Terrell's Exploring Portland

Months ago when I first arrived in Portland, I was tooling around the internet looking for things to do in the area. I ran across the website for Swan Island Dahlias, noted that peak growing season was at the end of the summer and stored it in my inventory of things to do when the time is right. This week the time was right. Tuesday and Wednesday were chilly and rainy, a foretaste of fall, but Thursday dawned bright and sunny with a promise of warm afternoon temperatures. What a perfect day for a road trip, especially if the gods smile on me and I get the job I interviewed for on Wednesday. I might be working next week and this could be my last chance. Keep your fingers crossed!

I wanted to get going while it was still reasonably cool so I was on the road by 9 a.m. Actually, I had hoped to go even earlier to get some morning light in the photographs but 9 wasn’t bad by my standards. I decided to take 99E down to Canby since I had never really driven that way before. Yes, I know it’s called Swan Island Dahlias but they are not located on (in) Swan Island. According to their website they started out there but moved to Canby in the 1940s. The drive down took me through Portland’s industrial districts on the east bank of the Willamette. Between checking out the interesting businesses and watching the flashing views of downtown and the river, I’m lucky I didn’t have an accident. There’s at least one fruit and produce business I’m going to have to go back to find. Near Sellwood the highway has a lovely tree-lined stretch that reminds me of the parkways of New York State. Below that I passed through Milwaukie (home Bob’s Red Mill featured in last week’s post) with some interesting small town sights. There’s a place called The Bomber Restaurant that I may have to visit. It has an actual WWII bomber in the parking lot.

South of Milwaukie is Oregon City which looked like it would make an excellent outing all by itself. There are plenty of historic buildings and a beautiful old bridge crossing the river. And from here down to Canby there were great flashes of views along the river with bluffs and rocky outcroppings and stone walls. I’m really lucky I didn’t have an accident along here. I was reminded again how much I love driving the old highways. Why would anyone drive on an interstate when you could see all this scenery and history?

As soon as I got to the outskirts of Canby (OK, they’re not very big skirts) I saw the sign for the dahlia farm and made the turn onto Territorial Road. A quick drive through some new housing developments and then a turn took me back into farm land. One more turn and I could see the flowers. All I can say is wow. 40 acres. 350 varieties. Every one of them in full technicolor bloom. I parked. I walked. I photographed. I admired. After an hour of flower overload, I bought four huge bunches of cut flowers for $6 each and was ready to head for home. First, though, I investigated the signs that pointed down the road to the Canby Ferry. If it had been waiting at the dock (it wasn’t) or if I had any idea where to go on the other bank (I didn’t) I would have been ferry bound. I am totally planning to go back now that I’ve done a little research. The ferry and the farm are also right next to a state park. The Molalla River State Park looks like a fantastic place for a picnic and riverside hike and will definitely also figure in any return trip plan.

Things to remember to bring next time I do this trip:

1. extra batteries for camera
2. bucket to hold cut flowers so I don’t have to rush back to town
3. detailed state map that shows small country roads
4. ferry fare
5. picnic lunch
6. hiking boots

Can’t wait. Many more pictures on Flickr.

Ok, it’s really been a foodie Friday, Saturday, Sunday, and probably Tuesday.

I’ve been baking a lot of bread lately. It’s a very satisfying process. I like the physical work of kneading the dough and it’s pretty magical to take such simple basic ingredients and turn them into a loaf of bread. It also doesn’t hurt that people are always impressed with the results. When I moved to Portland, I was excited to realize that Bob’s Red Mill is a local company. I’ve been using their flours in my breads for years and was curious to see what their production facility looks like. I checked their website and saw that they have daily tours and decided I needed to see that. I considered taking the great-kids with me but I wasn’t sure how child oriented the tour would be so I went by myself to check it out.

The mill is in Milwaulkie, to the south of me but still on the east side of the river. It took about thirty minutes to get there. I parked in the last of the visitor spots right next to the vintage auto by the front door. There were already about 15 other people waiting for the tour to start. I checked in, got my badge and asked the uniformed attendant why there were two pianos in the room. She said, oh some of the employees like to play. A few minutes later, Bob himself arrived with his executive assistant and they sat down and played a duet for us. He made a few remarks and then left to go back to work, leaving us with the tour guide. It wasn’t a particularly exciting tour since you only get to look at things through windows and can’t see a whole lot but the tour guide did a good job. She was knowledgeable, answered questions readily and tried hard to keep the kids on the tour interested. She asked us questions and tour members who guessed the right answers got a wooden token for a free cookie at the company store down the road. Very nice marketing ploy. Yes, I did get the first token. Anyway, she explained how the mills worked, a combination of ancient and modern technology with traditional quartz millstones encased in up-to-the-moment Scandinavian-designed steel and plastic. She told us there were two completely separate production lines to keep the gluten free items gluten free. She showed us the packing machines. We were looking at some antique mill machines when Bob reappeared–an infrequent occurence according to the tour guide. He answered some technical questions that showed he has a keen grasp of the science involved in milling and then told a wonderful story about the early days of the business when he would stand in an open window on the third floor of the old wooden mill during the early morning hours of an all night grind feeling the whole building hum with the rhythm of the spinning mill stones as the sun came up over the neighboring fields. Did I mention that this internationally successful business man, science geek, piano-playing poetic soul is 82? Pretty cool.

That was pretty much the end of the tour. Not a really thrilling experience but I will take my natural food enthusiast sister-in-law to see it next time she comes to town. She’ll like it. I did go to the store to claim my cookie which, btw, was excellent. There were many more products than you see in your normal grocery store. I passed on the twenty-five pound sacks of flour and bravely resisted the proofing baskets but I did pick up some flaxseed meal and a bag of wheat berries. I’ve already used some of the flax and I’m making plans for those wheat berries.

Driving north on 99E it occurred to me that as long as I was this far south, I should stop by Otto’s Sausage, especially since it was lunch time. I splurged on three kinds of sausage (smoked pork, Portuguese linguisa and Tuscan chicken) along with a few slices of alder-smoked bacon. Since it was an absolutely gorgeous day, I also got a chicken sausage fresh off the outdoor grill and sat at one of the outdoor picnic tables to enjoy its smoky goodness. Later that evening I added the linguisa to black beans cooked with onions and Karina’s collard greens, spiced with thyme and cayenne, and served over jasmine rice. Ooh, you wish you had been there.

Saturday, I drove to Hollywood for the Farmer’s Market. Usually, I walk the two miles over but I wanted to stock up a bit and needed the car for transportation. There is a Farmer’s Market closer to home, in Montavilla, but the Hollywood one is much larger with more selection and a livelier scene. They always have music, prepared food booths, bakeries, and lots more farmers. Next Saturday I have plans to visit the big market downtown. I want to be sure to get there before the best of the summer produce is gone so I can get the full effect.

In Hollywood, I hit the berry farms first for raspberries, blueberries and nectarines and then went for the vegetables. I had plans for a mediterranean stew so I bought eggplants and hot peppers. I needed to put up pesto for the winter so I got six beautiful bunches of basil for the bulk price of $1.50 each and a couple of heads of heirloom garlic. And it’s time to stock the freezer with vine ripe creole tomato sauce so I got several pounds of beautiful tomatoes. A trip to Trader Joe’s for olive oil and pine nuts and I was set.

Sunday was pesto and bread baking day. I wanted to try out some revisions to the oatmeal bread I made last week. I think it came out well. And while the bread was rising and baking I managed to put up six cups of pesto now waiting in the freezer to brighten up some dark and dreary winter day with summer flavor. Today is reserved for the creole sauce. I should have orange fingers by afternoon.

I woke this morning to a lovely gray marine layer and significantly cooler temperatures. Thank goodness the second heat wave of the summer seems to have passed. Triple digit temperatures may be good for the tomatoes but they definitely disagree with me. I tend to stop exercising and eat too much ice cream, not to mention getting cranky and irritable. Fortunately the beach is not far away. Both heat waves gave me a good excuse to take a drive in the country. Back in July I went northeast along 26 and ended up at my favorite northern beach, Manzanita. This week the heat was supposed to hit the northern coast almost as hard as the city so Monday I made my way down 99w and 18 through the Willamette Valley to Lincoln City.

I started out badly, of course. It was hot. I made the wrong decision about where to get on the highway. Then I made two wrong turns. It took forever to get out of town. Then there was construction and traffic. It was hot. I considered bagging the whole enterprise. Finally, the road cleared out enough to make driving reasonably enjoyable. There were many signs for wineries. I can see that this would be a really nice drive in cooler weather, especially if you had tourists (i.e. out of town guests) in tow. If I hadn’t screwed up the beginning of the trip it would have taken me about two hours to get to noticeably improved temperatures on the western side of the Coastal Range. Deep breath.

Coming into Lincoln City the traffic was crazy. It was foggy and chilly so after briefly considering looking for a hotel, I turned north and drove up 101 trying to get away from the crowds. The fog hugged the coast so every time the road went slightly inland the skies turned blue and the temperature went up 15 degrees. Cow country was lovely. I tried to stop at the Tillamook factory for bathrooms and icecream but the parking lot was a mad house. I took one spin through hoping for some parking karma but got nothing. I kept going north. Going around Tillamook Bay was beautiful. The fog was just a bank on the western horizon, the water and the sky were blue, the breeze cool. I spotted a little sandwich shop with a nice green lawn and picnic tables so I stopped for a home roasted turkey sandwich. Not bad. Needed better bread to stand up to the fillings.

It was already after two when I got to Rockaway so I decided to stop pursuing the illusive sun and enjoy a 61 degree walk on Rockaway’s long straight beach. Fortunately, I happened to have a spare jacket stowed in the trunk so I didn’t freeze. I did about an hour and a half out and back and then was ready to head for home.

Coming back across 6 was a strange sensation. You know how when you drive up into the mountains it gets cooler and cooler as you ascend especially when you’re driving into a pine forest? This time it got warmer and warmer. It’s a great twisty drive and the traffic was reasonable. Polite, too. Up at the crest, there’s a popular river bathing area that was packed with teenagers. I’ll avoid that until they’re back in school. Coming down into the city was a depressing return to the heat but a cold shower and a cold salad helped. And today is looking good.

It’s summer in Portland. So far, I’m loving it. Most mornings the sky is gray with a moist marine layer cloud cover. Cool breezes waft through my open windows. Around noon the sky clears and the sun comes out, sometimes accompanied by fluffy white clouds, sometimes alone in a perfect blue sky. The highs have been in the mid-eighties with lows hovering just below sixty. If I could put in an order for weather, this would pretty much be it. My niece-in-law is moaning that the tomatoes will never get ripe unless it warms up a little. Fine by me. There’s plenty else coming out of the garden.

Yes, my tiny little salad garden has yielded its first basil harvest. That can only mean one thing: Green Risotto. We used to eat green risottos in Italy often, usually made with whatever herbs were happening in the garden at the moment. If you really wanted to impress a guest you’d make three risottos, one milanese as the “white,” one tomato as the “red” and one herb or spinach as the “green.” Lined up in a serving dish you get the Italian flag. Pretty but TONS of work. My brother, John, makes a good green risotto that is pretty much a basil pesto mixed into the rice with a garnish of pine nuts. Tasty, but I like this super green recipe that packs more of a chlorophyll punch.

Green Risotto

Ingredients

• 3 tablespoons olive oil
• 1/3 cup finely minced scallion
• 2 finely minced garlic cloves
• 1 cup arborio rice
• 3 to 4 cups chicken broth
• 2 tablespoons butter
• 1/2 cup loosely packed fresh basil
• 1 1/2 cup loosely packed fresh spinach (well-washed, large stems removed)
• 1/2 cup loosely packed Italian parsley
• 1/4 cup Parmesan cheese
• salt and pepper to taste

This is one of those recipes that works better if you have everything in place before you start cooking so mince the scallion and garlic, wash and pick over the greens, measure the rice and have the chicken stock simmering before you start the main burner. If you have tasty homemade chicken stock then more power to you. Canned or boxed works fine too and if you don’t have those on hand a cube or two of Knorr’s chicken bouillon will do almost as well.

Heat the olive oil in a good sized heavy bottom pot. The pot is important because it helps keep the rice from sticking (and burning). You can do this in, say, a Revere Ware pot but keep a closer eye on it and stir even more often. Add the scallion to the oil and saute over medium heat until softened. Add the garlic and then the rice, stirring to make sure all the rice grains are coated in oil. Cook for a couple of minutes. A lot of cookbooks say “until the rice is opaque” but I don’t find that a very clear direction. Two or three minutes should do it. Add a couple of ladles of hot broth and stir. As the rice absorbs the liquid add more broth. Most recipes say to stir constantly. You don’t have to stir constantly, especially at the beginning. When there’s plenty of liquid stir a little. As it gets absorbed stir more. Just don’t let the rice stick to the bottom or you’ll wind up with a burnt mess. Keep adding stock gradually until the rice is “al dente.” For one cup of rice, over medium heat, that should take about twenty minutes give or take a few. Best way to tell is to taste and see if it’s still crunchy. While the rice is cooking, put the basil, spinach, parsley and butter in a food processor and process until as smooth as possible. When the rice is almost ready, add the greens mixture. Stir a minute or two to let the rice absorb the greeniness. Turn off the heat. Add the parmesan and salt and pepper to taste. I don’t really put pepper in mine but I might someday. Let the finished dish rest for a few minutes to set a bit. Garnish with a sprinkle of parm if desired.

I often vary the quantities of greens depending on what I’ve got. More spinach gets you a greener rice. More basil makes it really fragrant.

Technically, this should make about four servings but I have a hard time stopping at one bowl full. Tastes like summer to me.

You’d think that not having a job would mean that I would be totally up to date with the blog but of course I think of plenty of other ways to waste all that time on my hands. Sad, really. I have been out exploring a bit. Here’s what I remember.

Thom and Trish came to visit from Dallas. They came to Portland for a few days, then drove up to Seattle, then went over to the coast and down the Willamette for some wine tourism before returning here for a couple more days. Adrienne and Johnny took them out to dinner someplace fancy the first night and then I met the four of them later for drinks at Spints. It’s a nice dark woody sort of place close to Adrienne’s house. They’re working hard on their Portland weird drinks cred (you’re simply not cool if you don’t have something with exotic fruit, a liqueur no one’s ever heard of brewed in house and agave nectar on the menu) so the other four had wine and I discovered that it is possible to order a schooner of beer in this town. I took the server’s recommendation for a red ale which I found very tasty. Too bad I don’t remember the brewer.

On Saturday, the five of us met up for breakfast at the Bakery Bar. I stuck to just a buttermilk biscuit and coffee but the rest of them seemed to enjoy the eggs and hash browns. Johnny left us to go study and Thom, Trish, A and I braved the rain to go see the Gorge and visit waterfalls. We did the classic round (Vista House, Latourelle, Multnomah, and one other fall, I’m not sure which) managing to stay fairly dry. It was gray and cloudy but not really rainy. Since it was the weekend there were plenty of other tourists including a large motorcycle club at Vista House. Pleasant outing but not particularly exciting. I had done most of this trip years ago when I came through on the big drive of 2001.

I didn’t join them for most of their other sightseeing. They got drenched at the Farmer’s Market and drenched again at the rose garden. I’ll wait for better weather. I did join them for a quick trip to the Pittock Mansion. A French Revival stone house built in 1914, it reminded us a lot of Gaga’s Swiss Avenue house. A lot larger and with more grounds of course, but still the same era and taste. It was an interesting excursion that gave us a nice view of both Portland history and the actual city. Too bad the mountains weren’t out. It is a spectacular viewpoint even if you don’t pay to go in the house. And I did go get a beer with them at the McMenamins on 23rd. Can’t come to Portland and not drink a beer at McMenamins, right? And I already wrote about our dinner at Laurelhurst Market.

It has rained almost incessantly since their visit so I haven’t been out much. When the weathermen all unanimously decreed that this last Saturday was going to be warm and sunny, I was determined to get out and soak it up. I debated the merits of a car trip out of town or a bicycle ride but settled on a long walk. A really long walk. I was up fairly early and decided it might be a good day to check out the Farmer’s Market at PSU. I set out west along the Davis bike route with Mozart’s Requiem playing on the iPod. Just cool enough for a light sweater and with plenty of sunshine I felt better than I had in a long time. When I arrived at the river I saw the battleships tied up near Old Town and remembered that the Rose Festival and specifically Fleet Week were in progress so I  put the market idea on hold and crossed over the Burnside Bridge to explore the Waterside Park along the western shore. The lines waiting to tour the ships were LONG so I just pulled out my camera and resorted to my favorite occupations of shooting and people watching. It was early so I wasn’t really tempted by the Saturday Market food stands. I headed south along the bank, taking pictures of colorful flags and carnival rides. Past the Hawthorne Bridge at River Place, the dragon boat crews were out in force practicing for next week’s races. I got to watch Rose Festival officials in their white suits, straw boaters and velvet demi-capes being piped aboard a Coast Guard vessel festooned with flags and guarded by armed sailors. Heading back north, I waited at as the middle section of the Hawthorne Bridge rose to let a tour boat pass underneath. On the east bank I dodged bicycles and professional photographers on my way back to Burnside. At about six miles into the walk I faced the quadruple flight of stairs from the river up to the street. I was starting to get tired but still felt good so I decided to keep walking up to 28th to the Whole Foods store where I could get a can of my favorite raspberry soda. I took it to Adrienne’s front stoop to drink it. Her car was home but I was tired and stinky enough at that point that I didn’t think I’d make very good company so I didn’t ring her bell. The rest of the way home was slightly uphill and a bit of a slog. I queued up my Putumayo faves on the iPod and sang and danced the last two miles home. People mostly laugh and smile  when I do that around here. Good walk. 10.1 miles. Fun sights. Nice pics. See them at Flickr. Here are one or two that I like.

Between the no job and the no sunshine aspects of recent days, I’ve been gaining way too much weight. It’s time to get back to a walk routine. I’ve done this one a couple of times now and I think it has the right combination of elements to keep me coming back. It’s a good length, it has enough elevation gain to get my heart rate up without so much that it’s daunting, there are lots of nice gardens and houses to look at and, best of all, the ridgeline above the golf course has some nice views south towards Tabor. I’ll post pics at some point but here’s the route. Not quite four miles took me 1.25 hours today. Immediate goal will be to make that one hour even.

View Daily (I hope) walk in a larger map

This article from Matt Gross in the NYT revived an old wish for a really long walk. Patrick Leigh Fermor’s books are two of my all time favorites and I’ve always wished I could duplicate his journey. I need a walking companion, though. Anybody out there have a couple of years to spare and a good pair of hiking boots?

Getting behind on my food reviews. Here are some quick updates…

Out for a walk a couple of weeks ago, I got a sudden hunger attack. Fortunately, I was in Montavilla “village” and there’s a newish bakery there called Pastrygirl. They have a lovely, simple shop with a nice selection of cupcakes, tartlets of various flavors, occasional cannoli, and–fortuantely for me that day–little rhubarb galettes. Not cheap but not outrageous and the galette was really very good with plenty of tart rhubarb flavor, good texture and a nice light pastry. They have a digital picture frame on the counter showing pictures of the cakes they make. Pretty cool looking. Their facebook page claims that they have a website but it seems to be mythical. Here’s a link to their fb profile where you can find hours, address, etc.

Now that I am–ahem–between jobs I have finally had a chance to check out a couple of the food carts at the 112th and SE Stark pod. I tried the Cuban place first, choosing a chicken cutlet sandwich on a french bread bun. It was for the most part really good. The chicken was nice and crispy and it came with good tomatoes and crunchy lettuce. It also was dressed with a sauce that seemed like Greek tzatziki which felt a little weird on a Cuban sandwich. It also was VERY large. Something half that size with a little side of fried platanos would have been more manageable and more Cuban. I went back a week or so later and tried the barbeque place on the corner. I had the pulled pork sandwich. The meat was good, the sauce OK. I had a choice of sides and ended up with the homemade potato salad. Two bites was more than enough of that. Extremely mustardy flavor that was very offputting. The other offputting thing were the grimy hands of the owner/server. I’m pretty sure it was tending his fire in the back that made his fingernails so black but it didn’t do much for my appetite to watch him touch my food without washing them.

In a completely different vein, Thom, Trish, Adrienne and I went out to dinner at the Laurelhurst Market last night. It’s one of Adrienne’s favorite spots and close to her house. They have a small butcher shop in addition to a restaurant and bar, so meat-specifically steak–is the thing to get here. They had some interesting drinks on the menu so, while we waited for our table, I asked the bartender to recommend something light and fairly fruity. She picked a strawberry infused tequila mixture listed on the menu. I asked carefully about the tequila since it’s not one of my favorite flavors but she said it there was no tequila taste to the drink. It didn’t taste like tequila. It tasted like cheese whey. I took one sip and asked what happens if I didn’t like it. She did offer to replace it with something else but Adrienne tried it and declared it delicious so I gave it to her and ordered a cosmo for myself. It, too, was unlike most cosmos I have had, very dry, but it wasn’t bad and our table was ready. We started dinner with an order of mussels that came with french fries and house made mayonaisse. Good french fries. Trish really liked the mussel broth. Thom, Trish and I all ordered the evening special of Piemontese cut steak with arugula salad. I had never heard of that cut but it’s about 8 ounces of shoulder. I must have missed the description of the peppery sauce that came with it. The meat was luscious although my medium rare was a little closer to truly rare. I didn’t really care for the sauce but the steak was plenty good alone. The arugula salad was nothing to write home about, fine but not memorable. Adrienne had the crispy pork shank on beans.  I had a bite that seemed pretty tasty. Thom ordered a bottle of wine but I forgot to ask what it was. I liked it. We split a very nice order of strawberry short cake  for desert and the Stumptown coffee was excellent. Good service throughout. Overall grade, A-. They lost points with me for the weird drinks but gained them back for the offer of a different drink. Lost points for that sauce but gained them back for the coffee. And I really think I may need to go back for more of those french fries.

To say that the weather has been changeable over the last few weeks is a gross understatement. You must be as sick as I am of that old saw “if you don’t like the weather in [insert place of your choice except perhaps Saudi Arabia] just wait half an hour” but it does suit what’s been happening here lately. Well, almost. You have to change the timing to ten minutes instead of half an hour. You wake up in the morning and the sun is peeping through from the east, casting an attractive pattern of Venetian blind slats on the floor. It’s chilly but you think, ah, finally, a day when I can walk to town, plant the tomatoes, visit the Rhododendron garden, sit outside to read and blog. But you would be wrong. Within fifteen minutes the sky has darkened, purple clouds sweeping across the blue sky, blotting out hope of outdoor achievements and casting a shower of hard, cold drops of reality on your vain aspirations. The sun break! It tempts us, offering bread to starving northwesterners. Please, sir, could I have some more Vitamin D? Then, just when you’ve resigned yourself to yet another day spent inside wasting time searching internet job sites or listening to the kids tear each other apart or, even better, steeled yourself to slog to the store through the rain, suddenly the clouds part. A sky of clearest blue is revealed. The warm sun shines down making pavements steam and hearts lift, casting rainbows across the sky. In a moment winter turns to spring and the birds begin to sing. Once again you are seduced into planning an outing. Foolish, foolish northwesterner. Have you not listened to the wisdom of the elders? Hope not on better weather until the holiday of the fireworks has passed. Two whole months to go until the clouds depart and the sun breaks torments us no more.

Whoa. That went a little over the top. Yes, the weather is a little schizoid but I try not to let that stop me from exploring the city a bit. Here’s what I’ve been up to lately.

The Saturday after the last job finished up, there was the usual mix of sun and clouds but the flowers looked so pretty and I was so ready for a good walk that I threw on my hoody, grabbed my camera and headed west towards downtown. The Portland Saturday Market is a year round weekend event that I had been planning to visit since I got to town. People in Buenos Aires would call it a feria. It’s a collection of dozens of craft and art booths, a couple of performance venues and–most importantly–a gaggle of street food vendors all huddled up beside the Willamette River and the Burnside Bridge. I walked in a most unusual corridor of sunlight down Davis, past Adrienne’s apartment on Couch. I finally got a couple of shots of the awesome Art Deco Coca Cola building near her place and then threaded my way through the construction where Burnside meets Sandy. Just as I was crossing the bridge the rain caught up with me, drenching me as I tried to get pictures of the strings of bridges that connect (loosely) the east and west sides of town. The downpour put a damper on the crowd at the market but fortunately it cleared up again just long enough for me to choose my lunch and find a place to stand and eat. I chose the cheese pupusa at Doña Lola’s Authentic Food which did not disappoint. The Asian man eating next to me was very excited about his plate from Horn of Africa as well. We chatted a bit. It turned out that he was in town from San Francisco in part to attend the food cart festival that evening under the Morrison Bridge. Sad to miss that, but I had an invitation to join Vaughn and Karina at Nena and JJ’s houseboat. The rain returned after lunch so I scooted over to the Max stop under the bridge and caught a red line to 60th, getting wet again walking home from the station but glad of the excursion.

Dinner that evening was also excellent with a deeply flavored mushroom ragu served over polenta and accompanied by a salad made from the first harvest from Karina’s garden. We had a fun group at the table and did an excellent rounds of “what’s your favorite movie” and “name the book that influenced you the most.”

Yesterday, I drove up to Washington Park to drop off a job application at the Japanese Garden. (If I get that one, it will be my third seasonal job in Portland. Maybe I can just keep the round going.) I had read the directions on the website and took a quick look at the map but I confess I had only a vague notion of how to get where I was going. I knew the general area. I figured I’d get there one way or another. The left turns off of Burnside are strictly regulated to I took a side street that led me uphill to a street named Vista. I can never resist a street named Vista. I followed it, curving my way along switchbacks up into the western hills, a light rain sprinking the windshield. After a while I was pretty sure I had gone too far but I never did run into Highway 26 that I was planning to use as a landmark and a route to the park. The narrow winding road and the rain that had turned into a downpour made it impossible to stop for a look at the map. Finally at a lower elevation, I realized I was on Scholl’s Ferry which meant I had come WAY too far. I made my way back to 26 and took the zoo exit into Washington Park. I passed the zoo and the children’s museum, following the signs to the gardens, once again on a narrow road, winding through switchbacks. This time the sudden bursts of sunshine as I came out of patches of shade made visibility difficult. Finally, after a mile and a half I got to signs that indicated I was at the visitor parking. Still no sign of the Front Gate where I had been instructed to leave the application. There was a shuttle bus waiting in a driveway so I inquired of the driver. He allowed as how he was going that way so I hopped on and road a little farther up the hill. I dropped my envelope and then walked back down the path to the famous rose garden below. It was beautiful in the sunshine with views of the city below but the roses were just in bud. Another week or so should see riotous blooming so I’ll planning a trip back. I took a few pictures but those purple clouds were rolling in again. I returned to the car just as drops started to fall. This time, I took a hard look at the map and realized that I should have stayed on Burnside and just made a short left instead of driving through two counties. There’s even a bus that goes straight there along Burnside, two blocks from my house and two (long) blocks from the garden. Still, it was a fun drive even in the rain. I headed  home to make bread and continue my super-nerdy Stargate SG1 marathon, glad that I had even that short stroll through a sunny rose garden.

Good article in the NYT today about the complexities of the immigration situation in Arizona. It’s not quite so cut and dried as most people would like to think. On the other hand, I remember when California was going through the whole 187 thing. I was living in Arizona at the time and a lot of my Anglo-looking friends couldn’t understand why I would oppose such a measure. The truth is that there are a whole lot of us who would be put in the position of having to prove we were citizens. My family has been in North America–can’t say “this country” because it didn’t exist then–since the 1650s but because I have dark hair and eyes I have been singled out for special questioning every time I get close to a U.S. border. It’s one of those slippery slope questions. If I have to prove who I am, when does it become OK to start denying me treatment at a hospital or throw me in jail if I ever leave the house without ID. If you’re willing to check every person, no matter how blond or blue-eyed, fine, but as long as it’s only going to happen to people who look “foreign” then I have to oppose such laws no matter the economic practicalities.