It looked like this on June 12:
And today, August 28, it has become Fish Meadow, as it does every summer.
So, we ended up not actually kayaking, but we did spot some interesting wildlife.
And we had a lovely lunch overlooking the North Santiam.
And one of our number, who shall remain nameless, enjoyed the most amazing-looking bacon cheeseburger, homemade potato chips and marionberry cobbler, and is looking very satisfied — but I’m not bitter.
Ever since I moved to 1880 fourteen years ago, I have felt pretty sure that my mode of departing this life would occur with my driving out of the neighborhood and on to Commercial, turning left against traffic at this intersection:
But in the past few months I’ve noticed that more and more I just avoid this intersection altogether and drive down beautiful, tree-lined Saginaw to a safe right turn on Owens.
So, I recently came to acknowledge that there is another death-trap right out my back door — the magnolia roots. I expect I will trip over them and crash down on my head one slippery morning when I venture out in the pre-dawn wearing the Uggs slippers, coffee in one hand, crossword in the other.
In my nearly seventy years of paying attention, I have never observed that the meek got much of anything. Big or little, it’s always the go-getters, the hard-workers, the brightest and best:
And who will inherit the earth?
Well, here in the Northwest, it’s sure to be the Himalayan blackberries and mason jars of jam left behind because we were unable to eat all we put by.
And I believe 1880 will be inherited by the wisteria — wild, crazy, flamboyant. Meek? Not so much.
These are my favorites — the incredibly blue chicory, the Queen Anne’s lace, the wild sweet peas:
Just went downtown to get my toenails polished at my favorite Vietnamese place. ( I used to teach English to some members of their family.) I was just settling into one of their trashy magazines when my iPhone slipped out of my pocket and right into the water. Hao grabbed it instantly and Minh shoved it into a bag of rice. I’m so glad these nice people aren’t Italian. I’m not sure a bag of polenta would have worked.
