It's one of those sparkly days between rains as the sun came out again (note to self: AS IT DOES) .... The mid-October gift of sunshine makes me feel like the Grinch as his heart grows three sizes bigger.
Winter teases with a promise of renewal as new growth pops up, often subtle but sometimes shouting out loud. There really is reason to go outside.
I like Portland weather partly because I have no choice. I repeatedly re-embrace it in a cognitively dissonant way, forcing myself to think: It's exciting! It's variety! It's opportunity! instead of: Oh this sucks!
Looking for color in the Dog Days of summer.
A road trip to see more of the Columbia River turned into a discovery of history, economy, ecology, geography, and as always, beauty.
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?"
I didn't fall in love with Portland right away. I wasn't all that impressed during our many visits early on. It felt more like a blind date, a set-up by our daughter. Portland was an occasional fling, not marriage material. Landing at the airport on the northeast end of town, we drove through the grittiest … Continue reading Falling for Portland
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
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