Sunday, 10/1. This morning I headed west in the car on Lombard meaning to treat my pooches to our favorite walk next to the airport, starting next to the intersection of 33rd N.E and N. E. Marine Drive. I had forgotten that to get to 33rd N.E., one must go first to Columbia Avenue. Realizing that there had been an odd smell in the car, I drove on to the Space Age gas station on Martin Luther King and Columbia, and purchased gas and oil for the car--the engine being 2 quarts low on oil. Dangerous! I'll have to pay more attention to my car.

Arriving at the parking lot below 33rd N. E., Tiger was as usual ready to bolt from the car in undisciplined enthusiasm. It's a guiet area, so I didn't fret too much. Zeno, the "good child" started with the leash, but soon enough he was free on the path! Emerging from the underpass, a more lovely scene couldn't be found anywhere. The low morning sun threw backlight on wildflowers of every color, the blues of bachelor buttons, white of Queen Ann's lace, yellow of Scott's broom glowing against the bleached yellow backdrop of grasses. The sky a pale blue with threads of white clouds stretching from side to side. I took some deep breaths of cool fall air, as we settled into the rhythm of our morning walk. Tiger was a bundle of action, bounding around on either side of the path, sometimes burrowing her head into a hole as if she could catch something.

Across the meadow, on the other side of Marine Drive, I notice the gay sign for Tyee Yacht Club, sporting an anchor painted white, with a chain soldered into an undulating wave pattern. Further along in our walk, the homey aroma of baking bread drifted over from Marine, from the Sextant Bar and Grill. Perhaps baking dinner rolls for later in the day. Now Tiger is on the path ahead of me, and another far less savory aroma drifts in my direction. Yes! She has rolled in a nasty smell again! Damn! I plan to dunk her (head first, preferably!) as soon as we reach the Columbia. Soon after this, a pretty young woman with an Rhodesian Razorback dog passes us.

Soon we are drawing even with the airport's control tower, California grasses as tall as I am line either side of our path. There is a large Canadian thistle among the grasses, and I step through the grasses to get closer. Canadian thistles are another of our famous noxious plants in the Northwest. At home, we are obliged to remove them from our yards, but this noble plant freely beckoned me as I freely walked. The blackish seeds, tinged with a little of the purble of the flower petals, still stuck to the pod. Perhaps the dew from the surrounding grasses caused these seeds to clump up, instead of lightly blowing away, as thistle seeds usually do. One new lavender colored thistle flower is still blooming.

After allowing Zeno and Tiger a good splash and play in the Columbia (Broughton Beach,) we headed back up the beach to start the trek back to the car. Sunlight splashing on the sand catches tiny pieces of the glassy sand as we walk. When we reach the top of the beach, the same young woman with the Rhodesian Razorback who had passed me earlier, greets me, with a little panic in her voice. "You haven't seen any car keys have you?" She has lost her keys somewhere here on the beach. Also, she has an appointment for a job interview at 11:00 a.m. Asking for a description, I tell her I'll help look for the keys. A single Volvo key with black plastic head, also with lock release device, atached to a ring.

We head back along the beach. She knows about where she headed down to the sand, so we start there. She walks quickly down to the west along the beach. I walk more slowly down to the water. I decide to make close switchbacks for a methodical search. It's my first switch back, approaching the path above the sand, looking a little ahead--there in the sand is a key on ring with release device also. I call to this sweet young blonde-haired lady--and she comes running back--she can't believe I've found the keys. We walk back to the cross-walk together. To keep her appointment she must run ahead. As she runs ahead, I watch thinking that here is the energy and will-power of youth.

I am reminded of a line from an old hymn: " . . . how can I keep from singing?"

Monday. A few impressions from this a.m.:

Left the driveway bundled in knit hat & black fleece. It's truly N.W. fall now. Rain falls lightly--puddles on blacktop reflect grey skies. Zeno pulls to the north side of the street--the hazlenut tree next sweet elderly neighbor's drive a draw for him. Approaching the hazelnut tree, the round green leaves have a sheen of moisture, and there, by the cluster of grey hazel stems, a small fir tree has sequestered itself, as if trying to pass itself off as an understory fern.

We crossed from Ainsworth to Simpson on the unfinished road at 46th. I wondered at myself, taking this road in wet weather--the steep uphill part of the road is plain dirt, but I'm drawn to take it anyway. As we enter on the gravel, the rain becomes heavier. I enjoy this path because it feels as if I've come to the deep dark forest, right here in N.E. Portland! I find the steep dirt part of the path has not become slippery . . . yet?

I believe there is construction activity going on at Killingsworth street, just south of us. The loud banging & sudden "whop!, clop! boom!" coming regularly from that direction, added to her fear of rain, have frightened Tiger, and she slinks along, pulling at her leash.

On my way back east on Simpson, a lovely young African-American woman strides briskly out from the side street. Dressed in black slacks & jacket, she turns west on Simpson, after we exchange quiet greetings. Approaching 55th, there is a large Black Walnut tree. One gigantic tree composed of three trunks--is this the growth habit of Black Walnuts? Walking north on 55th, a neighbor has put piles of apples and pears out on her front yard with a sign--FREE APPLES AND PEARS! This is a land of plenty--at least, plenty of fruit!

Wednesday. There are patches of blue among white and grey puffy clouds--the air is cool. The familiar shapes of trees down Ainsworth seem to take a muted, distant tone while the sun hides. The dogs sniff eagerly at familiar places.

Just after we cross 55th, I am startled by a punching burst of sound from a passing car. I see that it's a dog, probably as big as Zeno, scrabbling madly at the windows of the car (a sedan) in excitement at seeing my dogs. How can that person stand to drive her car with such mad activity taking place?

Teusday. This morning we set out for Rocky Butte, in the VW, looking for a change of scene. It is only one or two miles from home, also close to grocery shopping I'll do later. On the way, I pull in to Kim's Market on Fremont and 73rd. The young man behind the counter directs me to the cooler, where I find bottled water. He is tall and lean, looking about the same age as my 19 year old son. With a large bottle of water to sustain us, we drive on out Fremont, taking a left on Rocky Butte Road.

Rocky Butte is a cinder cone, part of the large Boring Lava Fields upon which the city of Portland, Oregon rests. You can read more about Rocky Butte and other cinder cones and shield volcanoes of this area at, http://vulcan.wr.usgs.gov/Volcanoes/Oregon/BoringLavaField/VisitVolcano/rocky_butte.html. I love walking here, for the view and rest I receive at the summit of the Butte. I park the VW just past the campus of Portland Bible College. The dogs are eager to go, and Tiger practically bursts out of the car. With dogs leashed and car locked, we begin.

I quickly find that I'm over-dressed, and pull off the thick wool sweater which had kept me warm at home. Tall maples, fir, and other evergreen trees shade us as we walk. The road winds completely around the Butte. We parked on the northeast side, and as we walk south, the noise of I-84 traffic below grows louder. How lucky I am, taking this relaxed stroll on a quiet road as people rush from place to place on the freeway below. I've seen two joggers so far, and no cars. On the bank of the road above me, a carpet of Ivy leaves reflect the sunlight. Looking across the street, there is another climbing vine on the trees there, what can it be, with it's pale green bursts of seeds hanging off of tendrils?

Reaching the summit, I lead the dogs into the grandly named "Joseph Wood Hill Memorial Park." This little park, which I would guess is no more than 1/2 acre in size, surrounds the summit with stone walls topped with old fashioned lamps. It's an especially lovely place to visit at sunrise or sunset, as the lamps are glowing yellow, and the whole sky is painted with colors. You can watch the sun in it's course to or from the horizon. Red volcanic cinder dust line the pathways in the park.

Today there is haze in the air, especially to the east, and only the outline of Mt Hood is visible. I take the dogs to the north side of the park, my favorite viewpoint. The sky is clearer to the north, and the somber grey of Mt. St. Helen's flanks are clear. The Columbia river winds along in shades of green and white. Jets follow the path of the river as they ready to land at Portland Int. Airport. After a few minutes, one begins to descend slowly from the east.

After our descent back down Rocky Butte Road, and just before the dogs and I return to the car, I notice again the odd climbing vine I'd seen earlier, with it's masses of silvery green seeds. Two trees I can see are completely blanketed with this vine, and it drapes thickly between them, as well. It takes a bit of internet searching, but I finally identify this plant as "Old Man's Beard," (so named for the silvery seeds) a noxious weed of Oregon. You may read more about this pest at, http://www.oregon.gov/ODA/PLANT/WEEDS/profile_oldmansbeard.shtml. Just one of these creepers may produce more than 100,000 seeds per year!

Monday, 8am. As I cut up plums for the oatmeal this morning, the back yard is lit with patches of bright sun. After most of an hour has melted into morning activities, Tiger approaches with prancing, whining, a little playfull cavorting that says, "enough, mom--let's go!" As we head out of the driveway, Tiger pulls to the east, but I nudge her to the west. Zeno seems pretty spry this morning, walking with an easy slow gait.

Gazing down Ainsworth, there is the three quarter moon, like a white sail in the sky, and just to it's right a great maple tree, bedecked with it's reddish orange seeds, stands alongside her--a sturdy, regal companion. A golden SUV passes the three of us, and the cool sweet morning air is colored briefly with a sour smell of exaust. All of the colors are so bright this morning. There is a tree whose name I need to learn, with little orange berries, next to the maple. Soon I am walking past my neighbor's pear tree. The pears are large, and must be ripening quickly, with our dry and cooling fall weather. So many fruits lie on the ground.

Zeno is walking so easily with us that I continue down to where Ainsworth curves north to 42nd. Next to a fence are some lovely low plants whose one orange seed are held in a casing resembling a little orange lantern. After we cross 42nd, the dogs and I are on "sidewalk" territory again. Ten thousand sparkling lights rest in a neighbor's grey-green carpet of grass. I turn back so I can slowly walk past this wondrous sight of dew-drops once more. Each little drop contains every rainbow color. As I savor this quiet beauty, the owner approaches slowly down his driveway, waiting for me to pass. What hidden beauties could this older person reveal, if we were to sit quietly next each other on the grass? Our lives are brief, and some have likened them to the blazing drops of dew, so quickly extinquished by the morning's approaching heat.

I was so lucky to have become acquainted with one of my mom's true and lasting friends (since heady college days in the thirties.) Some time after my mom passed away last summer, this friend dropped some lines of the Bard lightly into a telephone conversation:
Fear no more the heat o' the sun,
Nor the furious Winter rages
Thou thy earthly work hast done
Home art gone and ta'en thy wages . . .
--William Shakespeare, Cymbelline


At the off-leash area, Zeno & I stroll a little, and Tiger charges off to play other canines.

Friday. With a manual examination yesterday, Dr. Hoberg ruled out a cruciate ligament tear in Zeno's right leg. That was good news. It could have been an arthritic flare up, a small re-injury to the original tear in the left leg--also, the possibility of a small TIA was not entirely ruled out. The dog is in his later years.

As we walk west on Ainsworth, I'm struck again by the rustic beauty of our area. There are no sidewalks--the dogs and I walk along right in the road. You can hear the occasional rumble of jets taking off from the airport and the low hum of traffic from the old Portland Highway nearby. For me, the highway sounds have become white noise, and I'm kept constant company by the calls of birds, which are so plentiful around here. Our little Pittbull/Basenji girl Tiger though, has not settled well with some of the noises coming from the airport. (I'll include a picture of our little canine freak of nature with this post.*) A neighbor has explained to me that what I thought were fireworks going off in the early morning, are actually blanks being fired to scare birds off of the runways. It's frightening to Tiger, who is scared of many things, especially rain. Her fear of cameras means there are very few images in our files which include her face. My daughter caught this image at our old home in Seattle (with Zeno and my mom behind her.)

One of our neighbors seems to have a small nursery concern, as there are potted plants just past the parking area, and a green house (perhaps they run a nursery somewhere else.) There is some kind of pine tree in the yard with a conical shape, and a color that blends chartreuse with gold. We venture all the way down to 46th today, as Zeno's gait is steady, and he's keeping up well. There, a dirt road leads south to Simpson. Tall trees shade the way. The leaves and bark seem to be those of cherry trees, yet I hadn't thought cherry trees could grow that tall. Just before the we leave this shady path, there is one last giant tree, with a large crop of dried fruit lying all about the silvery-grey trunk. I pick one up out of curiosity. Why not taste it? Yes, sweet, hard and black, the flavor seems unmistakebly that of cherry.

Thursday. Either Zeno's healing has been exceptional, or the injury wasn't as bad as I'd feared. It's a cool 56 degrees, with both wool sweater and handknit wool shawl, I feel pleasantly warm. Zeno practically sprints down the driveway! Still, I'll not push this walk too far. We head to the west, and walk as far as 50th, before turning back towards Simpson.

There we meet a friend and her slightly chubby Rottweiler. As we walk, several times Tiger and my friend's dog get into little shenanigans--lunging after cats. We speak to our dogs, and they mind. We speak about some practical considerations coming up in our lives, like the health of our dogs--she has several interesting ideas about what actually could have been happening with Zeno the other day--as well as money issues. We turn back towards my house at 57th, as I'm certainly not ready to extend the length of my walks just yet.

Returning home, I find that the quiet mind I need for writing just isn't there. The grass needs work, and I pull the new push-mower out of the garage. The steady push and pull of hand mowing is a soothing release. Where several blackberry plants are springing up, I use the small shovel to dig. With my fingers, I explore the dry dirt to find and pick out as much of the root system as I can. Mowing is very light as the mower flies over most of the dried yellow grass, but on either side of the house the grass is green and the blades work a little harder.

Before I can mow the grass on the east side of the house, I must pick up a small harvest of filberts that are lying there, dropped out of the boughs arching over from my neighbor's yard. The shells are a gold streaked brown. Many of them have enough weight in my hand that they must contain nuts. Filberts, or hazelnuts are considered to be one of the three sacred trees in old Celtic mythology (the other two being apple and oak, according to my internet reading.) In a property ringed with hazelnut trees, can I possibly go wrong?

"You've got to do your own growing, no matter how tall your grandfather was." Old Irish saying, from website at http://www.brownielocks.com

Wednesday. God Bless America!* Am I trying to be funny? Not really. I am just super grateful that our dear old boy Zeno is seemingly so much better this morning. Yesterday was tough (see previous post.) I was able to coax Zeno to eat a tiny bit for breakfast, and a little more for dinner. In the afternoon, I forced water on him by dribbling it into his mouth. Standing was difficult for him, he seemed to try to use both hind legs as one pole (by placing feet next to one another) for added stability. Walking was only hobbling for a few feet. You could see the salty tracks where tears had welled in his eyes. When bedtime came, my husband & I debated what to do. Should we carry him upstairs on the blanket stretcher, or try to bed down on the livingroom floor to keep our old friend company? Finally, I went upstairs for a few winks, leaving my better half sitting with the old boy, peering at his laptop. When my other half came to bed, and I heard the whining from downstairs, I took pillow and sheet in hand, and found a place on the floor next to Zeno. After some periods of time, Zeno would whine and crawl forward in a circle, and resettle himself. About 4 am, I had the bright idea of putting a wool blanket over him, and this seemed to settle him down to the point that I was able to return to bed for a few more winks.

Miracle of miracles! This morning, he has eaten well, and was ready with bright eyes and tail wagging when I fumbled in the closet for the leashes and bags. Suspicious of his true ability just one day out, after a difficult night, I thought, well, it woudn't hurt to just put the leash on and walk to the front of the yard and back. But we proceeded on down the driveway, Zeno walking steadily and slowly. His legs are stiff, but his back supple, and gait steady. We walked down to the little mailbox two houses west on Ainsworth, at which point I was ready to head home. But Zeno was ready to walk past the driveway. We made it all the way down to 60th (1 and 1/2 blocks,) then returned home. We are making arrangements with a wonderfull veterinarian, Dr. Lisa Hoberg, of Holistic Housecall Veterinary Services here in Pdx, for his care.

*No political message intended. (May 2008 come soon, and may our country head in a new, more thoughtfull, considerate and positive direction than what we've experienced this past 6 years . . . )

Teusday. Tears sting the corners of my eyes, but don't roll down, as I realize that for the first time ever, Zeno won't be coming with us on this morning's walk. A long piercing whine just after my husband and I hit the hay last night informed me that something was wrong. There was Zeno, on the fourth stair up. I hurried down the stairs to him, and he wasn't moving. I called, and he declined to move, in any direction. Finally, I wrapped my arms under his lower body, and he clambered eagerly up, glad of the assistance. This morning, we brought him downstairs on a blanket stretcher. My husband had observed spasms in his right leg. Now he is lying on the grass in the sun. He can hobble around, for small distances.

My morning walk is uneventfull. "Who's walking who?" a comment I've heard often over the years floats gently over to me as I greet a neighbor working in his yard. I tell him I feel unbalanced, as I normally have one pulling a little ahead (Tiger,) and one lagging a bit behind (Zeno.) At the Fernhill off-leash area, Tiger horses around with a young jet-black dog who looks like a Pitt and Lab mix. It has to be a black dog, I guess, since that is who I'm missing. When I return, there is Zeno in the front yard where I had told him to "stay!" after a hobbling attempt to come with us. I believe he's had a cruciate ligament tear in the right leg, since he had the same injury in the left leg last fall. I've already been through the song and dance with a veterinarian surgeon--surgical repair would cost about $3000, or more, with all the extras factored in. The money isn't here right now. Zeno would be in recovery for about 10 weeks, and need to be assisted for a great deal of that time. I'll assist him without the surgery, and he will heal, slowly, just as he did last year. His age also plays into my considerations--he's now over ten years of age, and to put him through the surgery just doesn't seem fair.

Disease and death have both made their appearance this morning--Crystal, our cat, has killed another rodent. It is either a mouse or a young rat. This is Crystal's fourth kill since we've moved here. She alway places her trophy dead center in a walkway or doorstep, for our appreciation. My daughter considerately buries the remains. As I am writing this, a Western Scrub-Jay is loudly screeching outside the window, and Zeno is quietly resting in the front yard. I believe he's stationed himself there, because greeting us, and sending us off has always been important to him--and he can still accomplish this, with less movement from a front yard post.

LaborDay, Monday Sept. 4. The dogs and I head into the cool morning air a little after 9 am. I was a little later than usual with most things, as a book had wiggled it's way into my (usually) reserved morning hours. By the time I took out the leashes, stuffed bags into a pocket and sat on a chair, sweet old Zeno rushed up to me and touched my hand with his open mouth--"come on, Mom, what's been taking so long?" (A highly unusual action for this mellow-tempered dog!)

The air is cool this morning, the sky a clear pale blue. I note the vigorously growing cascade of ivy close to the end of our drive. Pale green clusters of buds, or seeds, stand out on springy stalks arranged in a spiral around the main tendril projecting from the vertical carpet of green. I suppose it must be English Ivy.* I seem to be riding along on a mixture of thoughts and feelings this morning, but as the dogs and I continue back west along Simpson my attention comes back to the moment. I note the two Ailanthus trees in the parking lot of a neighbor. In our humble neighborhood, their is often room for two, three or four car "parking lots" in front of the houses, which are often small, but have lots are mostly capacious. The smaller Ailanthus tree has red to orange colored seed pods, and the larger has paler green to pink pods. I notice that the large, almost palm-like stems which hold the leaves, also have differing hues, the smaller tree having rather orange stems, and the larger green tending to grey. A little further along the road, I hear a woodpecker's rapid tok-tok-toktoktok as it pecks a tree or phone pole. Right after that, a telephone rings on the other side of the road. Who could be calling? Who is knocking? Earlier this week, I saw an Ailanthus tree growing in a space between two large commercial buildings, with it's crown of leaves and seeds waving majectically from the top, above both. "Look at me, I can grown anywhere!" it seemed to call. The space between buildings couldn't have been more than 1 1/2 feet across . . .

It was a lovely walk this morning, but I will digress from that topic, since today is Labor Day. I"ll take this chance to quote R. Adin Steinsaltz on the subject of Labor:

"The bad luck of the ant is not that it works so hard, but that it hasn't the time or the intelligence to appreciate it's work.

Humankind has the advantage of being able to give itself a day off . . . not because doing nothing is important, but because we need to stop and look around in order to understand where we are in the big picture and where we should be."


*Checking later on the internet--the driveway plant matches the pictures. Again, this is an invasive plant, latin name hedera helix, another of the Plant Conservation Alliance's Least Wanted Species. The website--http://www.nps.gov/plants/alien--warns that, " . . . as the ivy climbs in search of increased light, it engulfs and kills branches, blocking light from reaching the host tree’s leaves . . . The host tree eventually succumbs entirely from this insidious and steady weakening . . . the added weight of the vines makes infested trees much more susceptible to blow-over . . . Trees heavily draped with ivy can be hazardous if near roads, walkways, homes and other peopled areas. On the ground, English ivy exclude(s) native plants (and may) serve as a reservoir for Bacterial Leaf Scorch, a plant pathogen harmful to elms, oaks, maples and other native plants."

Friday. I have to chuckle this morning as I sit down to post. Looking at yesterday's post, there is an adsense ad for Dog House Air Conditioner!! "Efficient A/C. Keeps dogs cozy." I supposed my amusement is peculiar to me, as a person whose spoiled dogs just laze around indoors all day, never lacking for a nice wall to wall carpet, indoor heating, or cozy closet (Tiger) to hide away in! For some pooch who spends his/her days outdoors in extremes like south Arizona in summer, or north Minnesota in winter, or even Seattle in the rain, this could be not just a laughing matter . . .

Earlier, on our walk, we had passed a house with a magnificent tall spreading tree with tiny tri-pronged dark green serrated leaves. Under the tree was a small pale green house with three scruffy dogs behind the chain-link fence. All three commenced to yap loudly at us (the smaller cream-colored one occasionally biting at her mate to show who was boss,) and of course Tiger responded with her characteristic jerking, pulling and dancing till I gave her a brief talk-to. She has really improved over the years. Now approaching the hoary canine age of eight years, she minds very well, and I've become semi-relaxed about bringing her to an off-leash area. Hmmm, perhaps "minds very well" is a bit of an exaggeration, but I'll leave it there anyway.

On 45th close to Holman, a neighbor there is having a garage sale. A man and his son (customers) approach to chat & stroke the dogs (mostly Tiger, as Zeno is so shy.) He asks if my dogs have fleas. "Not too bad." I respond. He proceeds to tell me of his technique of just giving his cats a few drops from the little Frontline tube, then giving a few more drops as needed. He says he does this about every 4 to 6 weeks or so. (Of course, the Frontlne instructions say to give an entire dose at a time.) He says it works real well. I thank him for his insight.

I am again thankfull, when we reach Fernhill's off leash area. It is such a pleasant place, with so many beautifull large trees, a great huge place for dogs to run around in, and owners to relax, just a little. I take a few moments, and sprawl on my back in the sun on the dried hard yellow grass. As I rest, I can hear the wind ruffling leaves in a huge maple behind me. There is also a sprinkler working "chuk, chuk, chuk, chuk."

Thursday. This morning as I sip warm soy milk I notice from the kitchen window that two of the young mountain ash trees have leaves going over to red. These two have been planted under other taller trees which crowd over from the neighbor's yard. Two other ash trees in our yard have no signs of color changed leaves. It is still overcast as the three of us stroll down the driveway. A sweet smiling face greets me at the end of the fence. It is our neighbor's middle daughter, around 6 years old. "Hello!" I call. "Hi Tiger!" she pronounces Tiger's name "Tigow." I greet our neighbor as I emerge from the long driveway. She and the three girls are on their way to the girl's day camp. The couple in this young family have immigrated here from Nigeria. My neighbor has a round ebony face with wide-set twinkling eyes and she has recently had the ends of her hair tinted a bronzy golden color. "A sight for sore eyes!" my father's pet phrase, applies well.

We have a leisurely stroll down 50th. I am lost in thought. I pass the house of a neighbor who has proudly informed me that she's been in her house since 1946. It's a lovely, humble, white stucco building. Turning west on Simpson, I walk past a lot that looks like it's been abandoned. On one end of the lot, there is a tall old broad-leafed walnut tree. I pick up a nut lying in the street, which has had the green outer skin partially peeled away, and carrying it in my hand. Now the clouds have thinned into a thin veil directly overhead, while to the east it is overcast, and to the west there is blue.

Arriving back at my house, I immediately retrieve a hammer from the kitchen drawer. Breaking open the shell, I am fascinated to see that the nut is a creamy yellowish color. "This is what green walnut meat looks like!", I think, feling the thrill of discovery. Ah, the simple thngs!

Wednesday. Rain pounding in our gutters last night sounded almost like coins falling in a tin can! There was heavy rain in the very early morning hours. It has taken me a long time to be ready for our walk this morning, and now as I gather dogs, leashes, and bags, it is already nearing 10 am. The clouds are breaking up a little, and the air is fresh and cool. We walk east towards 60th. There is a large old walnut, with broad leaves. I pick up a large green nut from the ground. I love the smell of walnut husk. For those who've not seen them, walnuts as they grow on trees have a thick green "skin" covering the brown casing of walnut shell that you see on walnuts in stores. If the skin of the walnut is pierced, there is a spicy, almost soapy odor, which I find quite pleasant. I'd like to learn some of the different species of walnuts, as I'm sure there are at least two in this neighborhood. As we come around the corner of Ainsworth and 60th, two dogs inside a fence there set up a holy racket. Tiger responds with whining and pulls on her leash--I have to restrain her. Further, a thin nylon fishing line brushes against my face. Grasping it in my hand, I see that it is hanging from the telephone wire above. Must be the work of youth . . .

As we turn west again on Simpson, the sun breaks completely free of clouds. Walking into the quiet of this street, away from the traffic & noise of 60th, with sun lighting up the scene, it seems like I've found a piece of heaven. Tall trees glisten in fresh morning air. I want to catch this with my camera, so head back home. Returning, the light has completely changed, and we walk on. Instead, I am able to get a shot of the samaras (seed pods) of an ailanthus tree (mentioned in yesterday's post,) and one shot of the vibrant blue sky with clouds. The clouds seem to say "Aloha oe, until we meet again. . . " I'd also like to send a special birthday aloha to my dad, Ernie Simmerer, who was born this day, year 1914, close to Tacoma, state of Washington, and left this world 2/12/1973 departing from Queen Emma Hospital, Honolulu, Hawaii.

Teusday, 8ish. Wet pavement and a slight mist of rain greet us this morning. I've got a rain jacket around my waist, just in case. I'm also bringing a small glass jar and a small pair of gardening shears zipped into my jacket. A group of us meets for spiritual sustainance this evening, and I intend to harvest some wildflowers for a bouquet or two. The dogs seem energized in the cool atmosphere.

As we walk west on Ainsworth, I think of what I learned yesterday about the Ailanthus tree. There's a huge, magnificent specimen of the tree, called "Tree of Heaven," latin name Ailanthus Altissima, about 6 blocks east of our house. Large clusters of pink tinged pale green seed pods float on abundant bunches of forest green leaves, and the tree must be 70 to 80 feet tall at least. What surprised me yesterday in my research, was finding that this arboreal beauty is on the Plant Conservation Alliance's "Least Wanted" list--an aggresive colonizer in ecologically disturbed urban areas. According to the Alliance's website, "Once established, it can quickly take over a site and form an impenetrable thicket." (Website: http://www.nps.gov/plants/alien/) Indeed, I quickly count 11 young trees sprouting up under the tall parent here. But who knows, I wonder to myself, could there be some benefit about this plant, of which we are unaware? The Plant Cons. Alliance site goes on to say "The root system is aggressive enough to cause damage to sewers and foundations." Hmmm, think I'll quickly dig up any Ailanthus found at my place!

We continue down Ainsworth. Just past 45th, the street starts to curve north, and soon there is a curving median between the street and an alley. Growing there are small blackberry shrubs, delicate blue bachelor buttons and wild sweet peas. I stop, pull out my shears, and start cutting a few wild flowers, dragging Tiger behind me. Poor Tiger is being pulled (her leash attaches to my waist) into the thorny low-lying blackberries, so I unbuckle the leash from around my waist and tell her to "stay!" trusting fate about as much as I do Tiger. I know she's safe, as the street is so quiet here. Soon we are back on our way to Fern Hill Park, and I've got a few flowers for my friends.

Crossing into Fernhill park, a couple of young men sitting there inform me that the restroom is next to the tennis courts, other side of the park. The off-leash area starts right there--Tiger and Zeno bound away, free of constraints. There is a black standard poodle who's been nicely trimmed, and drops his ball next to Tiger, who obligingly dashes around with it. When we bought our affordable house in the Cully neighborhood, little did we realize that we were buying only 14 short blocks from one of the largest off-leash areas in Portland! (Perhaps God was thinking of my pooches all along?) The sun comes out again, and colors of late summer brighten.

Monday 8:15 am. As the dogs & I leave the shade of our driveway, warmth is already beginning to press down from a clear sunlit sky. We turn south on the gravel at 57th. There are several small sparrows on telephone wires above, one with a rusty orange breast.

Just after we cross Simpson, old dried thorny blackberry canes have been pruned and left along the road. I gingerly attempt to move them aside. Peering across the hedge at the house there, it seems to be a house stubbornly holding the earth amidst a tumbling sea of green growth. The hazelnut tree alongside the house presses against it, and looks like it'd send it's branches into the window if it could. Grape vines growing on an arbor which totally hide the back door, have overwhelmed the arbor and are growing up gaily onto the roof of the house. Fennel (or is it anise?) is pressing through the fence next to me. I break off a few seeds and rub them between my fingers for the lovely scent. Then I hear a "cheet-cheety-cheet." Looking across the fence, first I see three--they are little finches--a grey brown color with tiny tufts of creamy white right above their wings. They are busily pecking at the yellow-green fennel seeds, and it's not just three, but many more, as there's an ample number of the plants. I suddenly feel gratefull to the owners for letting this yard be so overgrown. Where 57th turns to Jessup, there is a battle going on between grape and blackberry vines for control of a laurel hedge. The blackberries rush up from below, "me, me, me" and the grapes cascade down from above, "me, me, me."

Our loop today takes us across Killingsworth Street, and up past the Providence ElderPlace at 57th and Alberta. We circle back down on 60th, which is an awfully busy street for the dogs. But there on the corner of 60th and Sumner is an old Ailanthus tree with a very large gnarly growth proturding from the trunk. It's been decorated with headscarf, blonde fringe, eyes, nostrils and mouth creating a dragon/lady appearance. We cross and walk back along Sumner. Where Sumner reaches 57th three young lads are strolling along.

"Can we pet the dogs?" comes the familiar call. I make my usual explanations about Tiger being friendly and Zeno a little shy, as they cluster around. They make a winning threesome, one with milk chocolate brown skin, curly black hair and freckles on his cheeks, one very lean with pale skin and a shock of almost black hair, and a shorter one, shiny black hair and ruddy brown skin, and a rounded body. I ask if they are enjoying the last of summer. Two yes, one no. Why not, I ask the lone dissenter. Because it's almost over. I ask him not to let anticipation ruin these last days. They tell me they're at Rigler, and that it's a K-8th school, so the two of them who are going to 6th grade next year won't have to change schools. (Many children transfer to middle school at 6th grade.) I tell them they're lucky, as they all attend there.

Walking on home, we hug the shady areas, as the day is warming up. We are glad to find the quiet driveway, where bluejays are squawking a welcome. A blackberry vine reaching over from my neighbor's vibernum plant reminds me of gardening I must tend.

Friday pm. The dogs and I walked in the Gateway area, after bringing a friend there to do some shopping. Scintillating morning air in tall tall trees over small houses.

Time constraints limit today's blog--but here are a couple of provocative quotes:

"Thoughts are things." Napoleon Hill

"Nothing is good or bad in the world, but our thinking makes it so. We, like the one or the other of the seeds, draw upon impulses from the atmosphere as suits our own mental make-up." S. Kirpal Singh

May peace break out, swiftly, and soon. Aloha till Monday.

Thursday am. It's a cool morning, and as we are about to leave, I turn back to the house (with doggie eyes upon me) for my red knit hat. We walk west, and at the intersection, the dogs tug me towards the Old Portland Highway. Turning onto the gravel road at Holman, I notice again a large clump of Queen Anne's Lace. This plant seems ubiquitous in Portland. I see clumps next to most roads when driving around, some standing at least 3 to 4 feet high, some just bursting up from the ground. As I examine the flowers, I notice how among the developing flowers, one is folded in, almost like a cup with a lacey green collar underneath. Four or five more flowers unfurl in succesive stages until the largest one demonstrates the qualities we normally notice while whipping past in a car--a large disc of tiny white flowers. What you wouldn't notice from a car, is the one tiny little black flower at the center.

I learn from Matthew Wood, in his Book of Herbal Wisdom, that this plant's latin name Daucus Carota and that this is indeed the wild ancestor from whom the modern carrot has been gradually developed. He also mentions the connections of this plant to fairy tale, as " . . . the lacey round umbel flower top looks like a net of white lace into which has fallen a single drop of blood." The pricking of a finger is certainly a common theme in fairy tales.

The dogs and I continue down west quite a ways, coming to one of our favorite turning points. There's a dirt path between paved roads. On one side of the path is an overgrown vacant lot which soon will be developed into houses. I stop to collect a few apples from the blackberry infested, mammoth old Gravenstein trees standing there.

Wednesday. After a second bath, this time in the tub, Tiger is safely ensconced in her closet. Closets are Tiger's preferred sleeping places. The first bath out on the patio had failed to purge a horridly pungent odor of something very rotten acquired during this morning's walk.

We had driven north from Columbia on N. E. 33rd Drive. When 33rd reaches Marine, you can loop back on a small driveway between 33rd and a small power-boat company. Parking on the west side of 33rd, a nice paved path leads under 33rd and through grasslands next to the west end of the airport. Tiger and Zeno liked this choice for a walk, as it is a great place to walk with dogs off-leash. The morning was cool--I was wearing a rust red corderoy shirt, and a favorite knitted hat. Overcast mornings have replaced the continuous sunshine which poured down most of the summer. Four red lights were visible far up the runway. Intermittantly, a light mist of rain brushed past. Barnswallows swept this way and that above the grasses.

Tiger was in full swing, bounding and bouncing along in the grass--a series of jumps followed by sniffing and digging into a hole. Zeno followed always a little behind, finding good smells by the path, but keeping me always in sight of his quiet brown eyes. Clumps of Queen Anne's Lace, sorrel, teasel, and bachelor's buttons lent their colors to the yellow of the grass. I kept my eye on Tiger, yelling when her enthusiasm sometimes took her too close to Marine Drive (which runs parralel to the walking path, perhaps 500 feet away.) This is also a very popular spot for cyclists, but we only saw 3 groups all morning.

As we came close to the radio towers, the grass next to our path became tall enough to obscure the view of the runways. The weed/flowers were also more lush and abundant here. Another quarter mile along, the path turned up towards Marine Drive. Once accross, we found ourselves at Broughton Beach, on the Columbia. A historical disply explained that Capt. Broughton was with Vancouver's expedition in 1792, and started an exploratory voyage up the Columbia Gorge from this point. Zeno was more interested in the water. We walked accross the damp sand, down to the river, and Zeno waded in. Tiger also pranced in the water a little.

On the way back, as we walked past the high grass next to the radio towers, I heard a loud flapping. A bird with a large wingspan rose out of the grass on the other side of the barbed wire fence (which circles the runways.) It landed on top of a telephone poll just ahead of us. I believe this was a hawk, and Mr. Hawk had no fear as I peared up at him. He rested regally as I looked tried to notice details of his coloring. He (or she) was a tawny color, black beaked. with a vest of dark brown spots covering his/her chest. Oddly, when we continued along, the hawk flew forward to the next pole, and watched us again. This, and Tiger's smell when I entered the car, were the most notable occurances of the day.

Teusday afternoon. My intentions this morning were to take the dogs and myself to Powell Butte--once again, life intervened. Our walk was delayed when a small jar fell from my hands into the grinding In-Sink-Erator, the disposal. After spending a bit of time digging ground glass out of the disposal, and realizing that more would have to be done, I was finally ready with dogs in car, leashes and plastic bags in hand, when the phone rang. My friend would like a ride downtown, to the one place in town (she knows of) that carries asafoetida. It is very important to her, she says. I ask if she would join me for a walk with the dogs, first. She agrees, and (after picking her up) we head down I-84 to Washington Park. We park next to the International Rose Test Garden. It is a very busy day there. The dogs eagerly climb from the car--they know this place!

We stop at the girl's room, and both of us enjoy a hosta plant, whose white flowers emit a piercing fragrance. My friend takes Zeno's leash, commenting that they go at a similar pace. We meander a little ways through the rose test garden. She is particularly taken with a lavender colored rose, while I keep testing flowers for fragrance. Influence of the dogs? They find good smells everywhere!

Monday am. I'll first digress to a note on our Sunday am walk. The dogs and I had made a large loop up past Rigler elementary school, with it's lovely "Peace Garden," on the southeast corner of the block. The sun warming the morning air, I had my sweater tied around my waist. Heading back north towards Killingsworth, I noticed a large apple tree on the southwest corner of 55th and Emerson. Being something of a scavenger (am I part buzzard?) and noticing a great number of apples lying in the sidewalk and road, I crossed the street to investigate. There was certainly a riot of apples lying on the ground. There is always a kind of prickly uncertainty to picking something up that doesn't "belong" to you. However, the sheer quantity was overpowering. The apples were small in size, looked like gravensteins, and were tending away from pale green, towards a yellowish hue with the fine red strips. I picked up one and brought it to my nose--mmmmm the heavenly innocent fragrence of ripening apple! walking a few steps around the cluster, I picked up one more, then noticed an odd thing. An apple with a red blotch around it. Looking more closely--someone had spray-painted the apple, and the road right around it also received the honor. There was one other apple so treated. Hmm, now I had to think, were my prizes tainted? Giving them a close look, I was reassured, and plopped them into my pocket.

One more notable incident from Sunday's walk. As I approached Killingsworth, to cross and head back home, I noticed an older child carrying a toddler girl out toward the parking lot, then back towards the apartment door, placing her carefully within. As I crossed the street and reached the sidewalk, another small child called out to me "does the dog bite?." No, I reassured him. "Can I pet him?." This is an almost universal reaction of children to the dogs. This young boy, appearing to be about 3 in age, joined us where we waited, in the driveway next to his yard. This little boy was so glad to greet Tiger (Zeno is shy of children, and hangs back.) First he stroked her head and muzzle as he talked. "Her name is Tiger," I informed him. "I have a dog, but it's not real," he said. "Oh, so you have a pretend dog for a friend!" I answered. Looking down, I saw that his short black hair stood out straight from his head, and every hair seemed lit up with golden sunlight. He stroked Tiger's back, then circled her waist with his arms. "I could pick her up." he said. I asked his name, which he gave me, and told me his brother and dad's as well. Big brother and father had the same name. "Oh, so it's _______, jr, and _________, sr., I commented. Yes he said _________, Tito and ________Jr. In a moment, I told him I had to go home. He continued our conversation as heading towards his apartment door.

This morning, filled with inspiration, and utilizing a gift from my daughter, "Best Hikes with Dogs," I had set out early with my trusty friends, hoping to find Tryon Creek State Park. But that was not to be, as I couldn't seem to make the connection between Barbur Boulevard and Terwilliger Boulevard, even after getting help from a friendly fellow with a shiny black pickup.

So I ended up at Willamette Park, in the John's Landing area. It's a neatly kept park, stretching along the west side of the Willamette (There is a charge for parking of $3 if you don't have a boat, if you do, the charge goes up 1 dollar.) The grass is yellow now, and there is a nice paved walking path which winds through old trees. Walking south, there was a flock of more than 100 Canada geese, by my count. Where the path circles back at the south end of the park, I noticed a footpath down to the bank of the river. It was that, or head south out of the park on the small side street. Zeno voted for the river. Getting down there entailed crossing over a couple of old logs (probably meant to keep us out!) I helped Zeno over the logs (no problemo for the energizer bunny Tiger.) We wandered south a little ways. The river seemed low, and there was a mixture of grass and another creeping weed growing in the silt. Zeno wandered down to the water and started to wade in. I called him back so I could remove the leash while he swam. Tiger seemed to want to go in with him. I made the mistake of believing her, and immediately as the halty was removed, she bolted back towards the shrubs and brush behind us. As I called and fumed at her to return, with loud honking and calling, the large flock of Canadian geese flapped down and settled onto the water. Thankfully Tiger returned without too much effort on my part. A "pack" once more, we clambered back up to the park.

Earlier this morning, I watched from my window as the recycling truck bumped, squealed, and clanked along with it's monday am recycling chores. Guess I'll get to mine now.

Saturday am. Taking more time for r&r this weekend. I wish any reader(s) who visit a safe and wonderfull weekend.

Friday a.m. The dogs and I stayed in the home neighborhood this a.m. After 2 blocks, the dogs stopped for relief. Patting my pockets, I found myself bagless, unarmed for poop duty. Back to the house, taking a different route to go back to the spot.
As we circled back, there was a spruce tree--fronds of dark green needles hanging down close to me and great spreading branches sheltering above. Most lovely was the trunk, for there on the shiny grey surface, was an irregular pattern of new growth circleing like festive wreaths. Precious new growth in this dry, dry summer.
Most of the north/south streets in this neighborhood are gravel roads. Going back west to do my pick-up duty, we walked on another gravel road, skirting along the Old Portland Highway. The sun low behind us, our three shadows danced ahead. Tiger's mouth is alway hanging halfway open, and her shadow magnified the effect. Our funny dog, I call her my Bapitbe--as she is part Basenji, part pit bull. Zeno is our Lab mix, now ten years old, and likes to take meandering walks with lots of time to sniff. Between our little path and the highway were natural bouquets of Queen Anne's lace, mixed with wild sweet peas and yellow topped yarrow.
I was able to find one of the two droppings--likely Zeno's. Tiger's I'll accept the guilt for when the poop etiquette committee comes to call.

Thursday a.m. Drove first to post-office by airport, with Zeno & Tiger in tow (back seat of VW,) to send off a letter plus an evaluation of hospice services. Then set off to try to find a good walking spot.

We drove east on Airport Way, searching for a way to get over to Marine Drive, knowing that Marine is the closest road to the Columbia. We've been in Portland just over 5 months now, and the learning curve is still bumping along like a twisting, rocky little mountain path.

Went East aways before finding Marine, then started watching. Right away spotted a paved walking path, then watched for a place to park. That appeared at 138th and Marine. Parked the Beetle, leashed up the dogs, then over to the path, which led up behind an office park building to Marine. Trucks barrel along Marine--but it's pretty light traffic, so quickly over to the Columbia side of the road.

. . . he leads me beside the still waters.
(23rd Psalm)

The vista brought the words to mind like a cool, slightly chill mist. Up the river an island could be seen. Over it and accompanying low hills on either side, a pale yellow patch of sky drifted upward, among the overcast clouds. My path led to the East, towards this vista. It was an overcast morning. The dogs were pleasureably settling into their morning stroll, Zeno lagging a bit behind, Tiger pulling a little ahead, as usual. Soon I noticed, on the uphill side of the path ahead, a dark oblong shape, a round black shape at one end bobbed a bit. I stopped to watch--some wildlife? Walking on, approaching, soon quite apparent that this was a person, the bobbing shape a curly black haired head. Right away the thought--a homeless person? I approached and we exchanged greetings, smiling. He was fidgeting with a lighter, a few items spread around him.

On the river below, 12 geese arrayed themselves, paddling along. It had been a bit of a rough week. My thoughts were drifting off to an incident which had bubbled up among my pals. There was an issue regarding inclusion/exclusion of a group member. I found it overwhelming, and today my mood was still damped down due to my own over-reaction.

I started to hear a wh-wh-wh-wee-wee-wee-wee, mournfully rising a little and falling in tone, the sound of some bird ahead of us. The deep slate & quiet brown colors of the river reflected my mood. Soon a nest topping a phone poll on the other side of Marine came into view. My faulty vision could just detect a small shape at the top. A baby or a parent? The dogs were off-leash by now--Tiger having jerked me out of my reveries early in the walk with her untameable urge to hunt. She bounced all over the dry yellow grass in her gazelle like Basenji way.