Parents in Packwood!

The Mitten came to the mountains on Saturday when my parents flew into Seattle. Now on Tuesday morning, it seems like just yesterday. I would almost argue that one finds they need more time here - or perhaps in any small town - to feel fulfilled compared to a place like Seattle. You want them to meet everyone you consider a family of sorts (almost the entire town), you want them to experience how all the local haunts are intertwined, you want to hike every inch of the woods (and you wish you could teleport there to avoid some of the forest road commutes), and you want time to lounge luxuriously in the hot tub at the cabin you won a three-night stay in.

Well, we didn't make it to the hot tub and just barely got delectable tastes of the rest of the essentials. There is nothing short of living here that gives you the full flavor. 

Nonetheless, we've been having a wonderful time. 

Our Packwood experience did get a late start because I coupled the Saturday airport excursion with a visit to good ol' Firestone. They did an oil change and check and were pleased to report the car in pretty good shape (hush-hush on its severe reconstruction last year) but noted that the tires were nearing next to no tread so another hour and $500 was tacked to my visit. Luckily, everything went smoothly at the airport and we headed to Olympia to do our shopping for the week ahead. What was going to be a quick co-op stop expanded to a multi-venue excursion as I realized a couple other things I needed and also that the Olympia Farmer's Market would be in swing. I hadn't been down since my farm stay back in 2011 and it was fun to show my parents around the vendor layout I'd gotten to know so well the year before. I got a couple gifts (one being a bar of soap from the homestead I worked on) and we just managed to catch a vendor packing up his fresh fish which would become my first Pescetarian dinner in at least 10 years. We also stopped at a high-quality local beer store. I was in search of the Anthem Apricot and while they were out of that, there was no shortage of Craft ciders to choose from. I got the Schillings Grapefruit I'd eyed at the Summit. Finally we made it to the Co-op and I cracked down on the shopping list while my mom went to find something to keep the fish cold. We made it back to Packwood around 6pm and cooked up an impromptu variation of the dinner we'd hoped for after deciding it was hands down, way too hot roast anything.

Sharing a Cider Summit Fave

I had hoped for a bit more down time but we still did have enough transition between dinner and heading down to the Spruce for...Karaoke! We got in a round of pool and I introduced them to a couple of the regular faces before revving up the machine. Sadly, the night was one of the slower ones. By 9:30, Stone was the only other one ready to sing so I did Bad Moon Rising and he did his infamous rendition of Mountain Music. It was fun to have my dad see my Karaoke for the first time but after the two of us sang, Karl and any other folks that Karaoke relied on didn't show for at least another hour. Jet-lagged and heat-weary, my parents had to call it a night. Karaoke was carried by Karl, me and a rambunctious Bachelorette party. Mary went home early but not before doing a final song with me: Vitamin-C's Graduation! Goofiness and good times were had. 

I may have yet to explain the demographic that tends to hold Karaoke together. It's the Racers. When the Mill closed down in Packwood, the large barren space got converted to a Racing venue. Many weekends throughout the year bring in honorary locals with their cute little race cars. In my whole year here, I'd gotten to know many of their after-hours singing talents but none of their racing talents.  This weekend was the last of the National heats for the Races and I was determined to at least see Karl and his "cute white car". In the morning, I couldn't get a hold of Mary but mother and I were ready for some action so we headed down around 9am. The course was tucked behind the large Mill shed off the highway. I'd never realized there was so much space back there. We watched the rest of heat two before Karl's car appeared in the line up. I found Jean, another Karaoke racer, sitting on the sidelines and she filled us in a bit and pointed him out to us. "Anyone can race" she said. "All of the cars only go to around highway speed. Its all about the precision of the turns and navigating the directions." It turned out to be pretty interesting to see.

Karl's car zooming around the cones

With the heat beating down, we left right after Karl's run. Back at the cabin we had breakfast and a lengthy debate about how best to spend our day. Mother kept saying she wanted to "be on Rainier" which was confusing to me. But then, as the morning became later, she said we should just go to some favorite spots of mine. But then she kept pulling out maps, an unnecessary tool if she wanted to go to places I know. After some bickering, we (sort of) settled on driving up to Paradise, a highly recommended spot in the park. But by the time we drove down to the Butter Butte for coffee, she'd decided that Packwood lake felt better for that day.

Ultimately, it was a good decision. Late in the afternoon, the drive to Paradise would have made us feel rushed once we got there. And Packwood Lake had it's local vibe to boast about. With the heat, it was refreshing to be encased within the trees and foliage. My third time through the whole trail, I was beginning to pick up on some of the markings and indicators of how far in we were. Nevertheless, that trail has always exceeded my recollection of its length. Factually, it is 4.4 miles in - about 9 round trip - but the last mile or so always feels like forever. With an iffy sky and dinner to make, we didn't have a long time at the lake but they were still super appreciative of the view. There was a couple there who by the looks of their ramshackle campsite, appeared to have already been up there for quite a few days and seemed to have a good week or so more. I half-longed for their resolve. The itinerary of simplicity would do me good right now. I tucked the fleeting thought back into my bucket-list-binder for the dozenth time in my life and we continued back into town.

Stopping at the coffee shop to pick up a few things I'd left to keep cool, we were graced by a novel surprise: someone besides a 5 year-old was utilizing our piano! And better yet, had a voice accompaniment to sing the nostalgia-inducing theme song from Titanic (admittedly my favorite song to play back when I myself played piano).

Dinner was somewhat of a special occasion. After over 6 years of vegetarian-almost-vegan-ism, it would be the meal that declared me a West Coast Pescatarian. We'd bought some fresh Alaskan Salmon at the farmers market and Dad steamed it in one of the hard ciders with some herbs and vegetables. I must say: my body had craved that sort of substance. "Reeled" in, I enjoyed the new addition throughout the week thanks to Dan, a local who smokes his own Salmon and gave my family and I four packages to snack on. Beyond West-fresh and perhaps a couple of Great Lake catches, I won't be venturing into just any old seafood. But the PNW begs to take advantage of that diet.

We had invited people for a fire that night but Mary and Justin were the only ones who could make it, which ended up being perfect because all of us were pretty beat. While we were waiting for them to head over, mom and I got it going. I went to find some smaller logs by the front of the house and came across a small little gecko guy who scampered through the cracks in the wood pile as I disrupted his hiding spot. Once the fire was good and going, we needed some flat pieces to layer better than the giant round stubs cut up in back. Mother went back out to the wood at the front and brought over two perfect pieces, which I threw in. As I was getting mesmerized by the growing flames, I noticed that some of the movement was not of the orange and flamey kind: Gecko Guy was circling in the middle of the log, like Simba on the mountain when all the Hyenas are closing in! "Oh my gosh, Oh my gosh!" I started wailing. "Gecko! Gecko!" mother just barely registered what I was talking about before I was reaching in to whip out the giant log. It was burning but still salvageable enough that the flames extinguished as I threw it on the ground. "....oh. I think I saw it fall back in" she said. A sunken feeling swelled up as I looked around and around, putting my face level to the ground to look for sillouhettes of movement. I shuffled my hand in the dark to illicit a response and finally saw it shift and then dart away. "ITS OKAY ITS OKAY!" I relayed the exciting almost-murder-tradgedy to Mary and Justin when they arrived and we all chatted for about an hour  before calling it a night.

The next day, upon the insistence of both my mother and Dave himself, she and my father and I went down to the coffee shop to meet my Landlord. Ever since his staunch christianity and conservative outlooks had reached their limits at a breakfast conversation a few months before, I'd been rather avoid-ant of any exchange beyond the niceties that kept me in good favor. We arrived there only a few minutes before him which still gave us plenty of time for me to encounter familiar faces to introduce my parents to. When he walked in, we were finishing up a exuberant hello with Bernie, a charismatic spunk of a man who from by the stories he told, made it apparent that he was a bit of a rebel in his youth. Dave stood by awkwardly as we wrapped up and before Bernie left, he gave one of his warm hellos to Dave who he'd apparently "not see in some while" and Dave gave his I-don't-know-how-to-handle-this-person response. Later my mom asked me if I knew what the rift was but I was pretty sure it was just cause Bernie wasn't square. Coffee was tolerable save for when the topic treaded on Israeli vs. Palestinian territory and Dave blindingly sided with the good 'ol Holy Land people. Luckily, the occasion had a determined end in sight since Mary would be meeting us to drive to our last team meeting!

we make pretty kick-ass potlucks

We did what we do best - a potluck - and aside from a few logistics, spent most of the meeting time giving and getting praise in various forms. Some of the teammates were thoughtful enough to give each of us gifts or cards which both moved me and made me feel bad since, in the whirlwind of that last month, I hadn't even thought to do such a thing which so often is my inclination. Nora made up a print for each of us to have a glass mug emblazoned with "Cripus" on it for our long-standing inside joke of the AmeriLaunch name blunder. Meghann made each of us folders with personalized letters, photos and a well-written ready-to-use recommendation letter. We got our certificates and ate delicious food, hugged some hugs, shared our thanks some more, took a group picture, hugged some more hugs...it was one of those moments that felt like it wasn't supposed to stop. But we were done. And it did. So we said good bye and wished everyone farewell.

In honor of their last year, Mary and Corey busted out some surprise Grad Garb

What a wonderful bunch!

Back in Packwood, we picked up Justin and he and Mary drove out to Paradise with us. Many of the  areas in the National Park could be of a same name but this was a place I'd only heard great things about and had not yet made it to. There was reason for its namesake. Unlike the hike that the team had done at 'Sunrise', this area got us close to Rainier once again but this time from the other side - far more pristine and overpowering than the lumpy rump we'd been looking at before. Just being in that place made you feel like you were on the mountain. We only did a short walk - about a .6 mile stroll to a popular waterfall - but lingered there for a good amount of time, just bathing in the view and watching some frisky marmots.

Glacial ICE!

When we parted ways to go down the mountain, it felt surreal once again. To say good bye to Mary was strange. I'd never felt like it would happen, and then it just kinda had to. I would see her again that evening to give a gift and I knew that I would see her again in the future, but this chapter was done.

And so was my family's brief stay in Packwood. The next day, we would be on our way to St. Helens!

Commemoration

I tend to want to commemorate things. A last something, a first something, tokens of thanks or appreciation, distinguishing elements to indicate transitions. Why I find ceremony so important, I don't know. Perhaps these acts are filling in for something of more substance, making something more or less mundane seem meaningful or more than it is. Or perhaps it is because of how life touches me - that I see the meaning is there - that I feel I owe these homages.

I know that not everyone is drawn to ceremony in the same way. It most certainly is not a big thing out here, to embellish otherwise everyday moments. I've tried in various instances throughout the year and they get more or less overlooked.

It's okay, though. Meghann warned us upon starting that we would frequently feel under-appreciated.  For the most part, this has proven to be radically untrue. I'll take the gloss-over of a little of my sappy ways. And it's okay because it's who I am, and if anything, by continuing to what I do, it allows me my perspective. It keeps me going.

AmeriCorps brings about a different breed of busy, so I have not always been able to find the time to put as much thought into things as I would like. The end of the year has snuck up amongst field trips and fundraisers and last minute odds and ends. So when I realized last week that our last day of Open Gym had arrived, I had limited resources to work with.

Our regular itinerary for a last day celebration had been to grill hot dogs and hamburgers, and have a water balloon toss. I wanted to invite full families to participate and embellish a little by making something for each of the kids. With more time, I had many more ideas up my sleeve but given what I had, I decided to make cards with personalized thank-yous inside. I also decorated a box and printed out feedback forms to try and engage in more conversation with the whole family.

noon struck on Monday. Then one. Then two. We wondered if maybe some kids confused the time, even though we'd stated and restated up to the very day. But mostly, I knew it was the chance we always took with these things out here. The parents of the kids that did come had no interest in lingering to learn about the place they'd been leaving their kids at all year.

Nonetheless, we had fun. Some of the kids that turned out were ones I'd recently started investing more attention on as I learned more about their stories and behavior nuances. The group was a perfect size for getting down the rope swing, but also for inducing more cooperation and more in depth conversations. One of the girls I'd been trying to get a feel for all year had finally started talking to me more readily and that day, was surprisingly eager to share her summer school experience. One boy who had a particularly hard time with taking things personally hit on one such situation that allowed me the opportunity to have one of our best interactions yet where I got to talk to him about his own power to choose how to respond to things.

Oh, hours slaving away with balloons...

...and minutes to watch them pop!

Balloon Toss Champions!

Free for all!

At the end of the day, I gave out the few cards that had matches in attendance and each kid was eager to see what kind of design they got. I looked at the remaining pile in my hand and still felt an inner smile. Whether or not these ever make it to the kids, in making them, I was forced to notice the unique appreciations that I found I had for each and every one. And that was my ceremony.

Winding up the day with the last of our kiddos 

In the next two days, my parents will be here. It will be a whirlwind of visits and packing and revving up for travel and quiet moments of reflection I may have hoped for will certainly go by the wayside.

And so I want to take the opportunity now, to say thank you.

The people out here are truly some of the most resilient people I know. In a system where job opportunity is slim and the prospect of a degree or a future outside of this town is even slimmer, the personal decisions I watch people have to make says more about their will and character than I have ever had. I talk to individuals all over who have self-recovered from drug or alcohol abuse, or who have escaped poor partnerships to raise kids on their own and their dedication to those recoveries is incredible when the odds of their surroundings are so against them. I can barely go two months without giving into a coffee here or there.

Each soul that builds this community has built a home in my heart. I have loved going about each day feeling perfectly safe and surrounded by a "family." I love knowing that wherever I turn, there is someone there willing to help out in any way they can. I love the kids for their unfathomable strength and their struggles and challenges that challenge me. I love that I feel fully integrated, whether I am working at the coffee shop, with the kids, hanging at the Spruce, volunteering at the thrift store, going to the store, or even just walking down the road. I love the incredibly supportive team that I had the opportunity to be a part of and the amazing way I watched us resolve conflict, work through differences and come to one another with honesty and trust. And I love my Packwood Sister Mary! Without her, this experience never would have been the same. My first guide to Packwood and the people, my Open Gym sidekick, the care-free to my stress-face, the closest person to confide in, and the best duplex-mate one could ever ask for! I will miss you more than that mountain is wide!

And so as I move into the summer, this is my pause to these moments. This is my mark of their meaning.

And excitement begins to build. For AmeriCorps year two!

Wild Waves, literally and figuratively!

The wave of excitement for Wild Waves starts in September. Actually, it may just never stop. Our last field trip of the year, the water park is by far the most popular. It comes in handy as behavior-improving ammo: we don't have to let you come to wild waves...

I'm not much of a water park person so I was pleased to find that we wouldn't be expected to go frolic about wherever the kids may go. Similarly to White Pass, we provide check in times and rides. Otherwise, take a mental vacation.

The day started at 7am when Mary and I met 8 of our Packwood kids at the gym and geared up with sunblock at the store before heading down the windy backroads of Skate Creek. I'd never gone down the road north past our house and was disappointed in myself! It was a beautiful drive, albeit not for the motion-sick prone. My car crew was a good bunch; mellow but talkative. I had one of the girls I had recently felt was opening up to me a little more so it was nice to have a chance to build that comfort zone. When we got to the park, we still had a good 20 minutes for them to open so the kids got first dibs at everything. Everyone was blown away by its size, stretching far back towards the highway...I came to the numbing realization that all subsequent amusement park experiences had been spoiled by my privileged Cedar Point access growing up. Save for Disney World, I'd yet to find another park that got me jumping for joy. However, they did have some non-water rides and I spent the first couple of hours tagging on groups of kids and my AmeriFamily to go on the upside-down topsy turkey thrills I could find. But by noon, I'd done all I was interested in, and pursued the last of my book. And a mad sunburn. Regardless of sun screen application, no one could seem to avoid it that day. (My knees feel like sticky tape, trying to bend and straighten them around the drying stretching skin.)

One of the better thrills of the day : ) 

The day was stress-free, but long. I watched a bird show for some variation, although the presenter was a bit excessive on the patriotism and anti-left slander. He did have a falconer's falcon with whom he falcon-ed with, a 4,000-year old hunting form. And all of his birds were rescues that were kept only after rehabilitation attempts for release back to the wild. So that was neat.

My car voted on McDonalds on the way back and was kind enough to let me make a stop at the store so I didn't fade away on the drive. The girl I'd been getting to know more sat up front. I humored her characteristically sassy attitude about my driving, noticing the insecurity it was constantly covering up. I enjoyed her conversation attempts out of left field and was pleased to see her outlook of me sort of shift before my eyes. We got turned around a few times and stuck in traffic a bit but loud radio tunes kept us perked up. Besides her sunburns, she couldn't emphasize enough how great a day it had been. And I realized, good clean fun doesn't come her way too often.

We made it back before 11pm, all but completely energy drained. As she hopped in the car with her family, I lingered in conversation for a few minutes realizing this could be the last time I see them, as there was a chance they would move over the summer. I crossed my fingers that they'd stay. For many, getting out of this town is a good thing. But in her case, the move did not sound very welcome.

I happy, sizzly, red-hot crew.

The last of the field trips of the year over and done with, I went home well past prepared for bed. Yet the day still had a touch of ironic humor in store for me. After avoiding the water at a water park all day, I apparently still needed my refreshing fix. In the bathroom back home, I reached to turn on the faucet and the faucet - along with the rest of my sink - came crashing to the floor, creating some mini water-fountain attraction in my bathroom and soaking the better part of me. My mind started envisioning a torrential flood ruining all the clean-up and handiwork I'd done on the place over the last couple days as I clumsily tried to slip on some clothes to run next door. When Mary opened her house to my frantic knocking, I just yelled "Justin, I need you! My sink came off my wall!" With a  more knowledgeable approach, he ran over and went directly to the pipe knobs, bringing the water down to a trickle, and then a halt. Crisis averted, I thanked him profusely and announced I was going to bed.

The next day continued it's chaotic trope. We'd had an Open Gym clean-up scheduled and I went down early to try and gather my thoughts on what on earth we would occupy the team with. I had plenty of plans for organizing in the fall but as far as foundational cleaning went, I didn't know what we were going to do besides tackle the infamous bleachers that engulf everything. While the morning did start discordantly, we eventually formed a cohesive plan. Still, we found ourselves finishing much earlier than anticipated until Mary asked me if we should put the chairs away in our spare locker room. I paused and then decided otherwise because next year, I wanted to move the toys in the large "closet" into that room so that the large "closet" could be a study space. "So" she asked, "should we clear out the locker room then?" And we were back with a task, tenfold. Broken bins, dusty toys, a workout machine and the golden treasure, a trash bin with a bag full of 3-year (or more) old trash. The smelly kind. When we were done, we'd pretty much move the entire contents outside to be disposed of. I drove down the road to hunt down a place in town so that we could avoid driving to Morton. Having secured permissions at Blanton's, I went to get in my landlord's car (my car being prepped for the home journey) and...it went dead.

And so, while my team dealt with the smelt, I ran back and forth to the thrift store trying to sort out the car issue with Dave, who seemed completely flabbergasted. He insisted it could not be the battery, even after Justin came to look at it and tell me his verdict. I was feeling increasingly guilty with every minute, knowing my teammates were hauling all the shit for my space to do things in the gym. Finally, I just told Blanton's that the car would be sitting in wait, not to tow it, and I went to Dave to return his keys. Later when we saw him in the parking lot, he had a new battery on hand. Oh, not the battery, eh?

So now, less than 24 hours from picking up my parents, I am bracing myself for tricks and turns the world may throw. I just try to take these as signs I have been clinging to planning too meticulously. Lets ride the waves.

End of year evaluations

It is that time of year: the end of it! It is so close and I am doing everything I can not to begin packing my car now.

Yes, I am anxious to get home for a visit (I've made a bucket list here) but I am also anxious to see next year's new opportunities.

I had my end-of-year evaluation yesterday in which I got to gush about some of the items on a long list I have been keeping for Open Gym re-vamp-age. Dennis and Meghann seemed pretty excited about the things I would like to see happen, from physical clean-up to more organized craft/game/activity offerings. We also talked about the hope for library changes and continuing with the food bank. And Meghann asked about my help in organizing funding and facilitating Civic Engagement.

But perhaps the most exciting prospect for next year was the idea of my role in the school. I had expressed interest in being in the elementary school and Meghann and Dennis were supposed to fill me in at this meeting. When I asked them about it, Dennis sort of took the vocal reigns and delicately told me that the elementary school principal/superintendent whom I'd taken issue with for some time had, in so many words, caught on to my distaste for her. I wasn't surprised since I'd made it rather clear in one of our main exchanges during an event a while back. But in retrospect, perhaps I could have been a little more cordial. "You will learn a lot about dealing with bureaucracy in this role" mentored Dennis. The two didn't seem upset with me personally, necessarily. But they had not pursued the idea of me in the elementary school because they were sure Karen would say no. However, now that she was leaving, we had a fresh start.

After talking about possible ways for me to be involved without spending too much on gas or confusing the teacher's reliability on me with such limited hours, we arrived at an idea I found especially intriguing. Apparently the school has been hoping for a recess monitor for some time, with an emphasis on behavioral management. This didn't mean discipline etc however, but meant teaching the kids positive problem solving and behavioral skills in creative ways through games and exercises. I was thrilled. I had done some reading on the topic this year and it just seemed meant to be that I would take this role where I had reason to invest in even more learning of those methods and had an environment to practice them in.

I feel hopeful next year. And I feel like it will demand more effort and work than this year but I am determined to challenge myself.

The Planet Portland Saga: Sweet, sweet Sunday

Adequately cider-ed and summit-ed, we have one last freebie day in Portland. I am up early to experience one last yoga class at YoYoYogi. This one is going to be led by Alex. He and his wife had been playing receptionist the day before and I had not realized that they were the owners. I read his profile on the site and came to find both he and Terri had pretty wild backgrounds as glitzy performers, meeting and falling in love in Hollywood before retiring to lame corporate jobs. When those didn't suit them, they up and left around the country, keeping a blog for 101 days about a new yoga studio they attended each day. Hence how they found their calling. I am excited to see what Alex has in store.

His class is called "soul shaken' yoga" and it does just that. Beginning with drumming and chanting, he sets the tone with a theme: Love and self love. After a moving proclamation himself, Alex shares a stunning poem by none other than Charlie Chaplin. "I think mr. Chaplin might have been a bit of a yogi himself" he quips after sharing

As I Began to Love Myself – Self Love Poem by Charlie Chaplin

As I began to love myself I found that anguish and emotional suffering

are only warning signs that I was living against my own truth.

Today, I know, this is “AUTHENTICITY”.

As I began to love myself I understood how much it can offend somebody

As I try to force my desires on this person, even though I knew the time

was not right and the person was not ready for it, and even though this

person was me. Today I call it “RESPECT”.

As I began to love myself I stopped craving for a different life,

and I could see that everything that surrounded me was inviting me to grow.

Today I call it “MATURITY”.

As I began to love myself I understood that at any circumstance,

I am in the right place at the right time, and everything happens

at the exactly right moment. So I could be calm.

Today I call it “SELF-CONFIDENCE”.

As I began to love myself I quit steeling my own time,

and I stopped designing huge projects for the future.

Today, I only do what brings me joy and happiness, things I love to do

and that make my heart cheer, and I do them in my own way and in

my own rhythm. Today I call it “SIMPLICITY”.

As I began to love myself I freed myself of anything that is no good for

my health – food, people, things, situations, and everything that drew

me down and away from myself. At first I called this attitude

a healthy egoism. Today I know it is “LOVE OF ONESELF”.

As I began to love myself I quit trying to always be right, and ever since

I was wrong less of the time. Today I discovered that is “MODESTY”.

As I began to love myself I refused to go on living in the past and worry

about the future. Now, I only live for the moment, where EVERYTHING

is happening. Today I live each day, day by day, and I call it “FULFILLMENT”.

As I began to love myself I recognized that my mind can disturb me

and it can make me sick. But As I connected it to my heart, my

mind became a valuable ally. Today I call this

connection “WISDOM OF THE HEART”.

We no longer need to fear arguments, confrontations or any kind of problems

with ourselves or others. Even stars collide, and out of their crashing

new worlds are born.Today I know THAT IS “LIFE”

Alex leads a vigorous class that makes us sweat but his soft-spoken groundedness guides me through and charges me in the poses. As we wind down, the music shifts, his tone gets quieter, and we fold onto our mats as he comes back to the intention and talks once more about self-love. And now I find myself crying. 

I go up after class with my damp face to embrace him and thank him for such a gift. Any yoga I have been doing since makes me think back to that class. 

Back at the house, Mary and Justin get ready and we head out for our grocery portion of the trip (never do an out-town excursion without tackling errands). I am a bit out of sorts and decide not to get my additional Michael's shopping done because we are waiting to try and sort out plans with my friend and communication has proved difficult. With no where else to wait and not wanting to waste the day away, we head towards Washington Park which is home to both the Rose Test Garden and the Oregon Zoo. We figure we can wait in the roses but when I mention the zoo, Mary's face lights up. And Justin discloses that he's never been. Plans with my friend don't pan out and so we venture off to the animal kingdom. The spontaneity hits and we are filled with a vertiginous enthusiasm as we approach the gate. 

The first animal to catch my eye is a massive Mountain Goat asleep under a rock face. I'd never realized the things were so damn huge! Fur matted almost into dreads, he looks like a wise one whose seen a lot. 

The zoo is split like continents and we wind our way from the arctic on through Asia and Africa. We have to meet Tony at our dinner destination around 4 so we don't have time to see everything but we do have some favorites that we linger around more than others. I get into a very engaged conversation with a security guard named D who passionately talks about conservation and the palm oil controversy (and fact drops that the otter we are standing by has one million hairs per square inch of their body!) and when I finally break away to catch up to Mary and Justin, they are almost to Asia. There, we become captivated by the Sun Bear (also known as Human bear or Honey bear). His anatomy is funny enough - long angled nails on slender feet to dig for termites - but his behavior takes the cake. He strolls out with a giant pompadour looking hairdo which we cannot tell is part of his bone structure or just lots of fur. Only when he tilts his head back after lying down do we find out that it is like flubber! In fact, his whole body is flubber, like a giant loose blanket of fur draped loosely over his body! hilarity ensues every time he moves as he flails around a quarter-sized wood chip to try and find termites, getting it caught on his fur and poking around over, under and on his body to find it again. 

 

We linger at the Chimps, are awed by the enormous porcupine and the boars with four tusks. We run out of time in Africa and dart through the last portion, still stopping here and there when we can't resist. Justin is a bit miffed by all this but we count on it passing. 

We meet up with Tony around 4:30 and everyone is a bit confused as to why we have to be at Apizza Scholls. The Bar of the Gods next door is small and quiet - easy to slip in and out - so we go have a drink. When we poke our heads out at a quarter to 5, there is a line of at least 15 groups. Now they get it. I discovered Apizza Scholls back in November with my mom and friends (that excursion posted here) and convince everyone that it is worth the wait. The establishment is a top notch quality pizzeria, preparation of the evening beginning from scratch each morning at 7am. When the dough is out, it is out. 

We are the first table to be put on the wait list and settle in at the bar, prepared with drinks and appetizers. Not too much later though, we are told a reservation did not show and move to our table! 

It takes one bite for the verdict to be  reached: worth the wait. 

For better or worse, after feeling comfortably full we decide to walk to the next neighborhood over to experience some Salt and Straw magic. The line there is even longer but moves rather quickly. This month's specials: Cocktail flavors! I get a lemon Amaretto with homemade vegan marshmallow fluff and a coconut ice cream, gluten-free caramel-chocolate-cookie wonder thing that is new to the regular list. Our taste buds glow. Back at the car, our stomachs say maybe we tipped the scale slightly. 

It is late and we are driving back tonight. I probably speed half the way down 12. Back home, we shuffle our necessary belongings inside and leave the rest of the unpacking for tomorrow. A Planet Portland weekend concludes appropriately with weary, smiling faces and abrupt collapses into bed. 

The Planet Portland Saga: Have a bit of Solstice with your Cider

It’s the summer solstice, the longest day of the year. One of those days that beacon ceremony. In the midst of one of the more indulgent weekend I’ve had in over a month, I am intent on cultivating some semblance of sacred homage. I’ve once again coaxed yoga back to my body as a daily staple. In the last month, it has become as impulsive as morning coffee and the morning coffee in turn, retired to an un-temptable high kitchen shelf. My soul is still goddess knows where, beneath the skin cells, muscles and tendons. Or beyond. My breath still lives perched in the shallows of my collarbone, like a baby bird trying to jump nest without wings; if you leave home unprepared, you’re risking great injury. But at least my body shows up every day. It is a start. 

So being in Portland for a weekend, I am like a kid in a candy shop as I peruse the mother load of studios. I’m not in the boonies anymore. Yogi is probably like some evolutionary/adaptive gene you automatically inherit if you live in Portland, and they know it. Good luck finding a studio under $15 drop-in. I scan over half a dozen websites - waxing calm and sophisticated with traditional class titles, highly motif-ed with the intimidating sanskrit names, and contemporary and overenthusiastic with non-descript class titles like “hot lava” and “Jammin’”. I am skeptical of the “hip” lingo but that studio is one of the closest so I investigate YoYoYogi further and opt for the “Jammin’” class after the description of the instructor wins me over with the credentials of having trained under my latest inspiration, Ana Forrest.  

Far too familiar with the complications of downtown driving and parking in Portland, I’m eager to head out early. Sure enough, after thinking I’ve escaped the curse and finding easy street parking across from the building, I am confounded by the technicalities of the pay machine and end up paying double for the measly 1.5 hours, a misunderstanding that has me rushing into the studio room to happen upon at least 30 people quietly bent deep into a child’s pose.I am the last that could have possible fit in the room and roll out my mat cornered next to an awkwardly angled wall. 

Logistics behind me, the class is refreshing. I am infused with a new kind of motivation among so many yogis. Jill integrates Forrest words of wisdom and I wonder if this is what her classes feel like. Jill almost looks like her. The poses go deep - warriors and moons, challenging my legs. The salutations grow, starting slow in each pose and becoming swift, fluid motions. At the end of the class, I feel like I’ve shed a bit of dust. I make a somewhat counter decision to go around the corner and break my coffee hiatus but it feels relaxed. I take some time to write. 

Morning portion of the solstice observation concluded, it is time for a bit more happy hour. I pick everyone up at the house and we head back down for our last day of the Summit. I look at my single pathetic, worn complementary ticket, the last of the eight we started with the day before.  We head to the tent to buy more. Today I have looked at the book. I have read the listings and made a list. I have missions. The day must conclude with eliminating at least half a dozen from the list of possible cider purchase options. But there are also more I am curious about. 

Their truck in front of me on the way back from yoga.
Little did I know that they would become significant in my
life later that day : ) 

I imagine the drier-sounding ones are best to start with so we head to the tent for Atlas which claimed an Apricot cider, reeling me in with weird flavors once again. 

Atlas is an instant favorite. I am curious about the Apricot and the Elderberry so they give me a free sample of one, leaving me wiggle room to try both. The Apricot is incredible. Unlike most of the other fruit alternatives, I can actually taste all of the subtleties of the Apricot fruit. Even though it is a drier cider, this makes it very palatable. It goes on my shopping list. 


We head to Virtue Cider next, which I had failed to notice until that morning is from Fennville, MI (my farmy home away from home from my time at Kismet). Not only are they from right down the road but they seemed to know Mari well. My face lights up, feeling tingling for home. I chat with them for a while. Their "Mitten" cider is crisp and tastes like green apples rather than red, although they use Macintosh, Red Delicious and another red variety. I am told this is because of the unfermented juice used and the barrels it is aged in. 

The last on my list of curiosities is Blue Mountain's Cherry. The man behind the table greets me with "Welcome Back!" and I insist that I was never there. He insists I was and I wonder how much I've drunk. We move past it and I extend my glass for the Cherry. Taste-blown again! "You guys have the first cherry cider I have actually enjoyed."Andrew is a friendly guy and despite my apparent memory lapse, carries on a nice conversation about the process and the farm. He is one of the family members, roped into a business of cider making that has been around since the 50's "long before many of these other guys." The family owns 1,300 acres of farm all in one spot in Walla Walla where they grow all of their fruit. "Come on through sometime and we'll show you around. I give the tours!" 






I have a few extra tickets so I get a treat that ends up getting put on my shopping list. The folks at Carlton Ciderworks are almost as energized as their whacky sumo-wrestling logo, a temporary alteration to their original British ruffians in a fight, as a way to promote their Asian Pear flavor (is that...wrong?) What is their most popular though, is the Auld Lang Spice so I fill my cup and experience another slice of pie. 

We mingle a bit longer after our tickets are out, lovin' on the plethora of furry canine friends about and chatting up their owners. We also run into our teammate Mackensie who had been the reason I knew about the summit at all. 

Our last stop is the "gift shop". The verdict is in and I have settled on four bottles: 

-Anthem's Apricot
-Blue Mountain's Cherry
-Portland Cider Company's 'Sorta Sweet' (which I totally forgot to put in my notes to write about but they were delicious and their sweet was perfect because they use only fresh squeezed juice and nothing else to sweeten.)
-Carlton's Auld Lang Spice

I am anticipating a drum circle that I had found online to celebrate the Solstice and try out my new drum but we have some time and the others are vibin' on some pool so we head in the way of the drum park and keep our eyes out for a tavern. We do find one with 75-cent games and play a couple. I can't decide if I am hungry but there is nothing quite suitable there for me anyhow so I feel kind of side-tracked. Pool is fun though, and Tony DJ's the tunes with some well-loved classics. By the time we leave, I am definitely ready for some drumming so I enter temporary grump mode when we are confronted with a sea of carnival fare and birthday parties at the park I have an address for. I scrounge around back on the site and find a new address posted so we rush out, leading another lost car along with us. 

At the circle, my three friends venture to find something they are more inclined towards and I grab some potluck grub and settle in. As I finish my food, I catch eyes with a familiar face - family from the Montana gathering! We embrace and then get ready to drum. A space is made for me by Elo who becomes new friend. Beautiful souls dance. They sing. They chant. They drum. As I learn to get comfortable, my hands go back and forth from being possessed with rhythm and then sometimes floundering a little as I become to aware and try to change it. At the end, my hands hurt blissfully. 

I drive to meet the gang at the Limelight bar down the street and am convinced to stay for a game of pool. The atmosphere is of a fun, local beat. Portland artist have the works featured on every once of wall and the outside of the building dons quirky murals. I find a novel cocktail to sip through the game, a chai Russian made with in-house chai and soy (near impossible to find a Kahlua drink/"cream" drink veganized!) 

The night air is warm and we mingle outside for a bit longer before finally making all of our party to the car. Time becomes more ambiguous as the void of day lengthens. The summer effect takes hold. 

The Planet Portland Saga: So you think you know cider?

On Thursday night, all of my reserves for tossy-turny anticipations have been tethered in to more immediate events; tomorrow I will have a real weekend. I will be reminded of what leisure tastes like. And for the first time in my 6 weeks of indulgent-free living, I will be reminded of what cider tastes like. Time for the Portland Cider Summit!

On Friday morning, car loaded, I am off with Mary and Justin to the far-off Planet Portland (I think Buzz Lightyear and Woody and Pizza when I say this). I sound like a stereotype. I am giving into the hype. No matter what way I cut it, I always fall under the Portlandia effect. I act like the city is friggin' wonderland. I don't care. 

I tend to look at the first few hours of any trip as an indicator of what sort of energy we will be dealing with, usually relating a lot to how plans flow. About 40 minutes down Hwy12, Justin realizes his wallet and ID are at home, locked securely in Mary's car. After an abrupt pull over which solidifies me in horrible standing with truck drivers everywhere, we sort out a solution. An amazing friend of theirs agrees to pick Justin up, drive him back and drive him the full length of 12 back to meet us at I-5. I have an appointment in Centralia so the timing should be fine. 

It is perfect. We arrive at our meeting spot practically simultaneously. We will be staying with my friend Tony for the weekend so that is our first stop and arrive there just as he is coming down the street from work. Impromptou timing adjustments that pan out for the best: I'll take that vibe for the weekend. 

Eager not to let city parking complications be the bane of our good cheer, we head down early to find some good eats. Parking is surprisingly reasonable - an $8 lot for the day - and not too far from either the event venue or the Sushi we've all found ourselves craving.

Perhaps becoming one of my favorite cuisines in the past couple of years, I don't go for sushi often enough. It makes it a treat though, and the atmosphere is such fun for a communal dining experience. By now, I am fully ready to abandon my stringent restrictions and savor a meal without thinking about its micro-components. And I am ready to try some new things. I order my veggie go-to avocado roll but I can feel adventure coming on.While we wait for our food, Tony and I get my first Sake to share. After trying the traditional hot Sake that Justin orders, I realize it may not be an "authentic" Sake experience but I'll take my luscious dessert in a glass over a burning throat. The food comes and I warm myself up with familiarity before extending my chopsticks to the Ginger Salmon amazing video is totally relevant to my post now, right?
sushi on the table. The roll contains both cooked and raw and I brace myself for the slippery-looking flesh. And then I unclench as it goes down my throat, tastes buds aborting the rebellion. It takes a bit more nudging to get a piece of Tony's roll into my mouth; I hear eel and think of the scheming Little Mermaid villains. Again though, my taste buds surprise me. "I feel like Simba" I weigh in. "Slimy...yet satisfying." (Score three for Disney references so far? So that means that sneaking in this

Now its time for what we came here for. Sweet, garden-o-eden nectar. On our way over, we walk through a small park built up from an old railway and boat parts where we get sidetracked by a heartwarming display of waterfowl affection. The park is the first in the city to have a self-contained rain-water treatment system. It seems important to drop knowledge bombs like this in Planet Portland.

At the gate, it is pointed out to me that I was to responsible in buying my tickets in a timely manor; I hold in my possession a Berkley Summit ticket for the corresponding event back in April. It is explained to me I will have to purchase a full new ticket, as they cannot verify whether I did or did not attend Berkley. I fail to see how they could fail to see the truthiness in my wallow-y, disappointed face.

Shake it off. Its cider time.

The vendor tents are lined up along the whole outer edge of the small, circular park. Tony and I head to our left staring at the eight little green tickets in our tasting glasses; a coveted currency to spend wisely. Taking a glimpse on our way in, I had recognized many of the labels and found myself thinking I'm a Cider-consuming pro! I've tried so many! But as we approach our first booth, I have a sudden realization of where I am. I am at a Cider Summit. I feel a bit silly realizing this, but seriously. My approach thus far has fallen under the casual layman umbrella but I am now putting "summit" into various contexts in my mind and realizing this can connote a far more involved art form/expertise/dedication. After watching the documentary Somm a while back, I know my vocabulary for cider characteristics must pale in comparison to the enthusiasts here. I express my sudden revelation to Tony who chuckles and joyously states he's just ready to drink some cider. We are a apple-y reflection of a Sideways duo.

Where better to begin but where we are. Swift Cider hales from Portland inspired by the migration of a regional feathery species of the same name, their annual presence coinciding with the start of apple season. Naturally inclined toward the "exotic" flavors, I opt for their Boysenberry. Described as a semi-dry, it meets expectations and satisfies a pallet that has been shifting its preference from sweet to dry lately. Described as having "less residual sugar than your normal berry cider", it feels lighter, airier, suitable for summer.

For most of the day in fact, I find myself gravitating towards these crisp, bright brews. Rogue has always appeared too "unsophisticated" for me but now I find myself drawn to their diversified graphics stating "fruit salad" and "pink gin." I am intrigued by both but Pink Gin wins out after I ask the man at the counter to give me his two cents: "Well, Pink Gin, cause I created that one." I am a broken record: "bright, airy, crisp!"

It is tempting to go for Schilling, their Ginger cider being a favorite. I want to start with brands I've never heard of. They have many more flavors than I realized, including a Chai cider taunting me with a display bottle to promote its release in the fall. Tony does cash in and allows me to sample what will be his weekend infatuation feature: Nitro Hops Cider. I am skeptical, not being a hoppy person, but it is surprisingly delish. Maybe I am just tasting the hype of Nitro, a method of infusing the cider with a "super charged" effect (or something). See how I just dropped some expert on ya, son? (suuure...)

I do my best to keep track of what is what, feeling it would be a blasphemous disservice to muddle them all into one sweet-tooth-bubbly category. Many of the crisp samples start to blend together but as we continue around the circle, more memorable tastes interject. I avoid international vendors but stop at Vermont-based Eden when I notice their Ice Cider offering. They fill the glass just enough not to get sick of it. The equivalent of a fine dessert wine, it is thick and syrupy and goes down smooth. The price is also hiked just enough to curb my temptation to buy it. The dessert portion of my liquid meal continues at D's Wicked Cider. Daniel is advertising his single brew as "Grandma's apple pie in a glass". My tickets are dwindling fast but I admit great curiosity. Tony buys in for the both of us and on one sip, I can vouch for honest advertising. We stick around to talk to the couple for a bit. Daniel just started up November after dabbling in experiments to find a cider that did not bother his partner's stomach. Voila, apple pie. They are not to far from Packwood - Kennewick, WA - but currently don't distribute very widely either. I foresee a Kennewick field trip in the future. We make two more stops before regrouping with Mary and Justin to sit and listen to some of the entertainment. The first is an unfortunately intriguing offer of Meyer Lemon cider. I am so deterred by the flavor I forget to even write down the brand. However, they did have a cool title based off the cider riots in England in the mid 1700's. I "squeeze" it down and rush to top off with an familiar favorite - 2 Towns.

The seating for the event consists of a few rows of concert chairs, grass (of course) and large round tables which lend themselves to group mingling. The atmosphere almost begs for strangers to strike up conversation and it makes me somewhat giddy (that and probably the cider). After taking a table, we a promptly joined by an old couple, Sue and Jim. Jim and I do a lot of talking about Ann Arbor, education, AmeriCorps, and DIY projects (cider, fermenting, pickles...) of which he has many since retiring. If I remember correctly, he originally has roots in Muskegon (or Detroit? I meet Michiganders out west on practically a daily basis when I'm in towns). Situated behind us is one of the few food vendors, Saint Honore Bakery. Jim and Sue get up a few times, coming back with a new treat each time and share samples with us. As infrequently as I eat those sorts of carb-y things, I seem to crave good-quality bread-goods. It quenches something inside.

We are veering into evening and decide it is time to head out on the town and find dinner. Mary and I make a stop at the State Farm tent to get a free henna design on our arm and then we leave, stopping at the car to drop off our collection of promotional stickers and gadgets.

I pull out a list of nearby restaurants that had sounded interesting and we vote on Henry's 12th St. Tavern. The restaurant is tucked away in a small alley and we sit outside among the high brick walls that remind me of a Viennese canal-way. Great choice. While we wait for our food, a group sets up and starts singing cover after cover of all of our favorite Packwoodian tunes. Later I run up to gush my praise at Steve Kreeger and his harmonizers. Then the food. I order the house-made veggie burger which tastes like a base of beets and rice and comes with richly seasoned waffle fries smothered in their signature gorgonzola cheese sauce. One of the first times I have ever finished such a sort of meal (granted I eat the next half the next day). I have to admit utter satisfaction with the fries. The burger surpasses many of the less flavorful attempts I’ve tasted when eating out, especially with their house-made spicy mustard. For once, I eat the full bread bun, satiating that desire once again. Pleasantly full, we head back to the house and call it a night. Time to rest up for another full day.