Another Autumn but a Different Year

Autumn, 2019

Me pretending that it is the 19^th century and this is the only photo of me that has survived

This morning the sun rose at 7:48 am here at 45°38”.14.28”. The sun (which we never laid eyes on today) set at 4:29 pm. This is not the same as where I used to live at 39°17′N 76°37′W. The sun rose at 7:23 am back east and set at 4:47 pm so if there was sun in Baltimore today, it was enjoyed for a total of 103 minutes longer than here.

My calendars conflict as to which day officially sounds the knell of autumn. Some herald December 22 as the official date and others the 21^st. I may have figured why. The Winter Solstice occurred on the east coast much earlier. In fact it was officially winter in Baltimore at 11:19 pm on December 20^th while it waited until the 21^st at 8:19pm here in Washington. Clearly some of my calendars are east coast variants and others made for the northwest. This is my 279^th season but I have only been recording them in the blog for around 10 years. This was the first time I actually looked up officially designated times for seasonal occurrences.

I did very little traveling during this last season. I no longer include going up to Seattle as a “trip” though I generally spend at least one night there. I did drive up to Seattle on three occasions during the autumn and spent about 8% of my time there. Why so often and so long you may ask? That is because my daughter Hannah had a baby boy on November 9^th.

Mother, Son and Aunt a few minutes after arrival

The first time I went up there was because it appeared that the birth of the young man named Ali was imminent. I stayed with Lucie his aunt, and was going to visit the new born and his exhausted mother on the day after (Lucie was set to be present for the actual event). While I attended the birth of both of my daughters I knew that there already was to be a crowd for this one and grandsons are not daughters. It was a false alarm as it turned out, and Ali joined us about a week later. I waited another week and returned when mother and child were at home getting to know each other.

I went back about two weeks later. I was a temporary and fill-in dad while Hannah and her husband were predisposed. Being only a week old, Ali affords his mother rare and sporadic sleep. Ali’s father works nights and attempts to sleep during the day. That is where I came in. While I could not surfeit for either of them I could take on roles of daily living that they could be relieved of. I cooked and cleaned and when possible, enjoyed the young Ali.

Grandpa

I went back when Ali was 5 weeks old and found a different grandson. He was bigger, more alert and better at screaming. The latter chore was only marginally improved from several weeks before. However his parents were adapting and he was staring at them longer and soothed to lullabies a little better. I do not envy them their daily chores however. On the other hand, this is all a new learning experience for all involved.

My latest photo

I took a walk in the park not too far from my apartment in early October and discovered at about 30 feet on a limb of a Douglas Fir, a great horned owl. I had never seen an owl in the wild. I had thought I had seen one a few times on the east coast but could not confirm that I had. This time I could.

Great Horned Owl

During early October, a few months after having my DNA scoped by one of the zillion companies that advertises their wares, I was contacted by a man who thought we might be related. He is not listed on the very elaborate family tree that my parents created many years ago. He told me about his own birth father. He provided many details about his father’s mother which jibed significantly with that of my own mother’s history. She was born in 1929 to a young woman and immediately put up for adoption. My parents tracked down the family of her biological mother while in their 60s. They met with several distant relatives who provided her with much information about her mother. If they mentioned a second birth by this grandmother to them they kept that information to themselves.

I only got DNA results for my interest in my genetic roots rather than to expand on the family tree. I had no plans on contacting anyone hoping to fill in a gap in the tree. I was disappointed but satisfied that my heritage is close enough to what was found by the exhaustive research that my parents did 30 some years ago. I’m still around 60% German and nearly 35% from the British Isles the rest is Scandinavian (and I suppose, Neanderthal).

So one day I got an email from a guy who was diligently toiling away at his own family tree. I won’t reveal his name but will say that nearly everyone who reads this has somehow known someone with the same name, it is that common. Maybe even you or I actually know this man.

It turns out that in 1925 his father was born in a condition not unlike my mother’s. He did not have the same biological grandfather (at least he did not indicate such). We were able to confirm via a bit more research that we share a biological grandmother. He is some sort of cousin to me but I am too lazy to figure out any details beyond than that.

Over several weeks we exchanged information-none of it deeply personal. Suddenly he stopped communicating. Many thoughts went through my mind as to why but I elected to just let him be the next to make contact. One thought was that perhaps he wanted to keep a distance for any reason. It may be due to any of many causes.

Well I am open to learning more but not terribly much. This exchange was interesting but not so much as to lose sleep hoping to probe more. It was all just a tidbit that makes life more interesting.

On October 12^th I did my twice annual volunteering at the Portland Food Bank and was reminded that I cannot do what at one time I could. Actually I could but slower and with more aches and pains. The various chores there all require a vim and vigor that I assume is still there and am reminded semi-annually that no it aint. The task at hand this time, was to assist many volunteers in dropping bags of sorted potatoes into a large bin and then, with the help of a pallet jack, deliver them to a staging area before they were trucked off. I also had to construct a few of the aforementioned bins. The effort reminds me of my own senescence but I must toss concern to the wind as much as for the noble cause as for my own desire to believe I still have the physical integrity of a 45 year old. 

   

I didn’t do much else during the month that is worth reporting here. I will mention that the first frost that left residue on my windshield came on the morning of the 27^th.

On November 13^th my grad school friend and Marylander for the last few years I lived there, came to town for about 48 hours. I have mentioned Frank in many posts during the last few years the latest being our rendezvous in San Francisco about 8 months ago.

This most recent trip west was delayed a whole day by severe weather in the Midwest that closed ORD. This truncated our visit but we made the best of it. That was the earliest polar vortex I ever heard of, the others occurring after the holidays.

I picked him up at Portland’s airport-PDX in mid-afternoon and we drove a few miles south to the Hawthorne neighborhood. The weather was adequate though the afternoon was in early repose and the temperature dropping. We stopped at a bar for a beer and some reconnoitering prior to finding a place for dinner.

Hawthorne is a tract of several miles of commercial places. Bars, bistros, cafes, restaurants and new age boutiques line each side of the street. Most pedestrians are young and more or less looking for a pleasant time.

We opted for a Cuban restaurant and we agreed that was a fine choice. Once finished and sated we walked about a mile back to the car and headed to my place in Washington. The only way to get there is to span two bridges over the Columbia and Willamette Rivers. It was late enough in the evening to avoid the horrible rush hour conditions that help make Portland a travel legend. We would not have ventured over the river on the 205 had it been six o’clock.

We finished the night at my place. Frank was still on East Coast time and so it was an early finish.

Since his visit only provided us with one full day of seeing the sights, we spent it again in Portland. This time we took my normal mode of transportation when I head into the city. Here is how it works. I drove us about 2 miles to where I can park for free and take a bus to downtown Vancouver. From there it is a 2 block walk to meet another bus that takes us over the Columbia and to a light rail stop at Delta Park. Then it is a light rail ride to far too many places to enumerate.

So we went downtown and walked all over the place looking at various sites and wonders of Portland including as always, a search for restaurants. We saw the Historical Society and its Tromp ’de Ouel facade of several stories. From there it was west to Glisan with a stop at the fabled Powell’s Book Store. We walked up to 23^rd to see what we may find for a dinner but ultimately decided on to Deschutes on 10^th street for dinner and lastly the sojourn back home avoiding again, the angst of bridge travel by retracing the method that got us here.

We stopped briefly for a beer at the brew pub closest to my apartment.

In the morning we had time for breakfast and a fast walking tour of Vancouver. We had our morning repast at a pleasant little café called Rosemary’s and it was off to the airport for Frank. I went home and cleaned up a bit and the next morning I was off to Seattle for the first of several ventures up there during the fall.

I spent Thanksgiving cooking a turkey breast with traditional sides. I watched the Lions lose another dismal game. After dinner I packaged the remaining turkey in a variety of ways as to extend the meat but not the holiday. It became turkey noodle soup (3x), burritos (2x) and sandwiches (3x) so it was put to good use.

December has flown by like a zephyr and now it is the holiday season which I try to eschew sans a bit of music and food I only eat once a year. I heard a holiday song that I was unfamiliar with but enjoyed it. So I’ll share a link to Karrin Allyson’s Yuletide Hideaway. The days being so short means early to bed but not terribly early to rise. I am finishing the month with a trip to the southern coast of Oregon many miles farther south than previous ventures. I’ll provide details when I chronicle the winter months.

The Great Blue that descended into a local garden in December

The Summer of 2019

The summer of 2019

After a spring with much travel I did spend most of the summer close to home enjoying friends and doing long and short day trips. I did a lot of bird watching because that is what I always do. I haven’t written about them in a long while so I’ll add to that blog soon. In short I did any new birds during the season but have seen some nice ones in new settings but that will all be in cyber print soon.

I created a few projects for myself during the summer one of which was to go to as many festivalsand Farmer’s Markets as I reasonably could. My goal was to something of a personal assessment of the event with highs and lows. I also thought a lot about the social meaning of each. I put all the details in the link above for anyone interested in reading about them.

I spent a lot of time in museums, art galleries and historic sites. Portland has a superior Art Museum and with an annual membership I was able to go several times and see every current exhibit. I enjoyed the one about the International Exposition in Paris in 1900. I could not help but to notice that the various posters and other advertisements for it were widely representative of the ethnicities of the world.

I liked the exhibit called Prints for the People even better. It was a showing of works done for the Associated American Artists that existed from 1934 until 2000. As one might imagine it included many WPA works and in a nutshell was a series of images that I think I can call American Social Realism. They depicted workers, desolate settings and American lives of the working class and poor. The most famous of the artists was Thomas Hart Benton who I have enjoyed and studied some over the last 10 years. There were many others as well.

Vancouver and the surrounding Clark County as well as Portland is very art heavy with galleries teeming. I go at least once a week to some of them. I am not much into abstract art or folk art and while those are bountiful here I don’t spend much time with them. There are a lot of nature artists which I really enjoy though I have yet to see any paintings of flowers that have a pollinator in them plying their mutually beneficial trade. Anyway I have been making my photography more creative as a result of experiences in visual art. Almost all of my flower photos do have pollinators in them.

I also belong to the Oregon and Washington Historical Societies. As with the Art Museum I go to the Oregon society museum in Portland routinely so that I do not miss an exhibit. I have not used their library yet but have an itch to read about labor history in this very industrial town and plan on looking at some archival material there.

History Museum-Portland-with the Tromp-l'oeil design

The two main exhibits during the summer were about craft brewing (beer) in Oregon and The Beatles first visit to Portland in 1965. They were both very well done but I enjoyed the former better than the latter. However the Beatles exhibit evoked more personal memories than the beer history. I think it was because I was a young teenager first experiencing things like rock and roll, clothing styles and cars when Beatlemania made the scene.

Washington Historical Museum

Behind the museum is a bridge that displays a tremendous amount of glass art. I asked around about any known connection between Tacoma and glass art historically (like Toledo, Ohio and all of the auto glass history that employed many for years) but no one that I talked to was aware of any. However the “Glass Bridge” was pretty attractive to the eyes.

Glass

I also went to the Washington Historical Museum in one of my few trips and wrote about that as well as a visit to Ft. Clatsop and the Columbia River Historical Museum and wrote about them in the blogabout my trips.

I also have more time in retirement to analyze baseball. Not the game or statistics and stars but on the societal impact of the game as seen in the fans, stadium architecture and behind the scene workers. I avoid the major leagues and focus on minor leagues, the lower level the better. I actually wanted to study what I called “Prole” sports when I began graduate school but was dissuaded from that avenue, which is a minor regret. Anyway I went to a couple of games this year and wrote a brief story about them in anotherblog.

Tomato Plant July 4

As almost every year I planted a garden full of herbs, tomatoes and peppers. The tomatoes yielded about 10-12 fruits. Not many but the ones that I did harvest were pretty good. The cilantro and basil provided nearly a perfect amount of spices which is much less than in a normal year. The peppers yielded almost nothing at all. I do have several small and unripe jalapenos on the vine and I’ll leave them be in order to see what might happen during the fall. The Serrano have a couple of l fruits growing and the fish peppers never even had a flower. I don’t know the cause of such a poor harvest but think it may be as simple as not enough light. Next year I’ll probably just grow flowers.

The weather here during the summer was a little milder than my first two in the Northwest. There was a little bit more rain but the differences have not been real sharp.

Serratt cluster

Here is the parking lot during a summer storm

I probably did something else this summer.

Summer Trips, 2019

Summer Trips, 2019

Tacoma

It was time for a short trip and I wanted to take an Amtrak. It was off to Tacoma for an overnight visit. I knew that I wanted to go to the Washington Historical Society Museum and I thought I might like to go to a triple A ball game. Given that the season was nearly over I had only a few choice dates for a game.

I left Vancouver on the 8:38 am train heading north while the sun shone brightly. Half a year ago I took a similar ride up to Olympia on a cold drizzly day. By the time I got to Tacoma it was a bit closer to my first trip in that it was gray and misty. Towards evening the clouds evaporated and it became a nice evening at Cheney Stadium.

From the Amtrak station I headed to the Washington Historical Museum about half a mile away. I spent two hours there looking at the main exhibit. It took us from the geological beginnings of the state along with a bit of paleontology. In my chronological tour I passed exhibits of cultures that existed here long before Europeans showed up. The exhibit tour walked the visitor through things like Tacoma during the Great Depression and the apple growing that is one of the state’s hallmark items of produce. It was a fine set of exhibits, one that the museum can be proud of.

Union Station Tacoma

Tacoma is not a convenient place to drive to. The enormous amount of road construction along with the kazillion exits and on ramps make me appreciate just getting past Tacoma on I5. I don’t get off any of the exits for Tacoma as I am driving-I just putz through until I get to the other side of the city. The stress relief of taking the Amtrak was well worth it. I was to see the city on foot and local mass transit.

Fortunately my motel was within a mile of the museum and back towards the train depot. I was too early to check in so I got a meal at the brew pub a block from the motel.

A large Greek salad and a red curried chicken with rice was a great way to sate pangs until check in time at the motel. I hiked a post-prandial several blocks up a hill to my one night residence which was pleasant enough. I found a light rail stop that headed several stops south to the theater district (and included the museum that I attended only a few hours ago). The motel was up a hill and in the area called the Dome district named after the rather gaudy construct used to entertain the visitors of a variety of venues that a civic center would in other cities. There are those displays of monstrous monster trucks driving over immobile vehicles for instance.

The area surrounding the motel was pretty bleak with vacant lots teeming with the detritus of fast food ventures and Busch Light cans. From the parking lot I could see workers doing something or another on the dome. Even though they were tethered to some (I hope) stable post, it looked pretty scary.

I took a Lyft to the Tacoma Rainier’s game against the Las Vegas Aviators. The season was within a week of the end of its regular season. The team was too far away from the .500 mark to reach the figure. The Aviators were able to stay in first place by soundly beating Tacoma. 

  

I returned to the motel and loafed the rest of the evening watching bad crime shows on the television. The next morning I ate the complimentary breakfast which was significantly better than most motels that are in league with those of my budget level. My train ride home did not come until 7:00pm so I lingered in the motel and it’s near vicinity until the checkout time at noon. I would be left with a full 7 hours of idle daytime to bounce around town lugging a backpack.

For the first time in my life I imagined a portion of the daily life of a homeless person in a large urban area. I had nowhere that I needed to be and nowhere that I could go for some sort of respite except that which I could muster for myself on park benches and the like.

I was not homeless of course and did not suffer the real facts of daily life. I have a place to live and I have an income that is not likely to evaporate. It was just that for 7 hours I had to make due. So I took the light rail to the Theater district which was only notable for the grim nature of this seemingly enterprising location. At least at the light rail stop. Several genuine theaters did exist within fairly short walks. The actual stop was not in a spot that would lure anyone except curious travelers with nowhere else to go. I might add that the light rail service within the city of Tacoma is free so not a bad way for a truly homeless person get around.

Theater District

After about a half an hour searching for a newspaper box that had any of the Seattle newspapers or a mini-mart that sold them I finally found the last one. I found no Tacoma newspapers save for one devoted to the LGBT community. I found it remarkable that newspapers were so difficult to come by. I only wanted one to see the box scores, read editorials and do crossword puzzles. I had one now and headed to the waterfront to a park which was pretty good sized. I walked in the park for a while of enjoying the riverside amble.

I enjoyed it for the mild breeze and warm but not hot temperature. The view was pretty industrial so it was weak from an aesthetic point of view. I found a flattened stone in the shade which functioned well as a seat and spent about half an hour enjoying the newspaper that I found in the fashion that I described above.

A week later I traveled by car up to Seattle to see my daughters. I stayed both nights on a couch at Lucie’s in the Georgetown neighborhood. On the first night one of her friends from Baltimore was visiting. I have unfortunately, forgotten his name but not what he did for us that night. He was here during a three month trip around America and an Asian jaunt. He was about one month into his journeys. More importantly he had been a chef at one of Baltimore’s better restaurants-the Woodberry Kitchen. So…with assistance from many of us, he made Cippiono. (I include the link to provide a context but the recipe there is only an approximation of what he made). It included much fresh seafood and vegetables. My daughter and he bought all of the ingredients and made everything from scratch. Many people, friends of my daughter were there and we ate in the yard with a low keyed party til about midnight.

The nest day Lucie and I lolled around her neighborhood for a while and then went to Lake Washington for a hike and loafed on a bench in front of the lake for a while until it was time for me to go to Kent to pick up my other daughter Hannah, and bring her back to Georgetown for dinner. Since Hannah and Lucie have diet rules we had to be precise in finding a place to eat. We chose Daimonji Sushi & Grill where I was the only one to make a poor choice by selecting a cooked meal. The name has left me now but it was basically fried chicken and rice. I eyed their genuine sushi selections with jealousy as I ate my lousy food. I learned my lesson.

I returned the very pregnant Hannah home to Des Moines, walked Lucie to her overnight dog sitting job, returned to her house and went to sleep. The next morning I dropped Lucie off at work in Pioneer Square at 6:00 am and headed south to Vancouver.

On September 16^th I drove to Lincoln City on the Oregon Coast. I left my place at 10:00am headed for Newport 30 mile to south of Lincoln City. It was raining hard early in my trip but was only cloudy at Salem about 50 miles away and then sunny a half hour later and for the rest of the day.

I stopped at Depoe Bay where waves were really crashing on the shore. At my feet was a swath of basalt maybe as far as 50 feet wide and covering about 2000 feet to my left and right. I was about 50 to 75 feet above the shore line.

The basalt swath of land was porous and as waves crashed into it they forced water into the warren of pathways with the swath. (I have to look up a better geological word than swath). Anyway about once per minute a geyser erupted from the pressurized water that rushed into the pathways within the basalt.

Geyser Photos

I stopped at Siletz Bay as well to watch more wildly splashing waves. At Siletz there were several eruptions of land in the shallow waters near the shore. Now I speculate as to what they are or how they got there. I speculate since I don’t know and what I speculate is that these promontories are residual of volcanic action that took place about a kabillion years ago.

There was a copse growing out of the tops of some of the projections.

Stiletz land formations

I ate poorly done razor clams (fried) at a tacky tourist trap in Lincoln City with the anachronistic name of “Lil’ Sambos. The logo featured a leprechaun with a stack of pancakes and a frolicking tiger.  I suspect that prior to the late 60s the logo was not that of a jolly Hibernian elf.

I stayed at the pleasant Ashley Inn along tourist row in the town. About a year ago I began upgrading my motel choices so relatively speaking, this is luxury living. I saw no exposed fire arms during my visit there.

Out of my window I face west where only about a mile separates this unit from the Pacific Ocean and all of its majesty. Directly in front of me was Coastal Route 101. It is five lanes and when turns are available it is about a mile from where I am staying. Walking across this road provides more peril than I am willing to challenge. On my side of 101 there are only random walkways or places to walk to if I wanted to. This town is not designed for pedestrians. It is a tourist town designed to attract mostly summer visitors curious about the glories of the Oregon coast or the kitsch of the tourism trade or both.

To the east which I can only see from a block or two from the motel is a stunning view once one looks past the trailer parks that are nearly subterranean in the fore ground. Douglas Firs and other flora rise into the coastal range of the Cascades. They look down at the coast almost haughtily as if they know that one day, long ago it was they who were responsible for the magnificent glory of the coastal beauty. They are silent but they know.

I was at latitude 44 degrees 59”24.17 and longitude 124 degrees, 0’17.85”

I came with some food so as to provide succor to those 8:00 pm pangs. That way I prevented the purchase of a badly done pizza slice or a bag of Doritos. Amongst my food stuffs were a couple of tomatoes from my little garden. These were of the Serratt Cluster species-about the size of a tennis ball and pulpier than water so they were quite good. I sliced them, salted them added some pepper then ate them with some cheddar. They sated those munchies quite well.

On Tuesday morning I awoke to some steady rain at 7:00 am and it continued until I left around 10. I had a breakfast of creamed sausage and biscuit since no eggs were available. It was an adequate perk associated with motels around the country. There were no complimentary issues of USA Today and so no crossword puzzles to complete. My headline news had to come from the master of such-CNN. I left Lincoln City no wiser than when I arrived.

So on September 17 I drove north in what was a driving rain on the coastal highway. Typically I’m sort of “called” to look at the Pacific whenever a view is available. This time I noticed the mountains to the east. In them on this day were fog patches that would make good photographs. Unfortunately I am not of the spirit to take photographs during a down pour. In those same coastal range rises were the billions of Douglas Firs reaching over a hundred feet into the air and often gorging themselves on the foggy clouds in their canopy.

Anyway I got a break from rain long enough to stop for a walk in Wheeler on the Nehalem Bay. There were several good birds and here are a couple of shots to prove it.

Heron chasing and Egret from its hunting grounds

I also stopped in Warrenton essentially to go to Ft. Stevens State Park. The first directional sign said that it was 10 miles away. It was not. Later a sign said the next left would lead to the park. It did not. The next 7 potential lefts were dead end residential streets. The 8^th included a sign indicating to NOW make my left turn. I did. I drove several miles along this road with no sign of the park. Now I had now driven about 15 miles since the first 10 mile suggestion. It also started raining so I turned around to head to Astoria.

I reached my motel after making a wrong turn on 101 and heading across the bridge back to Washington. I was not thrilled by adding 10 more miles on my trip but I also love going over the bridge which I have featured in these pages several times. It is the Astoria-Megler Bridge which is a cantilever span about 5 miles across the Columbia River. I stayed at the Astoria Riverwalk motel again which I described several blogs ago.

It was dry when I got out of my car to take some bird photos. About 10 minutes into the walk it began raining so I retreated to the car for an umbrella. It continued to rain off and on as I walked downtown. It was coming down pretty hard when I stopped in at the Astoria Brewery Pub where I sat at the bar waiting for service that never got there. Perky young people came in and were served post haste. After about 10 minutes I put my coat on and left. The perky young bartender was probably glad and would then be able to attend to fellow perky young people.

Later I walked to a bar close to my motel room and talked with Randy for a while. He had been to Baltimore several times while in the army. Later on I had a beer at the Workers Tavern where on Sunday nights they have Meat Bingo.

Just before securing my room I stopped at a river side sea food shack and had some very superior clam chowder. I determined to go back for a regular meal and perhaps some chowder to take home with me.

Since the next day promised significant rain I decided to go to historical sights. So on Wednesday I took about a mile walk along the river at ebb tide and found around 25 little Sanderlings prancing along the beach as the soft waves lapped benignly on the sand.

Sanderling

I went to Ft. Clatsop that harbored the Corp of Discovery for the winter of 1805-18o6. It was the last place they stopped prior to heading home from their famous expedition. A well informed ranger with lots of personality gave us an overview of the fort and how the current one replicated the original (or didn’t). It was located in the midst of a rainforest. While the sun shown above the canopy of 100 year old Douglas Firs, it seemed to be raining in languorous ways as breezes shook water from overhead. Then I walked down to where they kept their canoes and I took some photos.

Ft. Clatsop

From there I went to the visitor center where a small museum existed with curated materials from the Clatsop tribe and a few remnants of articles that were either from the exploration or were contemporary artifacts used for the intention of display more than concrete fact.

It was noon when I had completed that mission and was now on my way to the Columbia River Marine Museum. While the clouds became grayer and denser it was not raining and the sun obliquely shone enough to keep it warm. No raincoat was necessary for warmth or to keep dry.

The Columbia River is a long and massive river flowing from British Columbia southward until it meets what is now the border between Oregon and Washington where it bends at nearly 90 degrees to head west and out to the ocean near Astoria where the museum is located. It has been an important travel/trade route for about 230 years. Ship building along the Columbia made communities along the river’s path, very important during each of the World Wars.

The museum reflects those histories as well as those of the native tribes that have built their cultures along the river for centuries. It was a very well appointed museum with excellent displays and informed staff. Both of my historical ventures of September 18^th were well worth the effort.

I went back to the Northwest Wild Produce for my dinner. That was the shack I mentioned above. This time I got a crab melt using local Dungeness Crabs. The woman serving me went back to the kitchen after getting my order. She began crunching a crab to excise the meat, then cooked it in preparation for my meal of French bread along with a couple of pickled asparagus spears and chips. Nothing was prepared in advance and sitting in a stainless steel bin until requested.

It stayed pretty sunny all afternoon. I had pretty much accomplished all I wanted to do on this visit. Nothing is perfect but I did pretty darned well. My feet were killing me yet I still, at 5:00 pm, decided to walk a half a mile to a pub and enjoy an IPA which I did not need but certainly wanted. I became prey to my lesser mind and did just that. Well, nothing bad happened and by 6:15 I was back in my dormitory for the night.

The ride back to Vancouver includes about 60 miles of state road 4 and goes along the northern side of the Columbia. That drive is a good way to end a summer of trips and that is just what I did.

Summer Festivals and Farmers Markets

Farmer’s Markets and Community Festivals

This summer marks the 30^th year since I first worked a Farmer’s Market. It was the Waverly Market in north Baltimore. I also occasionally worked the Garrison Heights Market and the Downtown Baltimore Market. All together I put in about 10 years of part-time weekend work all for Reid’s Orchards out of Gettysburg, PA.

I enjoyed Farmer’s Markets before I ever worked one and would stop to visit everyone I saw. I took mental notes about each of them. For many years this phenomena was limited but sometime around 15 years ago when food became trendy and inspirational even, there was a boom in these (mostly) outdoor events. They also began to deteriorate in quality and comfort. Trendy New Age products began taking up more space and noise at their booths.

There are still many very good markets and far more tepid affairs and even a few that are remarkable in their paucity of goods and the physical conditions in which they prevail. In 2019 I thought to make it a study of every market I could reasonably get to in order to rate them.

I also determined to go to as many community fairs that I could largely for the same rating purposes. So the following paragraphs are about the markets and fairs I have visited since the spring. I’ll still go to autumn and winter events as I come across them. I will do my best to cite my own prejudices in the ratings.

The first farmer’s market of the year was in the late winter while in San Francisco. I reported it in a previous blog so won’t detail it again here. The earliest local one opened in late March in Vancouver. This one continues until late October and is located downtown in Esther Short Park and is a Saturday and Sunday event.

Vancouver Market

I really enjoy the location as it is at the fringe of a park and there is plenty of shade. The aisles are wide and nearly accommodate the dogs which are welcome. They are welcome by people who are not me. People bring their exotic and large show dogs and their little screaming tea cup dogs. They have no business at crowded markets but owners need to preen with the presentation and pretentiousness of their pets.

There is also live music played that ranges from teen-aged violinists busking with open cases for donations, to orchestras playing big band music.

I also have noticed for years that there is a different sense of decorum at markets. People have less consciousness of their own actions as they relate to others also present. So conversations start with parties stopping in the middle of walkways despite the road block created. Typically people do not step out of the paths of other shoppers. Phrases like “excuse me” are rare even when the act is overtly rude. Notwithstanding, these sorts of behaviors are acceptable at markets.

The Vancouver Market has lots of great qualities. It is about the right size for a community like this one. The prices are competitive and with the produce ample enough. There are several local ranchers with frozen example of their wares just as there are fish vendors. The costs are significantly higher than one would pay in a grocery store. The sales wedge is that they are local and grain fed (meats) and occasionally organic. The seafood is overwhelmingly one form of salmon or another and also quite expensive.

There are also specialty meat and fish products such as custom sausages and dried fishes which are also expensive but much harder to come by. Unfortunately there is an overabundance of junk stuff. New age panaceas, beard trimming, pet treats, weird art and personal hobby horses.

There is a lot of hot food available and I am underwhelmed by the quality though I do enjoy the tamales at one stand. There is a lot of teriyaki (if you care for cloying and sticky chicken), barbeque (too pricey for a paper plate) absolutely wretched deep fried food. I gave my fish and chips to a homeless person after a few bites of overcooked white something fish. There is candy corn and undoubtedly corn dogs since they are ubiquitous everywhere in America. They are teemingly available and incomprehensible as a food product.

Lastly there are exotic canned or otherwise processed goods like black garlic and pizza pie dough for those who want to pay money for such. At the Vancouver Market the good outweighs the bad significantly and I am a regular habitué.

Vancouver and Clark County host a number other markets. The Eastside Market on Thursdays is located in the parking lot in a high tech/medical area. It is a sparse market with a couple of hot food vendors and a coffee/sandwich truck. I did buy some honey from an apiarist. It is pretty tiny market. I saw many leaving with bags of food for their lunch which I suspect is the prime buying source. It only exists as a market because markets are hip these days.

Eastern Vancouver Market

Less regular an event is the 4^th Plain Market which I think is once a month. Unfortunately there is nothing aesthetically appealing about a market located in a barren and gravel parking lot. That way all produce is dusty when displayed. I went on a cool and overcast afternoon so the weather was not as oppressive as most summer afternoons would be on a dusty parking lot. Fortunately the produce had not yet wilted in the sun and there was not much there to wilt in the first place.

The vendor’s booths were placed fairly widely so as to take all of the allotted space. This provided an aura of bleakness. This particular market has no business being in business and for the life of me I do not know who might find that a half an hour in this barren and desolate environment was pleasing.

4^th Plain Market

Portland has a very large Market on the grounds of the University of Portland and it is year round thus reminding me of Baltimore’s Waverly Market. I don’t know how old it is but I suspect it is one of those original city markets that started up 40-50 years ago. Since it is so large it does provide many booths of Oregon and southern Washington produce. Some of it exotic tomatoes or peppers and others more standard. Vendors hype the “organic” when they can and of course all remind the shopper that they are local growers. This should go without saying for all Farmer’s Markets.

There are also lots of meats-all frozen and costly. There are also processed meats and fishes like dried salmon or beef jerky. Hard sausages are very popular out here and that may be a national trend.

Since it is large there is plenty of room for all of the new age things like aromatics, teas or soap products and local wines are tasted throughout the market. For a hot prepared food I had pierogis which were excellent and I have had slice of pizza cooked on the spot in a brick oven during a separate visit.

I don’t go to Portland’s market very often-two or three times per year but I always enjoy it. I only this year became aware that it is a year round event and so can remember that on any dry warmish Saturday during the winter that there is a market to visit. I won’t get fresh local produce during the off season though.

Portland Market

While visiting Detroit this past June I ventured into the Redford Market. I found it as a wretched affair that is at least a few years old. It is indoors in an auditorium like room with waxed vinyl floors and some sort of a dais. It is a municipal building for the town of Redford. There is a smattering of specialty booths vending wares that I have no interest in. It is sparse and lit by incandescent tube lighting giving everything a bluish tint.

Amongst edible items was a handful of tomatoes and limp greens. There were probably jams and I say that because all Farmers Markets have jams. I make an a priori decision to say that there must have been one there as well. I bought a .6 ounce container of Aleppo Pepper that was probably by William since the label identifies it as being from William’s Garden. The contents solidified nearly immediately so that when I go to use it I have to take a sharp object and pry off a small portion and then separate it between my thumb and fore finger. That was the best product that they sold.

Photo of Redford

Camas is a small old town about 10 miles east of where I live. It is a pleasant little town which reminds me of similar ones in New England. They have a weekly market during the summer which is small and well attended but not for serious produce shopping. That which they sell is probably good but from my perspective, not worth the drive. It is clear to me that it is a meeting point for local people. It was not an unpleasant experience but one that is hardly worth mentioning.

Salmon Creek and Denver/Kenton

The Salmon Creek Market entertains the employees at a largish medical complex a few miles north of Vancouver. It is a small number of tables located on a small plaza in front of one of the buildings. It is open one weekday for the summer months. I could not find free parking suggesting that it really is designed for medical staff on lunch break. I see from experience during the last few years that this sort of Market is common around medical centers. They mostly cater to lunch fair and generally have limited and not very appealing produce. People so not shop for grocery type food while on lunch break or from unshaded booths where the produce becomes unappetizing. However I did not get out of my car and walk through this one as I could find no free parking.

The last “new” Farmers Market that I visited was in the Denver/Kenton of north Portland. I don’t know how long it has been serving this community but it was a pleasant enough venue. It is located on a shaded street but is quite small. There were maybe 10 booths and at least one of them was an insurance company. The bane of every community event is the plethora of businesses that land booths and obstruct market customers. I’m not happy with non-profits or government agencies having spots but am particularly vexed by private industry sticking their noses into the fray. I don’t come to a produce market to have home siding, insurance agents or credit union representatives hawking their wares to me. At any rate the produce that I saw there looked good and varied so that one could elect to buy one of several peppers for instance.

Well the main Vancouver Market remains open for another month, the main Portland one is year round so I’ll still go to Farmer’s Markets but my quest of making analytical tours of them is complete.

Festivals

It seems that there are more festivals in Clark County alone than there were viewed in all of the episodes of Gilmore Girls or Midsommer Murders. I went to quite a few this summer and appreciated none save for the very last one I attended in mid-September.

For about 4 or 5 Wednesdays every summer there is a live music concert at noon in Esther Short Park which is quite a pleasant park with a large pavilion and very poor acoustics. It is not simply difficult to hear from any distance but it is in the flyway of Portland’s airport-PDX. There is the local small aircraft and historical airport-Pearson Field only about a mile away. Lastly there is an Air Force base in northern Oregon, perhaps it is associated with PDX. At any rate there are a lot of low flying aircraft from Cessnas to passenger airliners and military fighter jets soaring overhead continually. It makes for listening to live music pretty cumbersome.

Based on my two visits this season, the extra noise drowned out music that was not worth staying to listen to anyway. The first week was a group of middle aged to older women singing traditional gospel music in traditional ways. Americans who may have never gone to a church still are familiar with the songs like “Turn your radio on” and they are familiar with the necessity of the nasal twang and the banjo accompaniment.

The second one I attended featured a young man and woman singing folk songs that they may have written themselves for at least they were not old standards. However thematically they were old standards. They were all about love, being footloose and fond memories. It was simply a trite performance.

There is also a small Farmer’s Market attached to the event and the wares of the worst sort. Hot food from vendors was not too bad though.

On the good side however the park is a nice place to bring a lunch from one of the local food trucks or restaurants or eateries and sit on a bench and dine. Young parents bring their children who are urged to dance for their elders and are compliant with those demands. Everybody has a good time. This includes me. Despite the roaring engines, vibrating speakers and dull music, on both occasions it was a beautiful day. Sitting in a park for lunch just is not a bad thing to do.

Wednesday concert photos

In July the town of Washougal held an annual Tamale Festival one hot and sunny Saturday in July. The local media said apologetically, that last year, they did not plan well enough and tamales ran dry early. The festival organizers were determined not to let that happen in 2019.

The plaza in the small downtown area (about 15 miles east of Vancouver) was big enough for the crowd and maybe the tamales were great but I only saw two vendors. They were serving very long lines and each had a menu that was essentially identical to the other. People waiting for their food did it on asphalt and with no sun protection. Seating provided very little respite as most spots were totally exposed. A band played music. Fortunately there was no entry fee. I only stayed for 5 or so minutes before retreating to a small neighborhood bar for a beer.

Tamale Festival

All of Clark County and perhaps all of America, people are obsessed with old cars. Vancouver has what they call the “Annual Cruise the Couve” which includes many old cars. Some drive along Main Street in a parade and others flank each side of the street like parked sentries. I used to enjoy these events when I stumbled upon them. I still enjoy and admire the occasional antique car but have grown quite weary of the event. However this trip down memory lane is free and along the route I use to go to the Farmer’s Market so it is not a burden in any way and maybe I’ll see some curiosity that I was unprepared for.

Antique Car

My apartment at Mission Hills has an annual event for the residents. The first year that I went in 2017 it was very small. I don’t remember how the music was provided and the grilled hamburgers and hot dogs were sustainable fare and free so they were not eschewed. The next year was quite a bit bigger and in 2019 it was fairly huge. It included those giant air filled places for kids to play recklessly. Later in the show they held contests for adults which were essentially races through the various obstacles on one of these air filled creations.

The music was mostly salsa and two different men gave salsa dancing lessons on the main plaza. I brought a chair and sat with some apartment dwelling friends under the shade of tall trees. We all enjoyed the afternoon and like the best festivals, it was free.

Mission photo

One day on my way to someplace else early one Sunday, I saw canopies and booths being erected along Park Street in downtown Portland. I walked over to the event when it was in full bloom when my first event was over. I found it was the Rose Neighborhood Art Fair. It was pretty packed with both vendors and customers (or simply tourists). It was extremely eclectic having some (in my own plebian understanding) some pretty good art mostly of nature scenes and deteriorated along the lines of abstract art, anime type stylings and “found” art.

Judging from the crowd size and vendor interaction, it appeared to be a popular annual event. I did not take a camera with me since I was not anticipating stumbling unto it and even forgot my cell phone at home so my only records are from my memory.

At the end of August is the annual Hawthorne Street Fair. This year it was on a hot Sunday. It reminded me of the Ann Arbor Art Fair that I attended religiously for many years. Likewise the Baltimore’s Artscape. I used to really enjoy squirming through crowds of equally overheated and usually young people meandering between music venues and eating all sorts of things that I can no longer imagine eating.

I’ve grown too old for enjoying this young person’s sport but appreciate why others do. This year I was helping to man a booth for the “Freedom from Religion” group handing out literature about preserving the boundaries between religion and the public sphere.   

I also came across the Northwest Taco Festival near the downtown Vancouver library. It was not open when I tripped upon it but I had no interest in waiting for the bell for entry. I suppose it could be said that I like tacos and tamales as much as the next guy but I actually have no idea how much the next likes those foods.

Taco Festival

On September 14 while on my way to the Farmer’s Market I stumbled on the Peace and Freedom Festival which apparently is an annual event. It was the first time I had seen it and it likely was the most valuable of the many festivals I found myself in during the summer. It did have the bank and insurance company booths but it had much more. I met at length with a few groups who had booths including the ACLU, the Veterans for Peace and the Human Services Council. The latter for its avenues towards volunteerism. The two former ones for their public action.

The festival had an overwhelming number of liberal churches and auxiliary groups but theology is largely responsible for the necessity of festivals like this one and is unlikely to provide resolutions to the problems it has fostered. There were also as one my expect plenty of new age and alternative lifestyles booths but those are not to be taken seriously by anyone examining issues like hate crimes or loss of human dignity.

Festivals are events of joy. They celebrate historic events, current life, harvests and perhaps local specialties. Historically they have been created for unique populations like ethnicity or by regions. They gather people together for conviviality and support. So even poor festivals or markets have their raison de etre.