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, August 30, 2006
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.
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
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.
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, August 28, 2006
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.
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, August 25, 2006
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.
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, August 24, 2006
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.
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, August 23, 2006
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.
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.
Tuesday, August 22, 2006
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!
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, August 21, 2006
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.
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, August 19, 2006
Friday, August 18, 2006
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.
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, August 17, 2006
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.
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.
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