Tulipmania

A number of years ago my dad gave me a book called Extraordinary Popular Delusions and the Madness of Crowds. From a title like that, you can tell it's light reading. Written in the mid-1800's by Charles Mackay, it chronicles fads, or manias as they used to be called, that have affected great numbers of people. Mackay chronicles everything from the witch hunts (Salem, Massachusetts had nothing on the Europeans when it came to hunting "witches") to dueling, alchemy, and popular sayings. But the one fad that really stood out to me the first time I read through this book was what became known as Tulipomania. In the 1600's, tulips first arrived in England and they soon became all the rage throughout Europe, and especially Holland. Certain varieties were so sought after that people were willing to trade almost their entire fortune to obtain one bulb, and soon tulips had their own niche in the stock market. One anecdote tells of a speculator so anxious to buy one of only two bulbs of a certain rare variety that he was willing to offer twelve acres of prime real estate, and another potential buyer offered 4,600 florins, a new carriage, two horses (gray), and threw in the harness as a bonus.

Some of the more humorous stories, at least in hindsight they're humorous, involved people who had no idea of the tulip rage that had engulfed Holland. One unfortunate sailor, upon delivering cargo to a Dutch merchant, spied what he thought was an onion lying on the counter and took it to eat with the red herring the merchant had given him as a tip for the delivery. Later on, when it was discovered the rare bulb was missing, the sailor was hunted down and discovered just as he was finishing off the last of the "onion." The poor chap ended up in jail for several months on a felony charge.

People from all walks of life converted their property into cash and bought tulips. The general belief was that all poverty would be stricken from Holland, so rich would everyone be from their tulip profits.
But, like all good manias, it couldn't last forever. For whatever reason, the more prudent in the population began to sell their bounty, and as more and more tulips were sold, a panic ensued so that those who had agreed to buy tulips once worth a hefty sum were now faced with paying thousands of florins for what was now worth only hundreds. The Dutch government decreed that any contracts made before November 1636, when the fad was at its height, were to be declared null and void and any contracts made after that time could be broken if the buyer paid the seller 10% of the previous value. There was of course, quite an economic shock wave across Holland, from which it took some time to recover. There was some evidence of the tulip fad in England, France, and Scotland, but it never had the same impact  as it did in Holland. Now whenever I see a tulip bulb, I think of onions (with red herring of course).
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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.

The Many Faces of January

As Januaries go, this one hasn't been too bad. Granted there has been plenty of gray weather, but when you consider how January tends to treat much of the rest of the country, those of us in the Northwest have gotten off pretty lightly. For some reason, the random fact that January is named for the Roman god Janus popped into my head today. I was correct in remembering that he had two faces and it struck me that, considering how suddenly the weather can change in January, two-faced is a very apt description. Just because it looks like a cloud has taken up habitation in one area, does not mean it looks like that just up the hill. From certain vantage points, a sea of fog with just the tallest trees peeping out into the morning sky can be seen. Down the hill to the office is only a few miles, just enough time for the fog to leave its mark on anything stationary before drifting on its merry way. The fog also let the moon break out on occasion. Every time I see a full moon on a foggy evening, I can't help but think of the poem "The Highwayman." The opening lines "the moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas" always pops into my head.

Not content to let too much sunshine filter through, in case people start complaining about global warming or something, there were plenty of days that left me desperate enough to photograph the raindrops on the moss. Yes, that desperate. I was focused on one particular droplet when I felt a bump against my legs and saw a rather enthusiastic black dog of some variety pleading with someone, anyone, to pay attention to him. His owner came up a few seconds later and asked, in a rather

concerned-but-trying-not-to-sound-like-it voice if I was photographing the neighborhood. No, I replied, just the droplets on the moss. Moss? she inquired. I for all the world wanted to say, "yes, you know that green stuff that is draped over every single tree in Oregon, north side not withstanding" but considering she was gathering up her dog and backing slowly away, I decided to just continue on and not make any sudden movements (okay, she wasn't really, but that's what it felt like she wanted to do). No sense scaring the locals if it's not necessary. And it would have taken too long to explain that if you zoom in on the droplet, the house on the other side of the street is perfectly reflected, albeit upside down.

One of my favorite places to go for views and to pretend I'm in an English garden, instead of a few miles from downtown Portland, is the Bishop's Close. The property was once owned by a Portland businessman in the early 1900's, and after his death was donated to the Episcopal Diocese of Oregon. There are river and mountain views as well as several winding trails that take you up the side of a small embankment looking down on a large open area. January isn't usually a good time to explore the gardens, but this particular day fell into the sunny half of the month and since it is Oregon the lawns are always green. I had to time this so as to avoid getting the riding lawnmower in the shot. Somehow, a modern-day piece of equipment just didn't go with the atmosphere.

Lights, Camera, Action

My, but it's been a long time since I posted anything. An onslaught of dreadful weather and various camera and computer issues have resulted in a lack of creativity and source material. I mean, who wants to look at something as exciting as pictures of my houseplants, since that's about the only foliage that is readily available to photograph. There have been some winged visitors on the deck polishing off the stale pretzels left out for them, but the rain has a tendency to turn them (the pretzels, not the birds) into an unrecognizable mush that even crows turn their beaks up at in haughty refusal. 

All that to say I've missed writing and having something to write about. Which leads me to Christmas. I'm not crazy about winter, but I love Christmas. And for whatever reason, Christmas needs to be at a cold time of year (believe me, I went through a number of warm Christmases growing up in New Mexico and it's not the same). Maybe it's so we can enjoy those sweaters we all get as gifts, or because hot chocolate, old movies, and a roaring fire just don't seem quite right when it's 80 outside and the air conditioner is running to offset the above-mentioned roaring fire. I also love the decorations (as evidenced by the amount currently stored under my bed).                    


One of the methods of decorating I love the best is the use of light. Be it candles, lighted tree toppers, trees festooned with lights, or houses lit up with anything from one to countless strands, light is everywhere. Whatever the technical or historical reason behind it, couldn't there also be a secondary reason, an echo of something found in Scripture? 

I know the popular theory of the past few decades has been that the 25th was borrowed from a pagan
celebration of the winter solstice and Jesus wasn't born in December.  But what if He was? I heard a sermon recently where it was pointed out that the date of Christ's birth was set at December 25 in the second century, soon after the church began, whereas the idea of it being a ripped off pagan holiday came over 1,000 years later. Some researchers say that the celebration of the Birth of the Unconquered Sun was started after Roman Christians had already recognized that date as Jesus' birthday. 

Other articles place the birth of  Christ by figuring out when Zechariah would have served in the temple and subsequently using the birth of John the Baptist to calculate when Jesus was born. Some articles say sheep would never have been on the hillsides in the winter and other articles say they would. Be that as it may, my favorite argument has to do with the solstice itself. It's almost so obvious, it's easy to miss. It goes like this: 

One day it's the darkest, shortest day of the year, and soon after, the Light of the World is born.  

Not too long ago I was walking along the beach with a friend and we were watching the sunlight dance across the water. The topic of Christmas lights came up and she made a comment about how entrancing it was to watch them and maybe that was what Christmas was all about. I didn't realize at the time how right she was. Christmas is about light, it's about the Light that was born for the salvation of all mankind. Merry Christmas, everyone.

 

Hamsters vs. Horses

"I'll buy you a hamster!" I could hardly believe that phrase had come out of my mom's mouth. She despised rodents of any kind (even the cute ones) so what could have caused this change of heart? Possibly the fact that my horse, Trooper, had just thrown my nine-year old self off his back and then spent the next few minutes careening around the arena at speeds he probably hadn't reached since he was on the track, if even then.

Trooper was a usually mild-mannered, elderly Quarter Horse who preferred to spend his time watching the cars go by and mentally plotting his escape from the horse lot. He managed several outings, usually just as we were sitting down to Sunday dinner. His timing was nothing if not impeccable. I started riding at age eight, after a brief and best forgotten stint as a ballerina (I still don't like to wear pink) and after being headed off at the pass by my mom when I wanted to do gymnastics. Too dangerous she said, obviously horses were much safer. After a while of learning the basics, it was time to start going over fences. I had been practicing "horse" training at home with my dog. Pup was my constant companion after a visit to the dog pound when I was in preschool. Her mother was part Basset Hound and her father must have been Australian Shepherd. She was an odd amalgamation of Australian Shepherd coat and eyes on a Basset Hound body.


Whatever the combination, she was the best dog a kid could have. She would do anything for animal crackers, and I must say, she had great form over fences. We thought of sending this picture into a horse magazine I subscribed to. It had a column where a well-known trainer would critique pictures of  riders, but he didn't seem the type that would have a sense of humor so we never sent it. These beams were a good five feet apart, not bad for a dog with stubby little legs.


I learned a lot of life lessons during the time I was riding. Things like hard work, putting the comforts of others (the horses) above your own, how to work with different personalities (equine and human) and to never, ever wear a white shirt around a horse because he will invariably blow his nose as you go by. My parents were right there with me all the time. I think being a horse show parent is just as much work, if not more, as being the rider. Dad was often roped into working the gate or being on jump crew, while mom went around with a rag wiping the dust off of everyone's boots or putting oil on the horses hooves.  Besides the local shows, we also made a number of trips to Albuquerque for the larger shows that would last for two weeks. We made a lot of great friends, and great memories, during those days. This blog is a bit different, but I came across a copy of Trooper's Quarter Horse registration papers recently and it brought back a lot of memories. That and this weekend has been so wet I didn't dare take the camera out, and I refuse to buy it any rain gear, at least for now.

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.