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.

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 Hills are Alive (and all that jazz)

A few weeks ago I decided that taking a Friday off from work to do some hiking was in order. After all, it isn't going to be sunny forever this spring and as much as I love wildflowers, photographing them in the rain is not nearly as much fun as when it's sunny. Dog Mountain was first on the list because of its reputation for transforming into a haze of yellow balsamroot, with some red and purple somethings thrown in for good measure. I left the house a little after 6:00 a.m. and was on the trail by 7:20 (after a making a quick u-turn when I missed the parking lot. Driving into the sun somewhat impedes the vision). There are two options when going up Dog Mountain, steep and steeper. I usually choose steep on the way up and and then come down the other route because it's more scenic and I figure it's easier to enjoy it coming down because you can actually focus on more than just screaming calf muscles. Both routes are beautiful, but it's once you pop out on the trail overlooking the gorge that you realize this is why you came.
 It's hard to describe the feeling of sheer joy, happiness, and contentment that comes from being in the middle of this beautiful creation. The hard work of the climbing is forgotten and all you can focus on is the beauty around you and the faint smell of the flowers and the wind rushing past. From the top there are views of Mt. St. Helens way off in the distance, as well as the gorge and endless yellow stretching beneath your feet. As I said to another spellbound hiker on the way down, every step is a picture and you just can't seem to get enough. Three hours and 20 minutes, and sevenish miles later, I was back in the car and headed for the next destination. The original plan had been to hike up Hamilton Mountain next, but then I remembered how irked I was last year to have to pay $10 for the privilege of sweating for another seven miles. Plus I've done it the past two years, so there was a quick change in the flight plan.

Most Fridays I'm lucky enough to go to a Scottish dance class in Stevenson, Washington, just a hop, skip, and a jump from Dog Mountain, and every week there are trails and markers that I wish we could stop and explore.

So, that's what I decided to do. There's a steel truss bridge over the Columbia River that is part of the Pacific Crest Trail and is open to pedestrians. Never mind that there is no sidewalk over the metal grid that makes up the road part of the bridge, but then again, cars can only go 15 mph on it. I've driven across the bridge numerous times and always wanted to take pictures from the side, which is not recommended while driving, so I parked the car at a handy spot on the road and set off across the bridge. An eagle swooped past at one point, but of course, I was on the wrong side to do anything about it but gape and try not to point in the air as it soared by. From there it was on to the St. Cloud recreation area. It's really just a large picnic area situated in what appears to be an orchard, but it's along the river and is quite pleasant. Then it was on to Cape Horn. This has been on the radar for some time and I was glad to finally get to explore it. The trail head begins on the south side of a park and ride lot so there's no parking passes required before setting off into what turned out to be a blue haze of flowers. My grandmother had a painting of Texas (in the shape of Texas, no less)

of a road making its way through a field of blue bonnets. I always liked the painting, although I thought the blue bonnets were a bit overdone, but I've changed my mind on that. Walking this trail was like being in that painting, and there is no way these pictures do it justice. After a bit of a climb to the first look out, it was a short jaunt to the next one.

I was looking at the map wondering which point I was at and if Fallen Tree lookout was anywhere in the vicinity, when I came around the corner and saw that, yes indeed, this was Fallen Tree lookout. The views of the gorge were spectacular from here and there's a real "out on the edge" feel. Not that I was on the edge or anything, but that's what I've heard. After a few more miles, I turned around and headed back. At one point, I was aware of a shadow overhead and looked up just in time to see another eagle, or possibly the same one that was near the bridge, buzz overhead. There was no way to get a picture since he disappeared into the trees, and I didn't see him again until I was in the car driving. Maybe next time. I drove back to Vancouver and had plenty of time to take another walk. The irises are out in full force now, as well as the poppies. This vacant lot was filled with orange flowers and it struck me that you don't have to travel far to find beauty; you just have to be looking for it.

Desert Blooms and Northwest Raindrops

Recently I took a trip back home to New Mexico. As an explanation, whenever I'm in Oregon, home is New Mexico and vice versa. It's been very dry in New Mexico these past few years, with the average precipitation falling well below the average. Whenever I lived there, the sand dunes would absolutely shimmer with wild purple verbena throughout the month of May and the verse from Isaiah 35 about the desert blossoming like the rose would always come to mind. This year I was afraid there wouldn't be any kind of blossoms, be they roses or dandelions. But, I was pleasantly surprised.


The beauty of the desert is much subtler than in the Northwest where everything is green (even the sidewalks in some places). I had to do a bit of searching and listen to friends ask me where on Earth I was going to find anything pretty to photograph. It's really not that hard, you just have to look for beauty. Maybe it's just part of being an optimist.

Last Thursday afternoon, I went on a walk with a good friend of mine. We decided to go along the edge of the irrigation ditch that runs by her office. I asked her which direction was the most scenic and after she looked at me like I was crazy she said neither direction was particularly scenic so it didn't really matter. In the big scheme of things, she was right. It was so dry and the dirt was like cement under our feet, but every now and then a surprise was hiding behind a rock (and it wasn't the kind with rattles either). The only problem with taking pictures when you're with someone is they don't always know when you disappear behind a shrub or fall to the ground to get the right angle for a flower shot. It's rather amusing to see them abruptly stop talking and look around for you.

Back in Oregon there is no shortage of rain and the flowers are anything but subtle or hidden. On my lunch hour walks they all seem to be saying "pick me, pick me!" One of my favorite challenges is finding blooms with raindrops on them. That may not sound hard, but if they have raindrops on them then that means it's either still raining or threatening to. In either case, carrying a camera around is a bit chancey and often involves me wearing it under my raincoat, which is such an attractive look from the side. I'm not exactly fashion conscious but adding what looks like 20 pounds to my form is something I usually try to avoid. The sacrifices we make for art! This past week the rain was nice enough to wait until after 2:00 to start so there was ample opportunity to capture the last of the magnolia blossoms before they fell to the ground. Friends tell me they are the messiest trees to have because of all the petals that litter the street and, because of their leathery texture, they are rather difficult to sweep up. One of the joys of apartment living is being able to enjoy things like this without the work. But don't tell anyone, it's a secret.

Oregon is prime tulip country and at the local tulips farms it resembles a miniature Holland. I have yet to go to those particular areas, and for now I'm perfectly content with the blooms that dot the local neighborhoods. If you close one eye and squint with the other one, you can almost imagine you are in the middle of a vast field of tulips, and maybe even hear a windmill or two in the distance.

Surprised by Spring

Finally, spring! I know, it's not quite spring yet, but we're closer to it than we are to the first day of winter. Spring surprises come in many shapes. For instance, hearing a mechanical voice outside the bedroom door at 10:30 at night telling you the smoke alarm battery is low is definitely a surprise. I had no idea my heart could beat that hard and still be inaudible. But that's not exactly what I had in mind.

Spring creeps up on you in many ways in the Northwest. Growing up in New Mexico, the month of March would blow in and by the time the dust settled, it was warm and things were blooming. That's not exactly what I would call subtle. But here there are small changes every day, and before you know it the bare tree outside the window is covered in blooms. Or the dark gray sunrises of winter change to a brilliant palette of color smeared across the sky, rather like a three-year old's finger painting without the mess.

Animals are another fun part of spring. During the winter about the only wildlife you see is the neighbor's dog out for a walk. Granted, a squirrel isn't exactly exotic, but coming around the corner and seeing one perched in a tree posing for a picture is unexpected. He performed quite a nice gymnastics routine on the highbars too before going on his merry way. Then there was the rare black hummingbird. Not really, it's more like the silhouette of a hummingbird. My one complaint (okay, I have many, but for now) is the light this time of year. There is just enough to backlight but not really illuminate. At least hummingbirds are quite distinct, which makes this a more satisfying capture than the ubiquitous blackbirds that dot the landscape. And finally, there's the rain. Yes, it rains in Oregon (surprise!), but after the rain is a great time to be outside. I love finding raindrops on roses (sorry, daffodils) and capturing them before they fall to the ground. Yes, spring in the Northwest is both frustrating and satisfying. One minute the sun is out and the next it's pouring rain. But even with its temperamental nature, spring brings a different feel in the air that is instantly recognizable after a long gray winter.

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.

A Little Color on a Gray Day

After two weeks of glorious sunshine it finally happened: the mostly cloudy skies of the northwest made a comeback. I had hoped to go hiking in the Columbia River Gorge this weekend, but when the idea is to take pictures of Mt. Hood, Mt. Adams, etc. there's no point in trying if not even the sun is visible. So, to keep myself from grumbling about the weather too much (and those few sprinkles of rain this morning didn't help),

I went exploring amongst a few of the very colorful neighborhoods on the edge of downtown Portland. When I say colorful I mean just that. Many of these homes were built in the late 1800's and the exteriors range from several shades of blue, to yellows, browns, reds, purples, and everything in between.  A plain ol' gray or white house would stand out like a sore thumb in this area. The goal was to find flowers within a reasonable range of a brightly painted house and get a picture of the flower with the house as the backdrop. I was prepared to employ whatever methods necessary whether they be contortion, standing on my head, or holding my eyebrows just right. I was lucky in that the recent heatwave (90 something is considered a heatwave, especially when it lasts all of, gasp, a week or 10 days) didn't melt the roses, which made up the majority of what was blooming. Although, there were some lovely gladiolas hanging around just begging for their picture to be taken. The biggest problem was avoiding things like gutters (and cars) or finding something to stand on to get just the right angle. There were some lovely blooms I just couldn't use because a picture of roses in front of a window or house numbers just doesn't do anything for me. One house in particular caught my attention. The house itself was almost cobalt blue and the trim was a cross between rust and red. I really had to work at finding an angle where the roses were in front of the house and avoid the other foliage growing around them.

It wasn't until I looked closer that I could see that the buds were wrapped in spider webs. I guess no one thinks about dusting real flowers, only the silk ones. There were also some hydrangeas that wanted to get into the act. I had to do a bit of cropping to get rid of the gutter. I mean a blue gutter is better than a regular one, but it's still a gutter. The rosebud in front of the lattice work is actually quite some distance from the house. I've wanted to take pictures of roses in front of this house before but they've always been all dried up or just consisted of one pitiful petal so I didn't bother. Nothing was blooming next to the house this time either so I experimented with what was growing near the curb. 

Finally, one of my favorite houses has this extremely colorful staircase leading up to the front porch. After visiting this neighborhood several times in the last few years, I've decided if I ever own a house it will need to be at least three colors and be surrounded by flowers. And yes,  I know the pictures are in a wonkier than usual arrangement but to preserve my sanity I let the computer win. No matter what I tried they either wouldn't move or moved where I didn't want them. And now that the sun has finally come out to play, I really want to go outside!

Evening Strolls and Afternoon Rambles

It seems you just never know what is going to be around the corner, even when in a familiar area.  I've been grounded from running for the last few months due to some injuries so the camera has been an even more constant companion.  Now that summer is finally here (well, mostly here), I've been enjoying an evening stroll after work.  Last week while walking in a different neighborhood, I passed a Buick. Wildcat that had seen better days  I'm a sucker for old cars. I can't imagine anything we drive now becoming a classic in 40 years (who would want a 40 year old Prius?), but then maybe that's what people said back in the 1950's and 60's. Despite the rust and peeling paint, this old Wildcat still had that muscle car attitude.

Earlier last week week, I was in a different neighborhood enjoying the evening twilight (it is nice to have long summer evenings, it makes up for the 4:00 p.m. darkness in the winter) and was struck by the way the sun was bouncing off this upturned rose.  It was rather like a spotlight shining on the lead character on stage in an empty theater. Fortunately, the effect lasted long enough for me to fiddle with the manual exposure on my camera. It's almost impossible (well for me anyway) to take a picture right the first time. If something happens quickly I might as well not even try for a shot, or else be satisfied with something so overexposed it's unrecognizable or a totally black screen.  Good thing roses are not prone to sudden movements.

Near downtown Portland there are rows of older homes that ooze character and charm.  It's difficult to take a picture that encompasses the entire house because they tend to be very near the sidewalk and then there is the matter of the trees looming over everything. If you want a picture of tree limbs and maybe a bit of roof line, you've come to the right place. I've learned to just take pictures of one or two aspects of the house, something that sets it apart from the others. This is a good example, I mean how many houses have yellow and purple stair railings?

Probably one of the more unusual things I've come across was the railroad castle. It's not every day you walk along the road in Vancouver, Washington and come across a castle sitting near the railroad tracks, or near anything else for that matter. And there wasn't just a castle (but wait, there's more!). There was a small pond nearby and what appeared to be a mill house perching on the edge of the water. This of course was a photo op not easily passed up. The sun was not in an optimal place for taking pictures, although here in Portland anytime the sun is out we consider that optimal, but with a little bobbing and weaving I managed to get some shots that weren't totally bleached out.

The main purpose I had in walking along this particular road was to get a picture of Mt. Hood from the river. According to Google maps, and we know it's always accurate, there was a good view of Mt. Hood at the end of a street that ran right to the water's edge. The only problem was there was no mention of the chain link fence that all but blocked the view. Once again, with a little focusing and zooming, and holding my left eyebrow just right, I managed to get some pictures that were something like what I had in mind and had more mountain in them than chain link. If I'd known that part of taking pictures was being able to contort into all sorts of shapes, I'd have paid more attention in ballet class.