Old Friend

When climate allows, we (Portlanders) are voracious backyard hanger outers. For the backyard is the province of summer.

This weekend, of a Saturday night, I wandered over to Pinski's house where our pal Seth Neefus of Red Clouds Collective fame was playing an electric guitar on a newly built deck—the smell of fresh-cut wood still everywhere. Seth and his guitar often come together as Old Friend (totally look ’em up HERE on Bandcamp). Old Friend balances a kind of whispery softness with moments of heavy reverb—it's all very much in the fashion of Jim James, I think. Just the stuff to play to a backyard full of friends sitting quietly on blankets pulling beers now and again from the 12 packs they all brought.

It was, in its way, a magical sort of night. The string of white lights twinkled. The darkness was soft and warm. The music washed out in big waves. And then ... then it started raining, and everyone ran inside.

What I Should've Brought

Woke up yesterday to sun-washed rooms and that sweet, pine-sap smell that tells of an Oregon summer. I had big plans to spend the second of the two 88-degree days forecasted this week rambling through the woods to a miraculous beach on the Sandy River. But first! I had like a million things to do. So ... I drove all over town, I sold something old to a stranger and bought something new to replace it, I tamped down work-related fires as best I could, and then, then I got a piece of bad news right around lunch time—and this news was all I could taste as I ate a bowl of boiled eggs and potatoes.

My point? I was distracted—frazzled if you will—when departing on my preordained adventure. And so I forgot everything.

Here's all the stuff I wished I'd had with me as I hiked down a mountain to a river and then back up again.

-An ice-cold can of grapefruit Perrier. For sitting on the beach. With hurty feet and hot sand all around.

-Another dog to entertain my dog while I snoozed face down on my towel (instead—I spent the entire time throwing sticks as far as I could across the bright, glassy water).

-The best thick white zinc-oxide sun screen for my pasty, Oregon, sitting-in-front-of-the-computer skin (instead, today, I have sun burn).

-Salty chips to crunch on. Fruit, cheese, and bread to make it a meal. You get hungry wandering through woods—and I have long believed that sitting near a river listening to water rushing over rocks is a best-case scenario for eating a good meal.

-A panama hat to block that slanty late-afternoon sun, which dips at such sneaky angles that my current foam-mesh deal is rendered powerless.

I love these mossy tree trimmings—like pearl necklaces for the ancient creaking pines.

Northwest good luck. You can pick this stuff and pop it in your mouth—it tastes bright and lemony.

Yard Birds

As you may know, Portland's a beaut for many reasons. One reason in particular—its bangin' backyard skate scene. I'm talking backyard bowls, quarter pipes, curbs, mini ramps ... especially mini ramps. They're my favorite. Try out a new one? I'm always down. Mini ramps tested in the name of science!

See, people here appreciate the value of a backyard. Come summer, life happens in the backyard. And ain't it sweet that that even means skateboarding?

Think about it: No precious hours wasted in the car on a rare sunny day. No waging war with skatepark undesirables. Just friends and skateboard-orientated fun. You leave a happening like that feeling dog tired and happy. Maybe sunburnt. You got to see all your pals. You got to snack on shit and drink shit and talk shit. You got to skate until exhaustion!

Simple folk like myself could not ask for more.

Hudson's on the 4th of July. Sun-dappled yard, dogs, food, and friends—quintessential summer stuff!

A new backyard bowl over at Chris's house—a kind of giant garden sculpture. Magnificent use of space, non?

Bracewell residence training facility. Many miles logged here.

A tiny skatepark, in a backyard, right off Hawthorne. Ain't this city grand??!!

Operation Shasta Lake

Today I'm thinking about Shasta Lake. It's a bright-blue splash of water on the border of Oregon and California. Maybe you've glimpsed it on your way up or down I-5?

Anyway, the above picture popped up in my Insta feed last week (via natgeo). Due to drought, the lake's ancient submerged stumps now know sunshine again after 70 years under water. It's an odd scene—very empty.

It reminded me of a spring trip I took two years ago, when I left Portland and drove south with a cooler full of bread and brie—down across the flats of Salem and Eugene, up through the creaking trees of Grants Pass, down onto the parched plains of Redding and out onto the gray-green olive groves north of Sacramento. It was a journey involving pick ups and drop offs and one quick night camping in Yosemite.

On the way home, the car was hot, the air rushing past the window was hot, the dog was very, very hot.

Enter Shasta Lake—like a mirage ahead as we drove doggedly north. Should we stop? It's always hard to get off the highway when there're so many more miles to go. But we did! Thank god we did. The beaches very steep, dropping away quickly into cool depths. The  water impossibly clear and impossibly blue. The beach mud a bright volcanic red. And NO ONE THERE. A rope swing down the way dangling unused, waiting for us.

I often think about going back. It's strange to think that if I did I'd have to tromp down through the dirt to reach sad puddles of water.

Island Time

It's Indian summer! The heat's very close, like a dog panting down your neck.

But! The idea of fall was already loosed upon us. Last week—with the season's first real rain.

I couldn't remember the last time I'd gone to the river because I didn't know it was gonna be the last time—I didn't even get to say goodbye! Closure is what I needed, so I planned a Sauvie Island river excursion for a steamy mid-week day. We sat in the warm sand and dove in the warm water, and our plastic wine cups shined like jewels in the sun.

But! It wasn't summer. The sun didn't burn me, the sky was a different color blue altogether, and the heat was cut with a pesky little breeze whispering of fog and falling leaves. Still though, it was a lovely day and a lovely drive home, and I totally wouldn't hate living out there on the island in one of those homes where water laps against your yard that are going for around 3 mill these days.