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."