An old railroad is given new life, and a reminder to mix life's sweetness with the challenges.
Looking for color in the Dog Days of summer.
The Columbia Gorge hides a wealth of secrets, and I'm unlocking them by getting up close, learning their names, making them mine.
An afternoon hike in Lacamas Park turns into a hike into history, ecology, botany and more. The retired life!
All of Portland loses its mind on a day like this. We head out to soak up a winter's worth of soul sustaining sunshine. It's the promise that yes, change will come, even if it rains all the rest of this week. It's the acknowledgement that we did survive whatever personal hell was our winter.
Weather is the quintessential superficial conversation topic. In Southern California there's not much to say about it. Sunny today, sunny tomorrow, sunny next week. Now I have four winters under my belt, and everyone asks, "So, how are you liking the weather?"
Note to self: Skip the isolated trails between the river and abandoned railroad tracks when you're alone, especially if no one knows where you are. Note to self: Just because it's sunny don't assume it's warm. It's February for goodness sake. More layers. Note to self: Carry a hankie when it's cold. Powers Marine Park … Continue reading Hanging Out Under a Bridge
First impressions can be superficial. I arrive in Mexico forgetting that it takes time to appreciate and understand something foreign and complex. What I first see: homes and businesses in stages of stalled construction or general disrepair, lots of trash on the streets, and dozens of scruffy dogs and ragged chickens and roosters pacing or … Continue reading What I Saw in Mexico
Many years ago, when I began hormone replacement therapy, my practitioner promised that I would once again "hear the music play." I thought, what a great metaphor for enjoying life. I knew that sensation of hair raising, goose bumpy, tear inducing awe. When retirement came along, I wanted to likewise recapture the music, and rekindle … Continue reading Hearing the Music Again
The first time I visited Fernhill Wetlands was in late December of 2016, during the presidential transition period. A thick mist shrouded the ponds and streams, and in hindsight, I should have known that the opaque fog was a portent to the darkly bizarre and disorienting year ahead. The cold seeped in around my insulating layers, … Continue reading A Swamp, A Refuge