Last week I decided that it was time to take a Friday off work. After all, it had been over a whole month since the last time I'd taken a Friday off so I figured it was time. Besides, it had suddenly occurred to me that after next week the malls and stores were going to be clogged with shoppers. As much as I love shopping (and those of you who know me can attest to this), the week before Thanksgiving suddenly seemed like a good time to get the Christmas shopping that couldn't be done online over with. The fact that the sun would be shining never entered into the equation and turned out to be a bonus. Unfortunately, the wind was also blowing for two of the three days of the long weekend. I have a strong aversion to wind. It must be a leftover hangup from living in the southwest for so long and putting up with what amounted to a sandstorm every afternoon during the month of March. Now whenever I hear the wind howling outside, all I can think of is the blowing dirt and static electricity.

Up here, it's more likely for there to be blowing moss than sand, so I made several forays down the hill to see what there was to see in this unexpected sunlight. One of my favorite areas is not far from home and has old farmhouses alongside newer additions. This area was once an orchard and there is still a large parcel of land in the middle of the neighborhood that, by a covenant or code of some kind, must remain in its natural state. There are pear, plum, and apple trees tucked back here, although the blackberries make them rather difficult to get to. This picture is taken near that now wild orchard. Something else that is rare to see during this time of year is a good sunrise or sunset. The sky and cloud conditions have been nearly perfect these last few days and because my apartment has a southwestern exposure, I don't have to go far to see a great sunset. The biggest trick is not getting hit in the head by a hanging flowerpot.

Saturday was much like Friday as far as the weather was concerned. After a nice run, I decided to go for another walk while the sun was still high overhead. Because of all the tall evergreens, it doesn't take long for streets to be completely in the shade. The only problem was that my fingers (which have circulatory issues in the colder weather) had turned white and numb and taking pictures was a bit frustrating. It felt like I was really pressing the button hard on the camera and nothing would happen. It's amazing the difference a little constriction makes in finger strength. However, after a lot of blowing on my fingers and rubbing my hands together, I did get enough feeling in my hands to get a few pictures. There's a lovely path along the Willamette River but right now the water is low enough to walk right along the edge of it. That won't be the case by next month. Sunday was the perfect day. It was chilly in the shade, but in the full strength of the sun it was quite luxurious and there was only the vaguest hint of a breeze. I decided to do a longer version of  Saturday's walk and went back to the same southwest Portland neighborhood. This time though, I walked across the Sellwood bridge and into Oaks Bottom Wildlife Refuge. In the spring there's a purple haze of flowers along the floor of the park but this time of year it's just golds, reds, and browns. It's

easy to forget that downtown Portland is just a few miles away while walking through this area. If I didn't raise my eyes too high, I could almost pretend there were no high rises peeking over the reeds and bushes. On my way back, winding through the Sellwood neighborhood, I was struck by the number of flowers that were still in bloom. This was the perfect time of day and the sunlight shining through the red was eye-catching. I wish this weather could hang around for a bit longer, say until about June. But I suppose that's asking a bit much.

 This was taken on the way down to Macadam along a series of staircases that goes from the top of one Portland neighborhood to the foot of the hill. These blooms are going to get a rude awakening in a few weeks.

The Road Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, oh wait, someone else already thought of that opening line. I had to memorize Frost's poem in sixth or seventh grade (I had the same English teacher both years so it's hard to remember exactly when) and every Fall those opening lines come to mind. It is very easy to find roads winding off and disappearing into a haze of yellow this time of year. But in a few weeks even that haze will be gone, and only the evergreens will be providing color along the roadside. Instead of the road dividing, as in Frost's poem, here there's always another bend to take, the yellow dividing line becoming camouflaged with the leaves. The trick is get the picture before the car(s) come roaring around the bend. Most of them are not thinking about Robert Frost or the leaves swishing under the tires but instead are focused on where they're going and how fast they can get there. I'm sure there were several drivers who thought I was taking their picture as they came around the curve, like some incognito law enforcement officer with a high tech radar gun disguised to look like a harmless Nikon camera. I stood in the cold for quite some time waiting for the single car that kept going by (I swear it was the same one each time) to get out of the frame, all the while expecting to hear police sirens no doubt responding to a report that a suspicious character was standing around staring into the distance. Then again, the red trees along the road made a sight worth staring at. But not all cars are photographic interlopers. I was so glad my camera was out when this truck came by. Instead of muttering under my breath as in the prior instances, this was one vehicle I was glad to see.

Bring on the Rain

It could be argued that there are only two seasons in Oregon: the rainy season and summer. That's a bit of an overstatement, but as we enter into the rainy season it struck me that a bit more creativity will be needed in finding things to take pictures of. After all, while it may not be possible to ever get enough photos of Mt. Hood in all its summer splendor, the same can not be said for a wet sidewalk. I wonder if it wasn't something like a watery reflection that gave CS Lewis some inspiration for The Magician's Nephew (if I've got my Narnia trivia right, that is). There are all kinds of alternative realities out there, most of them just happen to last only as long as the puddle they're contained in. Sidewalks aren't the only place to find other universes staring back at you. A lot of the office buildings near where I work are rather space agey in their interior design (I swear the designer of a certain block of office buildings spent way too much time watching Star Trek Deep Space Nine), but the outside does a great job of reflecting the trees that dot the parking lot. Just think of the white stripe as the Star Trek touch. Sometimes it just depends on where you stand. At a workshop I went to a few weeks ago, the instructor talked about seeing the world as an ant, a dog, or a bird. She wasn't advocating running around in costumes as if caught in a Halloween time warp, but just to think about how those three creatures see the world. The shot above isn't exactly from an ant's point of view, more like a Chihuahua. Below is a Golden Retriever's view on the world.

The sky this time of year can do some great things for pictures. Sometimes the clouds roll across the sky and

the sun makes a surprise entrance only to retreat into the background, rather like someone who bursts into a room in the middle of a deep conversation and blushingly makes their way to the nearest exit. A few days ago, a fog crept into the morning sunrise. It took only about seven minutes for it to totally cover the trees beneath me as I waited for the sun to come up over Mt. Hood. There's something so beautiful yet mysterious about fog. Maybe it's all those Sherlock Holmes stories I read as a kid (Hound of the Baskerville's anyone?). This weekend I spent a wonderful morning outside in the rain. There's nothing to describe running when it's about 55 degrees out and the rain is gently falling. There are a number of wooded trails on this route and I love to stop in the middle of the forest while a mist moves along the path and the sound of the water overhead drips off the leaves. I'm sure this statement will come back to haunt me around January, but on days like that I really don't mind that it will be raining for another five or six months.

Rain and/or Shine

 Fall and spring are the times of year when you never know what to wear. Just because the ark floated by your window does not mean that in 10 minutes the sun will not be shining. Add the appropriate temperature adjustments for both rain and shine and it's easy to see how you could walk out of the house with a wardrobe trunk that would make any Vaudeville performer proud. Yesterday's sunrise was as unpredictable as the weather. I left the house and drove to a nearby area where a house is being built. The backyard looks onto both the lake of Lake Oswego with Mt. Hood vying for attention in the background. Even more importantly, no trees obstruct the view, and a tree free view is difficult to come by. The only problem was that, unbeknownst to me, the workmen also had Saturday hours. Silly me to think I'd have that view all to myself at 7:00 on a Saturday morning. The view was actually rather disappointing because of all the clouds, and after sinking in the mud for a few minutes, I drove home. However, as I pulled into the apartment complex, there was a glorious light coming from the east. So, back to the old standby viewing area, complete with obstructing trees, to get a few shots before it was too late. It started raining on the way home, which set the tone for the rest of the day. The target walking area for Saturday was the St. John's Bridge in northwest Portland, and then on to Sauvie Island. The St. John's Bridge is a suspension bridge built in the late 1920's. It's Gothic spires easily make it one of Portland's most recognizable landmarks. Up to now I've only admired it from a distance but had yet to photograph it. Portland's skyline is easily visible

from St. John's with the Steel Bridge in the foreground. The clouds really put on a good show yesterday, in between rainstorms that is. The goal was to walk from Cathedral Park, across the bridge, and to Sauvie Island. It didn't look that far on Google, no more than a few miles or so. As I walked along Highway 30 (in the bike lane, not to worry), I got out my GPS to see how much farther there was to go. Imagine my surprise when it said nine miles. Hmm, a twenty-mile round trip wasn't quite what I had in mind. I turned around and headed back to the car with the newly formulated Plan B on the agenda: drive to the park and ride at Sauvie Island and walk the two miles to the Pumpkin Patch. That turned out to be a good plan because coming over the hills to the west were dark clouds and with them some pretty serious rain drops. I was very happy not to be walking along the road with all those cars splashing me. It had mostly quit by the time I got to the island (and I must have had a bad address because it would have only been about 14 miles, which wouldn't have been too bad). Sauvie Island is an agricultural area connected to the mainland by a bridge with a colorful orange arch. It's known for its wildlife refuge as well as pumpkin picking places (say that three times fast), and I'm sure most of the residents dread the month of October as all the city folk come zipping along the narrow two-lane road to tromp around in the mud, buy produce, and get lost in the corn maze. It's a lovely area though and one I should visit in the summer when Mt. Hood is out. I was last at Sauvie Island two years ago on a beautiful, warm October day and the traffic was literally at a standstill. I

made much better time walking (one particularly burly man in a big pickup asked me if this was the way to the Pumpkin Patch, I hope he didn't think it was a bar). But this year because of the iffy weather, traffic zoomed by, totally oblivious to all the beautiful things to look at. The Pumpkin Patch itself, is a rather commercialized outfit with the corn maze, a big barn to buy produce in, complete with shopping carts, an area for kids to pet farm animals, and of course, pumpkins.

The actual walk to get there is more the purpose for the trip than the Pumpkin Patch itself. After looking around and tromping through the muddy parking lot to find the exit, it was time to head back home. The rain had ended by this time and it was a beautiful walk back with the sun shining full on the trees with the dark gray clouds behind them. I hope the people who drove by yesterday took a moment to enjoy the journey as well as the destination.

Enter the Gray

The inevitable finally happened, the blue skies disappeared behind a wall of gray clouds and the sun became a distant memory. Okay, that's a very melodramatic way of saying it's going to be raining for a while and there's not much that can be done about it. I went to a photography workshop yesterday afternoon, and one of the things the instructor said to do was embrace the overcast sky and the lighting it affords. That sounds potentially soggy to me, given those gray skies' penchant for moisture, but she does have a point. If you can't make the sun shine, you might as well get used to it. Given the looming clouds, this morning's sunrise wasn't really on my radar. However, when I looked out the window it was obvious there was more going on than expected. The autumn trees peeping up from below added some welcome spots of color, and I was glad I had dashed out of the house in my rather unkempt state to capture the show. What a great way to start a morning. After church and lunch, it was time for that favorite activity of grocery shopping. I am hard pressed to think of a chore I dislike more than spending money on stuff that I then have to figure out what to do with, cook, freeze, etc. To make it a little more entertaining, I decided to go for a walk in the local area and see if there was anything interesting in the neighborhood. 

Fall and spring are great times to find colorful patches in yards, even if the skies are gray.

This particular "patch" was kind of hard to miss. From the sign on the driver's side door, it was somebody's swap meet treasure. I'm just curious if the wife was as excited as the husband over this rare find.  A little farther down the road there was what appeared to be an abandoned orchard, with neglected apples drooping over the post and wire fence. Next to that was a peaceful trickle of water (for now, soon it's likely to be a raging torrent), and alongside that was a stately willow tree. I went back the same way I  had gone because quite often you miss something the first time around, as was the case today. I saw bright orange blobs out of the corner of my eye and realized a pumpkin patch, in various stages of being harvested, was growing behind someone's house. You never know what you're liable to find growing, grazing, or clucking in various parts of Portland.

This next story has nothing to do with any of the pictures, and in fact there are no pictures to go with it but I'll see what I can do with words. Yesterday was the last weekend for the local farmers' market, which is always a sad occasion because it seems to add a note of finality to summer's end. I was walking up the street carrying a load of corn and green beans and realized I would go right past the strawberry bushes that are planted alongside the road. Surprisingly, there were still a number of green berries and new blooms to be seen. Farther down the road was an elderly man with a gapped-tooth grin and absent-minded professor hair. I've only seen snippets of Back to the Future, but just envision Christopher Lloyd at this point. He called me up to where he was sitting amongst the strawberry plants trimming the extra long runners. Seemingly oblivious to the soggy ground he sat on, he introduced himself as Roger and held out a gloved and rather grimy finger for me to shake, reminiscent of a pinky swear. He then gave me several of the plant cuttings as well as instructions on how to plant them. I thanked him and said goodbye. As I walked on, Roger's voice followed me as he continued singing a little tune, with strawberries apparently being the main subject. Considering the condition of those plants, they obviously enjoy Roger's singing.

You Have to Start Somewhere

In the past year or so, I've decided I finally know what I want to be when I grow up, a real (as in paid) photographer. I realize I'm a little late in figuring this out, but better now than in 10 years. With that said, I am currently still in the I-support-my-hobby stage as opposed to the other way around. But maybe things are changing. Last Friday, I was able to leave work (as in, a paying job) a little early and head up to Vancouver, Washington for a Scottish Country Dance class. I always get there a little early and usually stroll around the neighborhoods looking for anything of interest. In this particular neighborhood there is an elderly couple that maintains a large garden across the street from their house. I don't know their names, but there was a sign at one point at the garden's entrance that said "Bev's Flowers." I've only seen the man out taking care of the flowers so I'm not sure who Bev is exactly, but I'll just call him Mr. Bev for this story. What I don't know I can make up, right? At the garden's entrance is a small stand, and during the summer it holds fresh-cut bouquets. There is a small cup nearby for people to pay for their flowers. At different times of the growing season he also sells tomatoes and raspberries. I use the word "sells" loosely because everything is based on the honor system.

I first met Mr. Bev last July and wasn't sure he would remember me. As I walked into the garden, I could see him methodically watering the dahlias. When he saw me, he greeted me like an old friend, and we were soon discussing the flowers, weather, and what the coming winter might be like. He then asked about my pictures. He said he would be interested in seeing some of them. Maybe the flowers are like his children, since parents always like to see pictures of their kids. I told him that if he liked I would have some prints made and bring them up the next time I had a chance. He said he would like that and maybe we could work out a swap, but in the meantime I could take some of the tomatoes. "Now remember" he said, "anyone can take a picture of a flower, but I can get that out of a catalog. I want to see your artsiest pictures." With that thought, I went to work. It wasn't exactly what I had in mind for my first paid photo shoot, but then again I do love fresh summer raspberries.

Life is a Photo Op

Like most people, I go to work every day and have to be inside an office building. During the summer I see all the landscape crews working in various yards and envy them being outside playing in the dirt all day (although they probably don't see it like that). 

To offset having to be cooped up all day, I take a walk on my lunch hour, rain or shine, almost without fail. When it’s raining I’m not quite as thrilled about bundling up in rain gear (especially if I happen to be wearing my glasses that day, rain and glasses do not mix), but on sunny days, it’s all I can do to stay inside until my lunch hour. 

I've learned to always take my camera with me, in fact if I don’t have it in my hand it feels like some part of my body is missing (two hands, check, two feet check, what’s not right?). Depending on how energetic I feel, there are several different routes to take. My office backs up to a residential area so I have my pick of gardens and flowering shrubs during the summer. 

During the autumn months, the sidewalks and parking lots explode in every shade of fallish color imaginable. Although I rarely take pictures of parking lots (I know, I know, they’re so photogenic), every year it seems I end up with a new picture of this parking lot because the colors demand attention. The only bad thing about fall is that winter is right around the corner. 

But even the gloomy winter months can yield an occasional surprise. This year we had some really late snows (please don’t say global warming causes things to get colder; that makes my head explode) and I spent several mornings running around before work to take pictures of daffodils in the snow because I knew by the afternoon the snow would be gone.

 Spring is hit and miss when it comes to getting good pictures because the weather is so unreliable. While raindrops look beautiful on irises, they don't do much for camera lenses. Fortunately, there are usually enough dry days interspersed with the rainy ones that I have a chance to get pictures of the tulips, daffodils, and irises before they are past their prime. 

A woman once asked me why I had my camera with me every day and when I said it was to take pictures, she looked as if I'd lost my mind and said she’d never heard of such a thing. My immediate thought was "maybe you should get out more, there's more to life than these beautiful brick buildings we work in.”

What a Difference a Season Makes Part I.

One of the things I love about the northwest is there are four seasons. Now, some would say there are two or three depending on how you look at things: either rain and more rain or less rain, rain, and more rain. But I digress. When I moved here I was surprised to find that the fall is spectacular and I would daresay rivals the northeast in its range of color.

Last year I discovered the joys of hiking in the Columbia River Gorge. I was able to capture a number of beautiful shots in the summer and wanted to do the same in the fall. After several weeks of watching the weather, I decided my target would be Dog Mountain. It's located in Washington about 12 miles east of the town of Stevenson. When I left that Saturday morning there was a promise of sunshine and no ready appearance of rain. The gorge is a beautiful place to drive through at any time of year. Even though there wasn't the variety of color I was hoping for, it was still lovely with the mix of golds amidst the evergreens. As I pulled into the parking lot I could see that the promise of sun was nothing more than that and it was going to be another cloudy day in the gorge. But as I started hiking and the highway noises fell away it didn't matter that the sky overhead wasn't the clear blue of summer.

After making my way uphill for about an hour the trail broke out and I was again looking over the Columbia. It was about this time that I noticed a suspicious white substance rolling in, and it wasn't long before the fog had covered every bit of the view. However, the fog actually turned out to be a blessing because the trees were shrouded in the mist and what was otherwise a gray morning suddenly had a new atmosphere.


The fog dampened any sounds from the road far below and yet brought with it its own sort of voice, a whistling in the trees as it moved through the branches. There were only a few other hikers out that morning, they probably saw something that looked like a shadow and thought "sun!" much as I had done. It was rather chilly so I didn't linger at the top but snapped a few shots (mostly fog filled) and followed the trail down into the trees. Having never done this hike there was a momentary panic that I was lost because all of a sudden it felt as if I'd stepped into Sleepy Hollow and I was in the role of Ichabod (maybe Ichabodette?) and was almost listening for the sound of hooves coming up behind me. The fog was particularly heavy on this part of the trail and I was soon quite damp and chilled. I started running, not only to warm up but also to get to the end of this section of the trail, but of course the photographer in me won out and I had to pause and capture the trees in their blankets of wispy white.


After maybe a quarter of a mile, the trail broke out again into the open vista of the gorge and wound its way down. Since I was no longer focused on the uphill trudge, it was much easier to appreciate the beauty around me, even if it wasn't exactly what I had hoped for. A quick seven miles later, I was back at my car and eager to go home and see what magic images had been captured by the little black box in my hand. I was also biding my time until spring, which is when Dog Mountain really comes alive. But for that story, you have to go to Part II.