To Clackamas and Back

For reasons I won't dwell on, my car was recently in need of some plastic surgery. It was nothing major, but suffice it to say I was without it for a week. My dad very graciously (and bravely) allowed me the use of his truck to drive to work and dance. I grew up driving a truck, but after driving a sporty little red car these past 12 years,  I felt like someone who had gone to being a row boat captain to piloting a barge. Needless to say, when the car was fixed I was very eager to get it back. The shop that did the work was in Clackamas, Oregon, just under 16 miles away. I had asked a friend to take me, but after seeing the forecast for sunny and 63 I decided since I was going to want to spend the entire day outside anyway, why not walk to Clackamas and pick it up? 

I headed out about 7:15 and was soon at the trail that goes under I-5 and leads to a series of steps that spits (figuratively speaking, of course) pedestrians out at the base of Macadam and SW Taylors Ferry.   What I've never understood is why the trail under the freeway has a bench half-way down the steps. It's not like there's a view to enjoy and it certainly isn't quiet. 

By the way, I'm writing this on an iPad and the formatting is a bit more of a challenge than on a computer, but I digress. The sun was just starting to show behind the various flowers, both on the ground and in the trees. It felt so good to be outside I almost wished the walk were longer, almost.

Oh look, it's letting me type right next to the picture. Progress! Much of the journey was along a busy street so there wasn't a lot to take pictures of, unless you count the group of people helping a motorcycle guy get his bike back in an upright position. There didn't appear to have been an accident, just a prone bike in the middle of the turn lane. The route I chose did not include taking I-205, so I exited on the street right before. It was much quieter and had more to look at than the license plates of the cars going past. It was also apparent that the two-legged  residents of the town (don't ask, I don't know what the text is doing over here) weren't the only ones enjoying the sunshine. I had about two seconds to snap the shot below. He certainly wasn't the only dog I saw with his nose hanging out of the window during the course of the day. I made it to the repair shop in a little over four hours and was very glad to see my car looking much improved over the week before. As much as I enjoyed the walk, I hope the next time my car has to go anywhere it doesn't necessitate more than an oil change.

Tales of a Tightwad Walker

I'm tight with money, I admit it. The word frugal sounds better, but it all boils down to the same thing: if I can save a few pennies by exerting a little effort, I'm more than happy to do so. Examples of this are walking around the apartment in seven layers of clothes during the winter to avoid turning on the heat, making three meals out of my favorite Chinese  takeout, and walking instead of driving as much as I can. The last one is especially helpful in finding new pictures to take since taking pictures while driving full speed is usually frowned upon. Besides, the pictures are usually rather blurry and about two seconds too late. But I digress.

One other area where this frugality comes through, especially in the summer, has to do with berries. When I moved here it was in October and I wondered what these long, treacherous looking thorny vines were that seemed to grow all over the city. Well, come summer I discovered that what looked like some random relative of the wild rose family was actually a blackberry bush. There's just something about blackberries when they're picked off the vine on a warm summer day (assuming they're ripe of course, nothing will pucker your face up like a tart blackberry). They just smell like summer. During the evenings in July and September, I often spend a bit of time picking blackberries in the nearest neighborhood bramble. They're wonderful in oatmeal, cobbler, fruit salads, well you get the idea.

Flowers abound at the market

A few weeks ago as I was walking home from the local farmers market, I noticed what appeared to be strawberry plants growing along one particular stretch of road. I found that rather odd and didn't bother them in case they were someone's garden. On later reflection, it seemed unlikely that anyone would plant strawberries across the street from their house and I decided the city must have planted them. This was backed up by my discovery last week of blueberry bushes growing along the route I take during my lunch hour walk.

Being the health conscious person I am (ahem, well sometimes am), I decided to go strawberry picking one evening last week. Camera in hand, of course, I started off on the three-mile trek. Along the way, I came across some beautiful flowers growing in the yard of an elderly English couple that I have had the pleasure of visiting with in the past. Further down the street there was a fascinating specimen of a banana slug, but I'll spare you the gory details. Nothing makes me shudder quite like a slimy slug oozing its way through life.

Finally, I made it to the street with the berries. There weren't a lot of ripe ones yet, but there were enough to sprinkle on at least two bowls of oatmeal. After picking the berries, I headed back home along one of the busier streets in town that also runs alongside one part of the local country club golf course. I don't play golf, frankly I find it boring, but I will say that this part of the course is rather lovely with the pond, willow tree, bridge, and fake swan.

Yes, a fake swan, rather like some juvenile giant's rubber ducky. Regardless of the fake bird, I did want a shot of the pond and the tree and bridge reflected in it. There's a guardrail along the road (to keep the blackberry bushes from encroaching) and after stepping over it I started to make my way down the small slope to the path around the course. Trouble was, my feet slid out from under me and I slipped and landed on, sadly, my strawberry bag. I have to admit to holding in a chuckle because it is pretty funny when you think about strawberries being smashed en route to take a picture of a fake bird in a fake pond (for all I know, the tree and bridge aren't real either). Upon further examination I could tell at least three or four berries were still intact so it wasn't a total loss. At least I got some decent pictures out of it. I'm tempted to enter them in the local photo contest under the title "Fake Swan Lake" but I'm not sure I have enough nerve to do that. The swan was photo shopped out of the picture above and to the right. After all, if the swan is fake, then there's no harm in doing a little fakery with the picture either.