a walk in the woods. I do, primarily because my spiritual and emotional batteries get charged when I commune with nature...or perhaps its communing with Creation? Regardless of how one wishes to spiritualize it, I benefit greatly during such escapes from our urban world.

One such retreat is the Tualatin Hills Nature Park, located near the intersection of SW Murray Boulevard and TV Highway. Even during the dismal time of late fall, one can find a restorative interlude in suburban Beaverton, not far from downtown Portland.

There are trails that wander through a moss-draped wonderland...

...or alongside a wetland with waterfowl blithely eating, unafraid of those of us passing by.

If one is patient and observant, one can even spot the creature from which Beaverton received its name...and yes, that is indeed a beaver paddling away.

With all the recent rains many of the fallen vegetation become breeding ground for all manner of fungal growth. The ones above are either oyster mushrroms or wood-ear fungus.

These are honey-fungus mushrooms growing on the trunk of a tree.

All the photos are taken with my 70-200mm (f2.8) telephoto zoom, which was the only lens I carried that day...hence few overall views during my little walk. However, each of us sees something different and thus may take an entirely new perspective. I have attached a link for any of you interested in seeing this gem of a park yourself.

http://www.thprd.org/facilities/naturepark/home.cfm

A Winter Market

2010-11-26T22:48:00.000-08:00

We all associate a farmers market as a summertime activity, or perhaps in the Fall when many produce items ripen and are harvested. I would venture that most of us would not think of November as a time when one could wander down to select produce...or anything for that matter.

Au contraire, mon ami! (and yes, that is all the French I know). Although the last consecutive market day for the Montavilla Farmers Market was in October, one special market day was still to be had on the weekend before Thanksgiving. What better opportunity for fresh local produce for a holiday that celebrates the bountiful harvest?

One comment that was repeated often during the November market day was...BRRRRR!!! We woke to sunshine for the morning set-up, but the clouds rolled in and the temperature dropped as the day wore on, and there were a few snowflakes reported in the late afternoon. Nevertheless, the crowds came and the vendors sold their produce, in time for the Thanksgiving feasts.

The happy people at the market information tent.

Vegetables...

...and fruit were in abundance.

...as were smiling faces

The cold weather brought out not only the vendors and the customers, but our hearts were warmed by lovely music as well.

These are celery roots. I was told by Kathryn Yeomans, the Montavilla Market Chef that these are delicious. Stay tuned for the recipe. (remember another thing - I'm a writer and a photographer...not a cook or a foodie)

Bearing in mind that I am an urban-type of guy, I think of a carrot as being orange...so imagine my surprise at this rainbow collage of colorful carrots. (and yes, "rainbow carrots" are what these are called. Who would've thought?)

Even Kathryn our market demonstration chef was bundled for the weather, as she prepares for her demonstration of the day.

Thank goodness for the heat of the stove.

One new program the Market did this year is called "Everybody Eats". In order to improve access to healthy food for all people regardless of income, the Market made available $1,200 worth of tokens to 48 families who otherwise may not be able to have fresh local produce for Thanksgiving meals. The program was in partnership with St Vincent de Paul.

After all...isn't that what being thankful is all about? You can read more about the Montavilla Farmers Market and Everybody Eats at this link: http://www.montavillamarket.org/index.html

The Circle of Life...

2010-10-25T23:07:00.000-07:00

First of all, the photos in this entry are not mine. They are taken by a friend when she was at the Oregon Coast some time ago. I normally don't post others' photographs, but these are particularly poignant and struck a chord with me, for a number of reasons that will become apparent. I also thought they are very good photographs. She gave me permission to show her photos, as well as sharing her thoughts that were included in an email to me.

"Unfortunately this seal is dying from sort of disease. It was posted to not touch sea lions or seals dying on the beach... I so... so wanted to put its head in my lap and tell it I was sorry he was dying ... I didn't know what to do... but I felt it so deep and it was dying without reason... I felt so helpless... but I guess in life ... in my own life I feel this too.. " (Joan)

The word "poignant" means evoking a keen sense of sadness or regret. I think it is a particularly appropriate word, especially the "keenly felt" part when one witnesses the dying of another creature, as is the case here. Yet it is nature, with all of her harshness set in the midst of the beauty around...and also inescapable. Our bearing witness to it inevitably causes us to consider the world around us, and our place in it.

You see...what is especially poignant is that my friend Joan has cancer. I don't know her prognosis. Her particular type is rare and not much is known about it. However, what is striking to me is her attitude...wanting to comfort the seal in his final moments...to reassure him that he has meaning.

Meaning.

Perhaps that is what she is seeking? Isn't that what we all keenly desire?

Rain or Shine

2010-10-25T21:58:00.001-07:00

A friend was recently surprised to hear that our local farmers market (The Montavilla Farmers Market) was still open, in windy and rainy October.

"What is left to harvest?" he said, and I have to admit I was surprised at what is still available. Notice that I use the present tense..."is". Now, I have to admit that the weather is markedly different in October than it was in August, for my last blog entry about the market banquet, as the following photos will attest. What you will also find, however, is that there is still much bounty to be found at the market.

During one of the many downpours one can experience an urban market phenomenon - the tent waterfall. It seems that the rain collects in the low points of the canopies, only to be coaxed over the edge into a cascade of water during a sudden gust of wind...and sometimes down the back of one's jacket. Not pleasant!

Fruit is still plentiful, such as this wide array of apples.

Fennel and lettuce...

...and baskets of vegetables, to numerous to name.

The photos above bear testimony to how much is still available...and as much as I love Brussels Sprouts, I never knew how tall those stalks can get.

Isn't it funny how kids are naturally attracted to water...and mud puddles?

Gretchen Jackson, the Market's manager takes a break to eat from Thai Mama's delicious offerings...one of the few remaining eateries at the market. Yes, sadly the lemonade stand is gone, though remarkably the ice cream lady was still there! The caramel apples were amazing. Kitchen Dances and the Wild Wild West Barbecue are also still open.

Even the musicians held fast against the rain and wind, serenading the shoppers with song and twang. (I may be wrong, but I heard the guy on the right is backup guitarist for ZZ Top.)

Oh...and the day was not without a casualty. A gust of wind blew down a tent and buckled one of the legs. So the score at the end of the day was Weather: 1, Market: 0, though the real winners are those of us in the community who can still find fresh local produce, and the opportunity to hang with some pretty cool people.

Better hurry, though! Only open one more day in October, and then only open on the Sunday before Thanksgiving...and that's it for the season. (Stay tuned for the abbreviated version later)

Off the Beaten Path - Part 1

2010-10-10T20:52:00.000-07:00

Every so often we like to explore, and perhaps take a turn off the highway and see where a road takes us. Sometimes it's by myself, in conjunction with a business trip somewhere in the Pacific Northwest...or anywhere for that matter. This time Beth and Frankie came with me when wanderlust struck, and we drove east on Interstate 84 towards The Dalles, then south on Highway 197 (or the "The Dalles California Highway" as it used to be called). The photo above is that highway as it climbs out of the Columbia River Gorge and into the central Oregon plateau, winding through wheatfields and orchards.

Along Highway 197 are numerous reminders of the past, such as this old overgrown cemetery. Many of the gravestones date before the 20th century...reminders of those who joined the Great Migration of the late 1800's and settled in this area. Mount Hood can be seen in the distance.

Wheatfields are not complete without the equipment necessary to harvest the grain, such as this combine parked in the middel of a field.

About a half hour south of The Dalles is a little community called Tygh Valley, where we turned eastward on Highway 216, or the Shearer's Bridge Road. I believe the name "Shearer's" came from the sheep that this area was noted for, in the latter part of the 19th and early part of the 20th century.

Shearer's Falls is one of the larger waterfalls on the Deschutes River, which eventually feeds into the Columbia and thus is part of the salmon's migratory path. It is also one of the last places where Native Americans can still dip their nets in the same manner as they have done for centuries. I sat here for hours, waiting to capture a salmon jumping into the falls...but alas I had the same luck capturing one on camera as I had with a rod and reel.

After Shearer's Falls we crossed the Deschutes River and continued east. The view is typical...sagebrush, weathered fenceposts, winding roads and high voltage transmission lines. Thousands of megawatts of power travel through these lines from the dams on the Columbia to the homes and businesses of Southern California.

Highway 216 then turned into a secondary road, which after a few apprehensive miles finally intercepted Highway 97, which happens to be a major north-south trucking route between Canada and Mexico. Along the way are small towns, some of which are abandoned like this gas station.

The pump above showed a price of 66 1/2 cents a gallon, so it has probably been some time since any fuel actually flowed through the hose. The station is in the town of Kent.

A little further south is the town of Shaniko, which was founded in the late 1800's as a center for wool harvest, production and shipping. Up to a few years ago it wasn't much more than a ghost town until the hotel (built in 1900) was restored and reopened. Unfortunately the hotel is now closed and for sale signs were seen in the windows. Above is the boardwalk on two sides of the hotel.

Buildings aren't the only old thing one finds at Shaniko. There were several old cars slowly rusting away while grass grows around and into them.

A small barn held several old horse-drawn wagons, though the dry environment has taken a toll on the wooden construction.

Shaniko barn and fire truck.

The old Shaniko Hotel, a grand lady of the region that still looks good despite her age. I'm sure the walls have some wonderful and interesting stories.

Daylight left us shortly after this stop, and we made our way back to Portland, via a delicious dinner at the Hood River Hotel...and regrettably had left my camera in the car at that point.

A Garden Grows in Montavilla

2010-09-26T21:40:00.001-07:00

Once upon a time, there lived in Portland a young girl, who had a dream. She dreamt of having a garden with lettuce and carrots and corn and beans and...you get the picture. Many years went by and the dream never went away. A brief experiment shortly after she was married yielded corn that was knee-high by the 4th of...September. Yes, we know that the saying should be for the 4th of July, but alas it was a very wet year.

Despite that short corn year, and a husband who repeatedly pointed out the yard simply did not get enough sun (and resisted her pronouncements to cut down the offending trees), the dream simply would not die. This year (2010) things began to change. A fateful decision to remove a curbside tree that continually interfered with the power lines and began to buckle the sidewalk, led to a patch of ground that would get the requisite sunlight. The husband yielded, and feeling like the knight upon a horse, would certainly bring her the fulfilment of that long-awaited dream. However, we all know that husbands rarely do ride horses in such a manner, and even wielding a hammer and saw can be too demanding...so we found a contractor. One requirement that the knight, I mean husband insisted upon, was a box design that complemented the house. No trashy garden boxes for this estate!!

The end result was indeed a fertile expanse that yielded a veritable bounty, and being a wet year (again...this is Oregon, after all) the lettuce was truly impressive.

The box was 5 feet wide by 10 feet long, and was situated in the strip between the sidewalk and the curb...a space usually left for grass (typically dried out in the summertime) and a convenient restroom for neighborhood dogs. You will notice that the height of the box is sufficient that even the tallest canine could not..."hit" the top of the box. (We tested it with Frankie, who is taller than the average dog, and the best he could do was the second board) We also had a shorter bed along the sidewalk that contained decorative flowers.

Among the plants in this crop was a type of artichoke. Being the city-slicker that I am, imagine my surprise at seeing how many would grow on a plant.

Perhaps the biggest surprise, besides how tall lettuce can grow (4 feet!!), was how much and how pretty they flowered. This is Arugula.

No this isn't edible...or at least not in our household. I liked the looks and planted this in the lower bed.

Not only did we enjoy the produce, so did the local insectivores. Here a ladybug is keeping the aphid population under control. (No we didn't import these. This one just showed up one day)

Remember my comment about how tall lettuce can become? I have to admit I laid on the ground to take this picture, but I was truly impressed with how things grew.

No this one isn't in the garden box. This is a lily in front of our porch.

I'm still trying to find the name of this plant in a hanging basket in the back yard. I just happen to like it a lot.

A rundown of the 2010 harvest is as follows: 2 kinds of broccoli, onions, garlic, tomatos (green, this year, thanks to the rain), artichokes, basil, red lettuce, arugula, muscli mix lettuce, spinach and cucumbers.

In case any of you are interested, the contractor who built the box is Longhammer Construction, a local/Montavilla area resident. Email me if you want a number.

Dining Al Fresco in Montavilla

2010-08-29T14:24:00.000-07:00

In an earlier post I talked about an annual phenomenon in our little neighborhood, the Montavilla Farmers Market Banquet. (You can read it here: http://musingsbypaul.blogspot.com/2010/08/dining-under-starsand-with-few-stars.html ) Yesterday was the 2010 installment of what is becoming a very popular event. So popular, in fact, that more than a dozen requests for tickets came in the last week...after the deadline and all 96 places had been sold. One attendee quipped that he could've scalped his ticket on the Stark Street sidewalk. I guess that's when one knows that one has "arrived".

This is the third year, and it seems it does in fact gets better each year. A new addition was the introduction of a vegan course, and surprisingly (to this carnivore, anyway), 23 of the 96 attendees chose vegan. Even the wine pairings included biodynamic and vegan options.

What is also becoming evident of this event's growth is the participation of so many local businesses and establishments. Almost every restaurant on the Montavilla strip between 82nd and 76th Avenues contributed to the menu or the effort, and seeing so many stellar chefs and servers engrossed in their art was humbling to this average food guy.

Of course it begins inauspiciously enough. The transformation of a gravel lot into an al fresco heaven starts early in the morning with the raising of the "big tent".

One of the truly unique aspects of the banquet, and perhaps of the Montavilla Farmers Market itself, is the community support and the legions of volunteers that help with everything from setting up the kitchen tents to the table settings. Here Joanne and Rebecca carefully fold the napkins to hold the silverware...especially against the wind that came up later.

John (pictured) and Ken were the electrical and lighting geniuses that helped create the ambience for the dinner.

Jeff Vejr (left) of Red, White: Green selected the five wines that were paired with the dinner courses, and served the wines with two of his pourers. Of special note is the contribution of some of the wines by Cooper Mountain Vineyards.

Table arrangements created by Tonia Stark included metal sculpure by Arnon Kartmazov, owner of K&K Forgeworks, who also lives in Montavilla.

Piper Dixon, of Kitchen Dances, a food booth at the Farmers Market, prepared the vegan options.

Who said a vegan dish has to be boring???

Twelve tables times eight people equals ninety-six ways to enjoy an evening...my kind of math!

Laura of Pastrygirl hams it up Joel. Pastrygirl provided the dessert course for the Banquet.

Kate is the Chair of the Montavilla Farmers Market board. One of the silent auction items was a growler of ale from Mt Tabor Brewing...brewed just a few hundred feet away

Portland City Council Commissioner Nick Fish, with Kate and Beth.

Beth and Adam Sappington (Country Cat Restaurant) confer about when to start the dinner.

Gretchan is the Manager of the Farmers Market. Here she is welcoming those attending the banquet and introducing other speakers.

Gretchan, with Kristin and Frank. Kristin (left) runs the Durable Dish Program for the market, which is the first of its kind in Portland. The program uses dishes and silverware that are washed at Thatcher's, one of the nearby restaurants. The program helps significantly reduce waste that would otherwise end up in a landfill.

Adam of Country Cat plating one of the courses

The end product - Crispy Quinoa and Farro Cake with summer succotash salad.

The silent auction was a benefit for the Montavilla East Tabor Business Association.

One of the many lovely servers who were indispensible in making the evening a memorable one.

Michael Herrman of Buoy Larue provided the music for the dinner...something to soothe the sounds of traffic on Stark Street.

The meat course consisted of Braised Sweet Briar Farm Pork Shoulder with sweet corn grits and blackberries, by The Country Cat...awesome!!! The Observatory Lounge provided a fish course consisting of Grilled Ocean Trolled Silver Salmon with heirloom tomato salsa and roasted potato...also awesome! It was so good I forgot to take a picture of it.

...and to balance the meat and fish, a vegan dish was also served, Eggplant and Summer Squash Moussaka with roasted tomato sauce and pine nut cream.

The dynamic duo of Tonia and Vicki (Yes...a mother/daughter duo...can you tell who is who??)

Arnon and John, deep in conversation

Dr. Behrends and his wife. Without his generosity in allowing us to use the vacant lot next to his Montavilla Animal Clinic, our market and the banquet would not exist. Thank you!!

Kate, one of the owners of The Observatory Lounge.

Desserts, courtesy of Pastrygirl (I heard one describe it as orgasmic)

I will leave you with this final image, which I think beautifully summarizes the enjoyment of the evening. For more information, here is the website: http://www.montavillamarket.org

A Soapbox Derby...for Adults

2010-08-16T21:10:00.000-07:00

Portland, Oregon has a saying of which I am rather fond. It is most commonly found on bumper stickers (and usually among a plethora of other stickers proclaiming the driver's political leanings, their thoughts on the world, or something about alien visitors...either the outer space variety or those closer to home). Sometimes I think the stickers just hold the car together.

The saying is "Keep Portland Weird". I experienced some of that delightful weirdness last weekend, at the annual Adult Soapbox Derby. It's true...an event one associates with a bygone era when one builds a racer out of commonly available materials within some strict sense of order and specification, and then allow gravity to determine who has the fastest vehicle. In those bygone eras the age limit was often closer to elementary school.

Things are different now...dare I say, weirder? (...and one more thing. Lest you think I only like to show off my stellar photography skills on this blog, there are a few images here that have a decidedly bluish hue. Well...the simple fact is, I screwed up. More on that later. I still included them because the subject was fun despite my lack of attention to detail)

I will call this "Gasoline Alley" (and those of you who are Indianapolis 500 fans know of what I speak), where last minute tuning and assembly takes place before the great race. I should also point out that not an insignificant amount of adult beverages was also included in the "fueling".

"Gentlemen...start your engines!" (yes that was sexist, but I think that is still said at the Indy 500, Danika Patrick notwithstanding)

It should be noted that some focus on speed and seek to actually engage in a speed contest, while others seek a more...dramatic path.

I'm not sure what this is...but it was really fast!

Here a slab of lasagna is helped across the finish line by some kind-hearted warriors

Not all who attend come to race. Some come to see...and be seen...and perchance to fight?

This guy was serious, and seriously fast.

An experiment in photography, where I attempt to capture an essence of speed. I think I did OK...but I forgot to check the white balance settings hence the bluish tint. Hey, what's the fun of a camera with all manner of adjustments unless it allows one to screw up any number of ways?

The event went from 10 in the morning until 4 in the afternoon, though I only stayed for the morning heats....it got rather warm in the afternoon. For those of you who are curious, here is a link:

http://www.soapboxracer.com/index.htm

Perspective

2010-08-16T12:29:00.000-07:00

The other day I sat on my front porch and watched the world go by. It was Sunday, and I finally decided that the biblical admonition to keep the Sabbath holy, or apart as the meaning intends, is a good one. OK...I didn't really just sit and "watch" per se. I had my laptop on, of all things, my lap and I was writing.

I don't want to get into the theological argument about the Sabbath being Saturday or Sunday, the day Christians typically refer to as such. To me it doesn't matter. I will leave such discussions for those who like to argue, and these days issues like that aren't worth my energy anymore. What is important, however, is that we take time out to allow our minds and hearts to be still...to listen...and to reflect.

As I sat on the porch and watched people walk by, I realized how fortunate I am...or perhaps blessed, if one wishes to use that vernacular. There was a time when I thought we needed a bigger house...or a newer car...or that my lawn could be a healthier shade of green (it's usually brown this time of year, owing to my desire to use less of the resources we have).

One of the things I reflected on was my trip to Kenya, when I visited an orphanage for kids whose parents were killed in the election-related violence a few years ago, or died due to various addiction-related issues. I also think about the high school in the midst of a Nairobi slum, with smiling faces wearing used and worn hand-me-down uniforms, happy for the opportunity of an education.

Closer to home, I also reflect on the Indian Reservations I visited in the course of my work. One need not go far to realize that many of us in the West are fortunate indeed...and even among us are many who struggle to make ends meet. It is in those reflective moods I am allowed...or perhaps caused, to put things into perspective. It allows me to not succumb to the "tyranny of the urgent" but instead reflect on what is truly important...and eternal.

Things that go beep in the night

2010-08-14T08:55:00.000-07:00

Beep Beep Beep

(Pause)

Beep Beep Beep

That's what greeted me Wednesday night...or should I say Thursday morning, because the clock next to my bed said 2:30...and yes that is EARLY in the morning!

Three beeps, followed by a pause, then three more successive beeps...and so it went, on and on. Even Beth who can sleep through an explosion, couldn't. What is that noise?? Where is it coming from? It became apparent that sleep was out of the question until we figured out what this annoying noise is. Reluctantly I got up, put on my robe and went downstairs. A quick look around confirmed no smoke alarms or other electronic device in the house decided to malfunction, as was my initial thought.

Thankfully it was warm as I opened the front door to look outside, but the irritating beep's source was still not discernible. I venture out onto the porch...then the sidewalk...all while still in bathrobe. Luckily most are asleep, but then it occurred to me that perhaps they too have been awakened and wonder about the beeps? At least the robe is less disturbing than a pair of boxer shorts. Finally I decide the beeping is coming from our neighbor's house across the street, and I venture to her front porch. Vainly I ring the doorbell...what was I thinking? A puny little doorbell is no competition for the shrill intermittent screech. No answer, so I walk back.

Beth is of course awake and up. Does she have our neighbor's telephone number? Visions of some kind of emergency now begin to rise up in our minds...she does, and she calls...but no answer. She leaves a message. I will go across again, but this time I put some clothes on.

I walk across and venture down the street to her backyard, an indeed the sound grows more shrill. Have you ever noticed how loud some noises can be in the stillness of the night? So it was with me. An open kitchen window. Is that where the source is? The gate to the backyard is unlocked. I enter...trepiditiously...and there I see it.

One of my favorite internet abbreviations is WTF. We all know what it means, and I like it because it allows me to express it without using the actual profanity...not that it always stops me, but I really am trying.

And so it was...WTF! Sitting on a bench at the edge of her deck is a smoke alarm, merrily informing the immediate neighborhood that it's power source was somehow deficient, as it is supposed to do. The philosophical questions of why and how were dispelled by the more urgent need to silence it. However no amount of frantic twisting and pulling yielded its internal workings to me, and I considered a large rock. A nearby cushion offered some hope, I placed the offending object on the ground and covered it with the cushion. The beeping was significantly reduced. Perhaps now I can return to some much-needed sleep. Within a few moments I was back under the covers and settling into slumber.

"I can still hear the beeping", said Beth. It was true. If I listened very closely, I could hear the faint...almost plaintive beep drifting into my consciousness. It was crying out to me...or was it taunting me? Perhaps I could weave the faint noise into a dream, or count sheep to the rhythm? I get up to turn the fan up...maybe that will drown out the beep. Slowly I begin to drift off...

I wish I could say that was the end of the beeper caper, but no. A car pulls up in front of our house, a door opens and closes and I hear voices. Once again I am rousted out of slumber and get up to look out of the window. It's a police car, and a neighbor. With a sigh I grab my robe, go downstairs and outside.

"I cannot tell where the beep is coming from" says the policewoman as she and the neighbor talk in front on the sidewalk. I come out and tell them I know what it is. The neighbor (wisely, perhaps) leaves, presumably to go back to bed. I explained to the officer all that transpired and we both walk back to the neighbor's back yard.

"Maybe if you open it up you can disconnect the battery?" she said, as I wrestled with the maddening object. I looked at her as she stood with her large flashlight and politely noted I had already tried that, to no avail. I even included the part about the brief search for a rock or other hard object. I also thought that me standing there in a bathrobe was perhaps awkward enough and sarcasm would not be in my best interest. She even offered to take the annoying object with her, and I suggested that she perhaps toss it off of a bridge.

Finally we hit on a solution. I took the cushion I had earlier placed on the alarm, folded it like a taco and placed both in a nearby plastic tub. When I placed the tub's lid on it...viola! Silence at last. The officer and I walked back, her to the patrol car and me finally back to bed. I wonder what her report will say about this little adventure?

The next morning we see our neighbor...and of course she is alright. She never heard a thing. Sometimes I wish I could sleep that soundly!

Dining under the stars...and with a few stars

2010-08-01T13:11:00.000-07:00

Each year the Montavilla Farmers Market has a banquet, partly to celebrate another succesful year, and also to raise funds for operations of the market (to buy stuff like chairs, tents, etc.). Just like the market itself, the banquet has grown each year...not necessarily in size, but certainly in quality. Each year I am surprised and impressed how some very dedicated individuals transform a gravel lot into THE cultural event of Montavilla, complete with wine pairings, appetizers, a silent auction, music...and of course the most amazing courses of food. Montavilla, especially Stark Street, is blessed with some of Portland's best dining establishments, and each year has also seen greater participation in the banquet by those restaurants.

As we prepare for the 2010 banquet (on August 28th), I rummaged through my sometimes overwhelming collection of photographs, which included some taken at past banquets. I have offered you a sampling of the 2008 and 2009 dinners...for your enjoyment, and perhaps to tempt you...just a little

Before the big tent is set up, the empty lot on the corner of SE 78th and Stark Street is a wide expanse of gravel, with some isolated half barrel planters of flowers scattered about. In just a few short hours, a venue for a delightful meal appears, complete with table settings...and enough glasses to sample wines.

The silent auction focuses on local businesses, who have graciously offered such items as bicycle repair, movies, pastries...you name it, and it's there.

Kristin has coordinated the wine pairings in the past two years, offering wines from Small Vineyards, an importer specializing in Italian wines from small boutique vineyards.

Tonia Stark, a Montavilla resident (and a founding member of the Market community...as well as our neighbor) allowed use of her specialty lights to add to the banquet's ambience. She makes these from old tin cans decorated with whimsical designs using a small cutting torch and a string of Christmas lights

Dagmar, another Montavilla resident and market volunteer, demonstrates the proper curtsy while holding a plate of hors d'oeuvres (and yah I had to look that one up). I tried the curtsy, but her owning a ballet studio gives her a decided advantage.

Adam Sappington, who owns The Country Cat Restaurant (on Stark Street, of course), has been the main chef for the past two banquets. Here he demonstrates his attention to detail in not only the flavor but also the presentation for the main course.

Yes...it was as delicious as it looks

Good wine, good weather, amazing food and great company...who could ask for more?

Who could ask for more? How about music? We were even serenaded during our repast. It's amazing how food digests so much better when one's ambience is enhanced by the strains of a guitar and violin (or is it a fiddle in this case? I think I will stick to writing).

Remember my comment about the empty lot? Well, like so many other pieces of property in the city, someone owns it. In our case it happens to be Dr. Brian Behrends, who owns the Montavilla Animal Clinic next to the empty lot. The Market's presence in Montavilla owes much to the generosity of Dr Behrends, who is pictured standing with his wife.

Gretchen Jackson, the Market's manager, celebrates with a friend.

Last but certainly not least, is Beth Kluvers, who is responsible for organizing the banquet. Much of the banquet's success is due to her passion for the Montavilla Farmers Market, and making local organic food available to more people. Good job, girl! The 2010 banquet promises to be at least as good, if not better.

This year the banquet is on August 28th. Go to the Montavilla Farmers Market website for more information (and yes there will even be a vegan offering...though this carnivore will look for something less...um...plant-based?).

http://www.montavillamarket.org/

Yet another Farmers' Market?

2010-06-27T11:46:00.000-07:00

Yes...I know. Portland has a plethora of fresh produce purveyors, known as Farmers Markets. Today we visit the Montavilla Farmers Market. Why this one? It's really quite simple...it's the closest to our house (only 3 blocks away) and I suppose you could say we have a vested interest. Beth serves on the board (and has since it's inception 4 years ago) and I volunteer in helping set up each Sunday morning.

One thing we really like is how this has brought the community together and allowed neighbors to connect on a deeper level than we used to. Let's face it, we find it easier to get in our car, drive somewhere and stay in our comfortable social circles. In times past, the marketplace was where the community met, bought or traded our supplies, and caught up on the gossip around us. Now I cannot speak for the latest dirt on my neighbor...I would hope we've become a little more genteel these days, but armed with my trusty Nikon, I can capture some fun images.

Each week the Market has a chef's demonstration. Kathryn Yeomans, formerly of Nostrana and now (her words) a rogue chef (or was it a road chef? Hmmm, dunno.) is also the Market's Residence Chef who demonstrates and coordinates other cooking demonstrations

Here she is demonstrating how to cut up a chicken as part of making a broth...or something (remember, I take pictures. I clean. I don't cook.) Of course, the thought of someone weilding a knife as deftly as she gives me the motivation to really behave myself!

Another shot of Kathryn

Not all come to the Market to buy produce. Some come just to make a fashion statement.

The freshly-squeezed lemonade stand was very popular today....and truly delicious when mixed with blueberries or raspberries from one of the other vendors

Two of our able volunteers, Dagmar and Audrey.

As is typical for Portland in general, the Market is very dog-friendly...on a leash, of course. Cute little guys, eh?

...and lest you think we discriminate against canines of a larger girth, think again.

Here is a view of SE Stark, the main drag for Montavilla, just east of the Farmers Market, one of many revitalizing neighborhoods in Portland.

Yes there is much more to see, but you will need to find out for yourselves. Each Sunday, from 10:00 AM to 2:00 PM, through October, on the corner of SE 76th and Stark.

The Slide Rule, and Thoughts on Father's Day

2010-06-20T11:17:00.000-07:00

I found myself rummaging through some old boxes the other day. The reasons why do not matter, and as is often the case with random searches through one’s stored belongings, it was forgotten when I stumbled upon an object I forgot I even had. It was an old slide rule that either belonged to my father, or perhaps even his father. Everything stopped for a few moments as I held the box in my hand, and memories flooded through my mind. Touching that instrument became an instant connection with my ancestry, and with my professional heritage. Surely my father and perhaps my grandfather held this same instrument in their hands, perhaps even on a daily basis. Their presence was almost palpable.

For those of you too young to remember, the slide rule was as ubiquitous as our present day computer…anyone with a technical or scientific background (my father was an engineer and my grandfather an architect, back in the day when the architect was truly the master builder) had at least one. We have become so inured with technology and reliant on putting our questions on a keyboard, we expect an answer with accuracy to 5 or 6 decimal points in a matter of seconds. We become impatient when it takes longer…say 10 minutes. We have forgotten that many of our engineering marvels such as the Golden Gate Bridge, the Empire State Building and the Panama Canal were designed with only a pencil, paper and a slide rule. We even put a man on the moon with little more than that.

Yet on this Father’s Day, it also reminded me of how my father provided for his family. The slide rule represented his profession and his livelihood, perhaps even his passion. Stumbling across this artifact was like finding an old photograph, maybe even more so because this was something he used every day, where a photo only captures a moment in time.

Dad will have been gone for 11 years this August, and if I consider his last years with Alzheimer’s, that time is actually longer. Yet those difficult last few years fade with time, and I remember instead the times we shared together…the Sunday drives into Yamhill County when I was learning to drive, visiting various project sites around the area, watching the Fremont and Glenn Jackson bridges under construction. They were wonderful times and I now treasure those memories. Ironically, I even treasure the arguments we had, about religion and politics. (Remember, this was the era of the Vietnam War) Yes we differed, but he taught me that it was alright to disagree about some things. His love for me never wavered.

Tears welled up in my eyes as I held the slide rule, and I realized how much I missed him…and still do. It’s an exquisite pain, though, because it is tinged with a deep joy in knowing how fortunate I was to have had a father like him. No he wasn’t perfect. None of us are, and my own fatherhood attempts certainly illustrate that. He was strict, and some of that rubbed off on me. One thing Dad did teach me though…always remember the good things. Unpleasant memories will fade away if we don’t dwell on them, and we can savor the good ones. It’s a choice we make. I think it is good advice.

Happy Father's Day, Dad.

An Old Warbird

2010-05-23T19:48:00.000-07:00

On Sunday 5/23/10 I had a chance to tour an old warbird...a WW2 vintage B-17 bomber. This is one of only a dozen still flying, and tours the US thoroughout the year. For $5.00 I could walk around and climb inside, which of course I did. For $400 I could go for a flight, but regrettably my budget wouldn't allow that

When I went to pay for the ground tour, the folks asked if I was a veteran. I said I was a Vietnam Era vet, and they gave me the admission for free. They finally accepted the $5.00 as a donation after I insisted, noting that this is a worthy reminder of a bygone era that we should not forget.

I also mentioned that this plane has special meaning to me. My mother saw hundreds fly over her house during WW2, when she was a young girl in Holland, and it was the sweetest sound to her.

Walking around this plane reminded me of one of my favorite TV programs growing up, "Twelve o'clock High", with Robert Lansing and later Paul Burke. This plane bristles with guns on all sides...hence it's name: the "Flying Fortress".

This aircraft is more than 65 years old, yet it still has a gracefulness about it.

This is a view out of the nose turret

This was taken from the midsection of the fuselage, looking through the bomb bay into the cockpit. People must have been skinnier in those days, because it was a tight fit squeezing through the two struts and walking along the little walkway.

This is in the midsection, looking down at the belly turret...one of the most vulnerable positions in the plane.

One of the mid-fuselage guns.

"Aluminum Overcast"...a fitting name.

I waited at the end of the runway from where I "thought" the bird would take off...obviously I was wrong. After waiting for almost half an hour (and I wasn't alone), I suddenly heard the roar of the engines. I jumped out of the car, just in time to see it lift off in a different direction. Still it was exhilarating to hear those pistons rumbling...not a sound one often hears.

The Magic of Bees

2009-08-29T23:02:00.001-07:00

The magic of bees. They are fascinating creatures that buzz and dip and climb into flowers, covering themselves with pollen that they then carry on to other flowers. These were taken in August in front of our house.

Below are two varieties of bees, one which I will call a bumblebee and the other, flying in on the right a honeybee. I'm sure there are more correct names...but I will stick to taking their photographs.

If you get really close, you can see the hair on the bee's body. Of course, it helps to have the right equipment such as a 28-70mm zoom with macro capability...and the resolution of a 10mp image produced by my new Nikon D300...combined with a lot of patience, and a lot of images. By sheer odds, some are bound to turn out good.

The following images were taken in early August, while I was bicycling along the Willamette River near downtown Portland.

Thoughts on Memorial Day, 2009

2009-05-25T10:33:00.000-07:00

As is my tradition, I visit the Vietnam Memorial in Washington Park on this day. This year I came early to beat the crowds that also come each year, but the veterans who gather among the names of their fallen comrades were already there. Speakers and sound systems, along with canopies sheltering displays and coffee urns competed with the American flags spaced evenly along the circling path. Scattered among the flags are the black with white lettering, denoting those who were POW’s and Missing in Action. Men with remnants of uniforms or leathers from various bike clubs milled around and talked. There is certain camaraderie among them…also remnants of a shared experience so many years ago.

I walk past the groups. They look at me, and some nod in recognition that I am a part in their generation. Ahead of me walks a veteran. He moves slower than me so it doesn’t take long before I pass him by. We talk briefly...”I can’t walk as fast as I used to. It was the Agent Orange that they said only affected vegetation”. “Yeah…that is what they said, isn’t it?” I replied. We both move on in silence.

The Memorial is set up with various curved walls representing certain years of the Vietnam War, starting in 1959 and the last segment for the years ending in 1976. Each segment lists the names of those who died during that period. Another segment of wall lists those who are missing in action. I go here because these were my contemporaries…part of my generation.

I try to read each name. Some I recognize from past years, and others have the same name as people I know. I wonder if they were related. As I scan the names, I also wonder what they were like…were they athletes or scholars in high school…who did they leave behind? Young lives suddenly cut short. As I ponder each name there is a palpable presence…perhaps they are here as well, waiting for loved ones to visit.

On the wall with the names of those who died in 1968-1969…perhaps the wall with the highest number of names…I see one of those who I know. It is the cousin of my best friend in high school. Suddenly I am transported to 1968 when the war that was an abstract item in the nightly news became very, very real to this 16-year-old at the time. Suddenly the draft became a real worry to me and I began to wonder what I would do when my turn came.

I allowed my tears to flow, as they still do when I write this, thinking of the lives interrupted, family dynamics permanently changed…and broken hearts left behind. I continue on and complete my reading of names. I utter a heartfelt thank you into the air…perhaps that palpable presence will hear me and accept my meager gratitude.

Changes

2009-05-05T07:54:00.000-07:00

Last week someone sent me a link to a youtube video that featured the song by the Eagles, called "New York Minute". It's a video made by some young people and was interspersed with many images, including a clock and a changing table. Here is the link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZoqLQ1ga1QM

I thought about the changes we go through…some minor, and others causing upheaval for us and for many around us…and some forced upon us by others or by circumstances beyond our control. Some changes start out as seemingly minor, yet as we ponder we realize that even a “minor” thing has some far-reaching consequences and can remind us of our mortality.

Last week I had a chat with my mother. I talk to her several times a week, sometimes a couple of times a day. It was a small comment, but it harbored those far-reaching consequences I just mentioned. I was to pick her up for a family event, and she asked if we could stop at the store on the way. Of course, I said. She went on to say driving is making her nervous…more so than before. I paid little attention at the time, but the significance came later, with the realization that her driving days may soon be over.

Many of us take for granted our ability to get into a car and drive anywhere we want, anytime and with anyone. Yet for my mother it represents mobility and freedom, and one more thing to which she can thumb her nose at so-called old age. After all, she is a young 86-year-old who still prides herself that she can mow her back lawn…albeit takes a couple of days.

Yet changes come upon us suddenly and sometimes very softly. So softly that we miss those harbingers of more significant changes…and the passages of life we don’t want to think about.

How do we respond to those changes? How do you? Is your tendency one of which to avoid thinking of it, hoping that perhaps we won’t need to face the inevitable? Or do you face it head-on? Do you then blindly accept and adapt, or scream an emphatic NO!

It was the softness of my mother’s comment that gave me pause. I don’t know if she has accepted it yet…or if she needs to right away. This will be the fodder of more discussions later, but the lesson I learned…or perhaps am trying to learn…is that changes occur, regardless of what we want or if we are ready.

Cars...images from the Portland Roadster Show

2009-03-09T22:01:00.000-07:00

So here I am, the quintessential car junky...the perennial gearhead...and it is that time of year once again when "they" come to Portland. What am I to do? Why, there is no question, is there? It is the annual Portland Roadster Show and I succumb to the siren call. It comes every year about this time as a harbinger of Springtime, when all of us who have been hibernating for the winter (or at least our cars have been) can finally look forward to warmer weather, when we can pull our valiant mechanical steeds out of their stables and stretch their legs. In the meantime we drool...we ogle...and marvel at the chrome and the horsepower, and wonder how some of these people can afford all of this?? Nevertheless it is fun.

A fifty-something Pontiac. Have you ever noticed how cars so often resemble women? Nuff said.

A little duece coupe with a lot of chrome...and probably a lot more horsepower than my vette.

A 1959 Chevy Impala...always one of my favorites. Notice the "Pacific Wonderland" license plate.

I really liked the paint job on this convertible.

Yet another '32 Duece coupe...love those hotrods!

A "head on" shot. Another attendee watched me crouch down to take this photograph, then knelt down to see the view himself and was so amazed he told everyone else standing around how cool it was.

The quintessential "woody"

I don't remember what these were, but the shot was just too cool to pass up. They looked like they were ready to launch off the starting line.

Another cool chrome and deep red shot.

Can you guess what car this was? (If you guessed Plymouth Roadrunner, you were right! I won't ask you what clued you in.)

Into the Wild Blue Yonder

2009-02-16T21:44:00.001-08:00

On Saturday, January 31st I did the senior citizen shuttle, when I took my mother and my in-laws to Spirit Mountain so they could satisfy their gambling itch. Me...I don't have that itch, but I saw it as an opportunity for them to support the local tribe in their efforts at getting back at the white man. Since I don't gamble, I dropped them off and I went to satisfy my own itch, or a pair of them...photography and airplanes. These are taken at the Evergreen Aviation Museum near McMinnville, Oregon, with a 10-24mm wide angle lens.

Biplane 1

Biplane 2, with fabric removed from the skeleton/frame

Howard Hughes' "Spruce Goose"

P51 and B17 in the background

Biplane 3

Lockheed SR-71 "Blackbird" spy plane, from the rear

Titan II ICBM Missile/Itermediate Space Launch Vehicle, perched on a launch pad

Saying goodbye…one year later

2009-01-29T23:18:00.000-08:00

Today is the anniversary of the loss of a dear friend. Dennis and I got together at our favorite restaurant, Caro Amico’s in SW Portland. It’s a place we’ve come to many times. We know Butch, who runs the place and always makes a point of stopping by our booth or table to say hi. Though Leslie didn’t drink much, and neither does Beth, we nevertheless hoisted one in her honor…maybe two…perhaps it was three.

One year ago I remember listening to a message on my cell phone, some time after my friend Dennis left the message…”Leslie had an accident at home, a bad fall. She’s injured her head and suffered some brain damage…it doesn’t look good.”

Huh??

Of course I called him back as soon as I listened to the message. “Do you want me to come to the hospital?” I asked. “No. I’ll be fine” he said. I hung up and looked at Beth, shocked. She looked at me after I recounted the conversation to her. It seems Leslie had slipped or fallen after putting the car into the garage, and somehow hit her head on the concrete floor or stoop. “I think you should go the hospital” she said to me. Of course I should…Dennis is perhaps my best friend.

The drive to the hospital was a long one. It was a Monday evening in January. We just had dinner together on Saturday night…was that only two days ago? I found Dennis in the emergency room. He was surprisingly calm, yet I shouldn’t have been surprised. He’s always had a deadpan sense of humor…even droll. He is also someone you want around in an emergency, because of his levelheadedness. Funny, but now this is his emergency.

We sat and talked. Two doctors came towards us, and we stood. It was the doctors who were treating Leslie. Nothing…absolutely nothing prepares you to witness a doctor telling someone there is nothing they can do, and it is just a matter of time.

“Do you want us to resuscitate should her heart stop? It will probably not change anything.”
The words echoed in my mind. How could this be? We were just together two days ago. Leslie had even left a message on Beth’s phone.

After several hours at the hospital, I went to get Dennis’ car and helped him to get in. He drove home and I walked to my car. The next morning I received a call from Dennis. Leslie had passed away early in the morning.

We hoisted a drink in Leslie’s memory. We miss her. We talked about the good times, and then it was time to go home. As we walked out of the lounge, we stopped to say hello to Butch. Of course he remembered Leslie, and he asked how Dennis was doing. He also said something profound…”be thankful for the years you had.”

Butch is right, of course. It is so easy to become morose and sad, and some of it is natural and human, but in the end we must be thankful…thankful for the time we could share together. We had wonderful times, and nothing can take those memories away.

A Touch of Summer in the Midst of Winter

2009-01-22T20:19:00.000-08:00

One would not expect to have summer-like weather in January, but Oregon seems blessed to experience a few unusually warm days during the winter, and such was the case last weekend. It was somewhat spontaneous but we decided to throw caution to the wind (or was it we were fed up with the 40-mph winds we've had all week?) and take a Sunday drive to the coast. Lincoln City had spectacular waves and a slight wind (as you can see from the spray blown off the tops of the breakers), but Newport was downright balmy with temperatures in the high-60's. Imagine...people in shorts and sandles...in January???

It was also a great opportunity to try out my new 10-24mm wide-angle zoom lens, and here are some of the fruits of that day:

Newport, OR commercial boat harbor, with Yaquina Bay Bridge (Hwy 101) in the background

Fishing boats (Newport, OR)

Fishing boat 2 (Newport, OR)

Gems in the water (Lincoln City, OR)

(Some shots are purely accidental and I don't discover the true effect until later, when I view it on the computer. I missed the stars for the reflected sun when I took the picture)

Waves (Lincoln City, OR)

(no, this one was NOT taken with a wide angle, but with a 70-210mm zoom)

Stream flowing towards the ocean (Lincoln City, OR)

The Ripple Effect

2008-12-22T10:10:00.000-08:00

The snow has left me a little housebound, and the break from the normal routine gives me moments to think…no small feat with a wee hangover from last night’s neighborhood party. What particularly hit me was how our words carry weight and can have an effect beyond what we can see or is immediately perceptible to us…ergo the ripple effect. Just like a stone tossed into the calm waters of a pond, the splash of our initial comment is often our primary focus. Yet if we continue to watch we see the ripples emanate in all directions, often in perfect symmetry as the laws of nature are obeyed and sometimes for great distances. True, the magnitude of the wave diminishes as it stretches into ever-increasing circumferences and eventually beyond what we can perceive.

It reminds me of a tsunami, which is really a ripple that emanates from a seismic event deep below the surface of the ocean. Just a few years ago we saw the devastating effect of such a ripple. It was virtually undetectable to the ships it passed beneath in the ocean until the shallow seabed raised it into a series of tremendous waves that wiped out buildings and swept thousands of people out into the sea.

So it is with our words. What we say and the manner in which we say it, can have a significant effect on others…often beyond what we can immediately see. We have all had our hearts warmed…or perhaps stung, by the words of others. Sometimes those words are deliberately meant to cut into us, and other times it may be a thoughtless or idle comment that hurts. Those of us with children have seen that effect all too often. As a parent I have seen my own words, spoken in an impatient moment leave a wound on my child. Even a hastily said “not now, I’m busy” can sting to a child seeking a moment of sharing, that later I have had to seek forgiveness and dress that wound. Had I taken an instant to say something different, or perhaps in a different way, the wound would not be there in the first place.

I am by no means perfect…none of us are. Yet I do strive to measure what I say, whether it is my child, a partner, a neighbor, a waitress, even a clerk helping me at the mall. My goal is to brighten someone else’s day…to lighten their mood.

What will you say today?
p

Thoughts on Pearl Harbor

2008-12-07T11:18:00.000-08:00

A day that will live in Infamy

The words of Franklin Roosevelt following the attack on Pearl Harbor resonate 67 years later, and we like to compare it to the Pearl Harbor of our own generation…the attacks on September 11, 2001. It is a fair comparison, but I would like to pose another thought.

Imagine a young woman, 18 years old and living under the boot of the German occupation of Holland in 1941. This news brought to her, her family and neighbors, hope. Hope that perhaps now the United States would finally bring its strength to bear against the Nazi juggernaut overwhelming Europe. Perhaps now an ally would bring more than mere supplies and come to stand alongside what had been the last chance against the German onslaught, England, just across the channel.

In a way, the attack on Pearl Harbor signified a godsend of sorts for those who were desperately looking to the United States to shed their isolationist tendencies and join in the struggle to stand against Germany, and it indeed happened that way. It took another 2 ½ years before that hope in Holland was realized in the Allied invasion on D-Day, June 6, 1944. Liberation finally occurred for that 18-year old girl and her family in the Spring of 1945…though she was by then 22 years old.

That young girl became my mother. Pearl Harbor holds a special meaning to me.

Hummingbirds and Serendipity

2008-12-06T13:31:00.000-08:00

This photo was taken last July at Mount Tabor, a park near our house in SE Portland. Yes, it is a hummingbird, feeding from a flowering vine climbing on a chainlink fence. Although I often walk this park with Frankie, this time I was there as part of a project in which the firm is reviewing several historic structures associated with the various reservoirs in the park. While taking photographs of the Gatehouse at Reservoir 1 (which was built more than 100 years ago as an integral part of the City of Portland's water system), I was "buzzed" by a pair of hummingbirds. Although all I had was my "point-and-shoot" camera, and not my DSLR, I was able to get close and zoom in on this very lucky shot. A review of the shot on the screen appeared that it looked good... and then I promptly forgot about it.

This is where the serendipity comes in. Months later, in late October, Carolyn, a coworker on the project came into my office. "What is this???" she exclaimed, "Did you take this amazing picture?". I had to squint to see it, and of course then I recognized it. She was reviewing photos for the report on this project and happened to come across it...and fell in love with it.

The more I looked at this photo, the more I realized how lucky this shot was. The thrill of seeing these beautiful but small creatures in their habitat, is recalled as I contemplate the photo. So it is in life, where we often are so focused on our tasks at hand that we run the risk of missing something unique and beautiful...right before our very eyes. We also risk losing that precious moment in the mass of files and information we store to (hopefully) later run through in our work. It makes wonder what else have I "lost"? Perhaps someone else sifting through what we all too often think of as detritus, will discover yet another treasure?

One can hope. Thank you, Carolyn.

Frankie

2008-11-01T09:56:00.000-07:00

Most of you have already met Frankie, or at least have heard of him through stories or conversations. Last weekend I took this photo of him...it is one of the few times he actually stood (or sat) still. I really like the photo because it captures the essence of what he is, complete with a background that resembles his heritage (mixed as it is...after all, he did come from the Humane Society shelter).

When David my son and I chose him out of the 30-some dogs at the shelter at that time, we were told he was some "lab mix", which tends to apply to most of the dogs at the shelter. It was over a period of several weeks of internet sleuthing and research we finally came upon his main genetic makeup - he is (mostly) a Rhodesian Ridgeback, also known as an African Lion Hound. They were bred in the late 19th century in southern Africa by colonists, to...you guessed it, hunt lions . The characteristics that convinced us are the coloring (reddish-brown coat, white markings and black snout) and the body shape (he has longer rear legs), but the clincher is a strip of hair on his back (and other places) that is coarser, and will curl in the opposite direction of the rest of his coat. The parts that are definitely NOT Ridgeback are the shorter ears, a curled tail...and odd-colored eyes, one brown and one blue.

Which brings me to his name. Frankie was the name he had at the shelter, and we all thought it would be good to give him something new and appropriate for us. "Frankie" just didn't cut it...we thought. Kristin came up with Argos, who was Odysseus' dog that waited faithfully 20 years for his master's return, when others had given him up...I really liked that one. David came up with Bowie, after the rock singer with one blue eye. It was on a drive home while I was listening to music by Frank Sinatra, and the announcer made a comment about "old blue eyes"...and I thought, of course! Frankie = ol' blue eye (singular)...and the name stuck.

By the way, lest anyone think that his genetic make-up, particularly the part about hunting lions, contributes to any sense of bravery in Frankie...forget it. He is a very gentle dog that scares easy, especially around the 4th of July.

As for the photo, it was taken while hiking at Rowena Crest, at the eastern end of the Columbia River Gorge Scenic Area, east of The Dalles, Oregon. It's about an hour's drive east of Portland.

The Return of the Coho

2008-10-31T21:11:00.000-07:00

Each year, in the Fall, I am witness to a spectacle that always fills me with a sense of awe. It is the return of the salmon.

True, there are species that return throughout the year. In the spring it is the Chinook who ply their way up the Columbia and into the various tributaries, all the way into Idaho. In the summer and in the winter it is the Steelhead run, but for some reason it is the Coho that I happen to see, perhaps because it happens when the leaves turn and create that other wonderful spectacle of colors and textures or the trees.

Such was the case one weekend in late October, when we stopped at Eagle Creek, near Bonneville Dam on the Columbia River. The stream was filled with salmon, the females clearing the rocks for laying the eggs while the males wait close by to complete the process. All around were groups waiting for the right time, while interspersed were the remains of those who had completed the cycle.

I ponder that cycle of life and death, and the promise of new life laying among the pebbles and gravel of the stream bottom. The eggs will hatch later and after a period of time the fry will become smolts and swim downstream to the ocean. There the Coho will grow into beautiful silver bullets darting throughout the ocean and live for several years...until a primordial urge suddenly draws them back to the same stream at which they were born...to the same patch of gravel.

In the journey from seawater to fresh river water, the color changes from silver to a dark, mottled red. Some have white spots of fungus on their fins and tails. Perhaps they know they will die...they can feel it inside them as they battle currents, rapids, waterfalls, predators such as sea lions and bears who feast on the migration and depend on the oil and fat for their own survival...

..and yet they push on to that gravel patch, where I stand and witness the culmination of their life.

...and the beginning of the next.

A Moment at the Edge of Eternity

2008-10-27T16:20:00.000-07:00

[The following was written shortly after the death of my father in August, 1999, and probably represents the beginning of my writing endeavors. Writing this was perhaps a little cathartic and helped me get through the grieving process. Of course, it also may serve as the start of yet another book project...but I suppose I'd better finish the first one, eh?]

She stood on the beach, watching the two men walk on towards the surf. Her mind was reeling with the events of the past several days and perhaps relished the soft embrace of the summer fog. Had this time finally come, she thought? No matter how much one prepares for the inevitable, one is never truly ready. No longer fighting the tears, but allowing them to flow freely down her cheeks, she continued to watch her two sons carry their package into the water. Their sandals were left nearby. She watched over them, but her thoughts were elsewhere.

Fifty years, she thought to herself. It would have been fifty years if he had lived another year or so. They were good years. Not always easy, nor necessarily remarkable, but good. Their sons turned out well, and she was proud of them both. Her mind was filled with images of the past, of when they met, the many places traveled, friends. Images of the future also played through her conscious. She was alone now. A widow. What will it be like without him? So many images, as she watched through tear-filled eyes the two figures now wading into the surf. All seemed to culminate into this moment suspended in eternity. This is goodbye, she thought. It was fitting to stand at the juncture of the land and the sea, with its endless vista. She bid her husband farewell, staying behind on the shore of the temporal as he begins his journey into eternity.

The waters of the Pacific Ocean swirled around our feet as we slowly made our way through the surf. It was a typical August day on the Oregon Coast. The sun was trying to burn away the morning mist, and the chill had not yet yielded to the sun’s warming rays. The mist and the light mingled to give the beach an ethereal feel, as though one is on the edge of space and time, and about to dissolve into another dimension. We felt we were touching on the edge of eternity, the spiritual came to meet us and blend into the realm of the physical.

The water was cold. It always is in the Northwest. I remember trying to swim in these waters as a child, but could never last very long before I yielded to the ache of the cold water chilling through to my bones. Yet the chill of the water did not concern us this morning, as my brother Mike and I carried our father’s ashes into the surf. We were fully absorbed in the purpose of this trip. There would be no waiting to acclimate, to get used to the water. No, we needed to do this and nothing would deter either of us. There was no hurry, though. It seemed that this moment needed a sense of purpose, yet there was also a solemnity that required a certain reverence. Dad would have appreciated that, I thought to myself. He loved ceremony.

We were fortunate that we had this stretch of beach to ourselves. Seaside is a popular resort, and the late morning hour would typically have brought out the morning stroller or beachcomber. It would have seemed a little strange to walk out and deposit Dad’s ashes if the beach was crowded with swimmers, surfers and sunbathers, not to mention the awkwardness they would have felt if they knew what we were doing. Truth be told, if it were crowded, we would have looked elsewhere.

But for us it was quiet. There were others several hundred yards away, but for this stretch we were alone. We waded out until the water came over our knees. The surf was not heavy, but waves would roll by, sometimes wetting the legs of our shorts. It didn’t matter. This was a sacred time, perhaps more meaningful and emotional than any other moment in my 47 years. I was strangely numb, though not from the cold water but the swirl of emotions of the past week. Had it only been a week, I thought? It seemed like an eternity had passed, and we were entering another phase in our lives.

Though no word was spoken, we both stopped and looked back at our mother. She was standing there, watching us. She stood still. Though my eyes could not focus that far, I knew she was weeping softly. In the moment I looked at her, I felt her sorrow. She looked so small there in the distance, standing alone on the sand. She was a strong woman, yet I could feel her emotion. I suppose this was something I inherited from her.

Our thoughts turned to the matter at hand. How would we do this, I thought? We had no script, no prior experience to guide us. Only the words of the mortician went through my mind, when I had picked up the ashes earlier in the week. When we told of our decision to scatter the remains in the ocean, he cautioned me about the wind. He said too many people had tried to do the same thing as us, only to have the ashes scattered back over them by the wind. Silently I opened the plastic bag that contained my father’s ashes and gently allowed the contents to roll out into the water. It was heavier and the pieces were larger than I expected. Some of the remains mingled with the water, seeming to dissolve. The lighter, dusty portion floated on the surface. I kept the bag close to the water, mindful of the mortician’s warning. After about half had poured out, I gave the remainder to my brother and he repeated the action until all of Dad’s remains were out. We watched for a moment as the surf dissipated the ashes. The heavier pieces settled to the bottom, blended with the mottled sand and became a part of the ocean floor. Then Mike rinsed out the plastic bag.

I was silent through all of this, fighting the emotion that tried to roll up and grip my throat. There seemed a sense of “rightness” to what we were doing. Dad loved the sea. He and Mom had walked this same stretch countless times over the years, sometimes by themselves and often with friends. There was no question this is what he would have wanted. So it seemed fitting to us. Then Mike surprised me, by speaking into the air to Dad . He thanked him for everything, for being a good father. Though I tried to choke back the tears, I could no longer. We embraced, then slowly turned and waded back to our mother.

Sandcastles and Steaks in Vancouver, BC

2008-10-26T08:45:00.000-07:00

In September, 2008, Mom and I drove to BC to visit family. My aunt Leny and Uncle Bill live in Abbotsford, about an hour east of Vancouver and across the border from Sumas, WA. It takes about 6 hours from Portland. During our stay we did some sightseeing and mostly visited relatives. Here is a sampling of photos I took, and yes the weather was spectacular...a rarity in the Pacific Northwest. Enjoy!

About another hour east lies the resort of Harrison Hot Springs. We happened upon a sandcastle contest, with entrants from all over the globe. (Yes, even Holland was well-represented here.) The sculptures are made only with sand and water, but a spray was added to the finished shape to retain it. Some have been up for several weeks, and yes there were actually some castles.

This one is entitled "The Rainbow Olympics presents 'Drag Racing'"...now, I did some drag racing when I was a young hotrodder, but this is definitely something different! (Yeah, I know...I could on with this one!)

Artist and her scupture.

Spectators, outside looking in. No, Leny and Mom weren't specifically excluded. Only Bill and I were willing to pay the admission.

This one particularly touched me. I cannot recall the title (it may not have had one), but it shows the fertile imagination of some of the artists.

Flowers from Bill and Leny's garden.

Later on Saturday we met several cousins at Jamie's new apartment in Vancouver. On the couch are Mom and Leny. Standing behind are (l-r) Patti, Lucy, Bernice, Jamie Patti's daughter) and Bernice's son Anthony.

Bernice, Lucy and Tony (Bernice's husband)

Patti and Berni

Dinner in downtown Vancouver

A wild night on the town...

In the twinkling of an eye...

2008-10-25T13:28:00.001-07:00

Earlier this year I had a telephone conversation with a professional associate with whom I am working on a particular project. It was one of those conversations that haunt us, and this one haunts me still and causes me to reflect on life. Even though the conversation was several months ago, it is still relevent.

She is someone who I have known for many years and consider a friend. We served on several committees, the board of a professional society, and now are working together on this project. It was rather urgent that I had her concurrence on a particular issue, so as to not hold up construction. Repeated messages on her office line went unheeded, so I called her cellphone. When she answered I asked if it was ok if we chatted about these issues for a few moments…she said sure. I heard voices in the background and asked if she was in a meeting. She said no, just having chemo.

My heart dropped.

Suddenly, whatever urgency I felt over the issue of the day evaporated. There was an awkward moment and then we briefly talked about it, a cancer that she fought a couple of years ago that seems to have recurred. After discussing the issue we each went our way, yet I could not shake that unsettled feeling that life indeed happens while we make plans and look to the future.

Some years ago, a similar incident involving the death of a close acquaintance caused me to reflect on life which in turn led to a re-evaluation of my own priorities. I decided that life can be brief, and can take turns we never anticipated. Life became something to cherish and there were things I wanted to experience…people I wanted to meet…places I wanted to see. The time for postponing those experiences was past…and I seized the day…and my life. Meeting many of the people through work, though hobbies, in my neighborhood and even in passing have enriched me, and my conversation with my associate reminded me of that lovely aspect of life.

More on Hawaii (Part 2)

2008-10-25T10:31:00.000-07:00

(I've found this blog rather difficult to set up and add the photos. My previous Hawaii post took some effort and I didn't want to screw it up now that I finally have it looking reasonably like I want. This is Part 2, so if this is your first view, I would suggest you go to the previous post to get the context of our Great Hawaiin Adventure...OK, perhaps our Little adventure.)

This is Iao Valley, on the western portion of Maui. It is a traditional place among the Hawaiian people, and perhaps even sacred. The early people sought refuge here when attacked by peoples from other islands (yes, they fought among themselves, before Kamehameha I united the various islands into one kingdom.

Here are several of many flower photos I took. On the right is a Hibiscus bush outside the old Courthouse in Lahaina. It is the state flower of Hawaii.

On the left is a Bird of Paradise, taken at the Garden of Eden arboretum, on the road to Hana.

End of the "Road to Hana", in the town of (yep, you guessed it!) Hana. This church is one of the earlier churches, dating back to the 1830's. Apparently one could drive further and see where Charles Lindberg is buried. He lived out his years here in the area, in his quest to avoid people. Good place to do that.

Returning on what we will now call the Road from Hana. We had heard that heavy surf was predicted for the islands later in the weekend, and it looks like this is a precurser of those waves. Can you see the rainbow?

Hawaiian Vacation (and a little work) - Part 1

2008-10-19T13:53:00.000-07:00

Tuesday, 10/7/08 we left for a little trip to Hawaii. It started as another business trip for a project I've had in Hilo, on the big island of Hawaii. A client operates a number of Assisted Living facilities around the US, including Hawaii. This one needed a small wastewater treatment plant to accommodate their expansion...probably for all of us baby-boomers as we get close to retirement. The construction did not go as well as hoped and another trip was needed. I had already gone twice before, consisting of leaving on a Tues morning, arriving late in the evening. Wednesday was my inspection/meetings, then return to the mainland on Thursday morning. Whew...long times in the plane for a short visit.

Anyway, we decided to extend this trip and include Beth. So we stayed 3 nights in Hilo and two nights near Lahaina, on the island of Maui. The following is a sampling of photos taken on that trip.

This is sunrise on Moana Kea, taken from the balcony of our hotel. Hawaii is 3 hours behind the Pacific Coast, and since I am used to getting up at 5:30 AM...yep, you guessed it! I was up at 2:30, snoozed until around 5:30 Hawaii time and was able to catch the sunrise. It was beautiful. (We both started flagging by 9:00 in the evening, since it felt like midnight for us.)

Downtown Hilo, looking east towards the bay.

On Wednesday we drove north along the east coast of Hawaii, and stopped at several small towns along the way. This is Hakalau, about 20 miles north of Hilo.

A little further north we ate lunch at the cutest little restaurant. It was a throw-back to the 50's, complete with a soda counter, juke box and the greatest hamburger and milkshake around. The owner was a old hippie who really didn't take himself or life very seriously, as evidenced by the "pinpoint deed" he gave out, entitling us to ownership of a piece of his place...a very small piece!!

We finally came to the end of the road at the Waipio Valley overlook...literally the end of the road. One could go farther, but a 4WD is needed to go down the road. You can see a couple of cliffs and on the horizon is the island of Maui, just peeking around the last cliff.

Sunset at Kawaihae, on the west coast of Hawaii. After the Waipio overlook, we crossed the island, drove through Waimea (which is home to the Parker Ranch, the largest cattle ranch in the Hawaiian Islands) and played in the surf on the coast. From here we returned towards Hilo, stopping in Honokaa for dinner at an Italian restaurant. I wanted a glass of wine, but the restaurant couldn't sell alcohol (???), but I could go across the street to a grocery store, buy a bottle and they would gladly open it for us.

On Thursday afternoon (after my inspections and meetings) we played some more. This time we drove west and visited a black sand beach at Punaluu. We were told there were sea turtles here, but when we arrived and I saw the throng of beachgoers playing, fishing, etc...I figured no turtle in his right mind would come near this beach, so we went to a volcano instead. The photos are of Kilauea, a very active crater. The night shot shows the red-hot lava reflecting off the steam cloud (which has a high amount of sulfur dioxide, and half of the crater drive was closed).

Friday we left Hawaii and flew to Maui, where neither of us had ever been. This is the town of Lahaina, an old whaling town and home of (I think) the first mission to the Islands. We stayed at a beachfront resort in Kaanapali, about 5 miles north.

Saturday we drove the famous (infamous?) Road to Hana, a stretch of road that hugs the north coastline to the town of Hana. The road is about 52 miles long (from Kahului), has 600 curves and 60 bridges...all one way, so one had to wait for the other traffic to cross (unless you were aggressive or got here first). It took us 3 hours, but it was worth it. The views were spectacular!

I heard the geese...

2008-10-14T08:10:00.000-07:00

I heard the geese this morning. Through the din of the passing cars outside my office window and in spite of the clacking of the keyboard at my fingertips, their cackling and honking was unmistakable and reminded me of the passing of the seasons. I have always found the sound to be a primal one…a reminder that time and nature inexorably move and change, perhaps so subtly that we would miss it entirely were it not for the harbingers of those planetary adjustments. Our early ancestors were much more in tune with those changes, and the massing of the migratory hordes served as a reminder that changes need to be made and routines shifted.

Do we pay attention to those signs? Have our sterilized and air-conditioned lives become so anesthetized to those subtle nuances around us that we miss what is deep and primal within us? I used to measure the seasons by the calendar on the wall and by the holidays it highlights. Memorial Day was the start of summer, and Labor Day marked its end. Christmas was in the dead of winter, perhaps a bright spot in the darkness of the long nights and short days.

I now listen to the geese. When I hear the gaggles gather into the large flocks, preparing for their long journey, I know the cold weather will soon be upon us. It is also in the turning of the leaves, the crackle underfoot as I walk through wooded paths that I know that the sun will be shifting its place in the sky…and the nights will lengthen. I like that primal feeling. It also reminds me of so many other feelings and sensations of which as a human am capable. True, we strive for lofty ideals and look for the higher callings for our lives…but we should never lose sight of where we came. It is in those primal feelings we maintain our contact with the nature around us, and we can hold on to whatever shred of connection we have to the creatures around us, for they can tell us much.

I hear the geese and I know some are leaving. I also know they will be back, and I will look forward to hearing them in the Springtime, for that is a harbinger of warmer weather.