September 25th
It's September 25th. It's officially fall. Most of which you already knew. Work has been wild, I've been chained to the desk. That's okay—good, even, because mortgages must be paid and brainpower must not go unused, lest it be lost for good under a pile of dust somewhere.
Seasons-wise, I'm down for fall. Then again, I'm down for all the seasons (excepting the month of February, which you can have cuz I just don't want it).
I've been trying hard to adjust to the fall stuff this year, though. The rain and the darkness. Calibration has been a little bumpy. I feel blah. Like I'm not getting out. The darkness comes swiftly and catches me unawares. "I was gonna go skate tonight!" I think. "I was gonna go wander!" I've got to reset the schedule, retune the frequency. Plug into the dark fall vibrations and start feeling the tremulous energy that they bring...
A Word About Capes
On Sunday I hiked from Short Sands beach to a precipice overlooking the cold Pacific. This precipice had the regal name of Cape Falcon. Now, sometimes when I hike alone I'll listen to music, or WTF by Marc Maron. Sometimes it's better not to, though. Then you can do all that thinking that walking seems to induce. Range around on such far-flung topics as what you're going to eat for lunch and the state of your spiritual well being. Foggy sunlight, like juice, runs through the trees. The views come and go. And finally, out at the "cape," where you're dripping in sweat, the skyline's all hidden in mist. The only thing to do now is look down at the craggy coastline and think about more immediate things, like the fact that you're standing at the very edge of the continent with nothing between you and Japan but a few million whitecaps. Whoa.
2 Things
R.I.P. Junk Spot: As stated elsewhere, our friend Nick and some other guys had this rad, renegade skate spot in New Jersey going. It was there, now it's gone. Plowed by a landowner-hired thug the other day. I was lucky enough to slash it in May when I went through NYC ... The streets really are ever changing—don't take anything for granted.
Bye, Summer: Last Saturday was like summer's last stand. 85 in the shade. We all went to the beach, even the babies and dogs, and sent off the warm months with a beer and a swim.
Hey California
I didn't like living in California and never wanted to be a "Californian." It was nothing personal. I just felt super strangled by the huge population and all that SoCal showmanship. Also, get this—I didn't like the fucking weather!
When I first moved to Portland, it was scummy—scummy with a heart of gold. Regular-ass people lived here! And hippies. And some rockers. I'm okay with all of these things.
Anyway, this is just a long-winded way of saying that I saw 2 things recently that made me stop and take note, made me really comprehend what we've all been thinking: Portland is becoming California.
1. The ABOVE photo of the Palmer glacier (or lack thereof) via KGW reporter Rod Hill's Facebook page. I guess it doesn't rain here anymore? And dang, remember when we used to snowboard on Mt. Hood in the summertime?!
2. THIS article reporting that a Bay Area investment company bought the Towne Storage building and kicked out all the renters. Later, Burnside! I mean it's only a matter of time ...
Complaining is whatever, and I try not to do it. "I miss the old blah blah blah ..." Also, memory lane can be tricky. I'm sure there were plenty of hate-able things about Portland a decade ago. However, I think it's okay to allow some room for nostalgia and to note that, despite there being no real inherent badness to change, if the things you moved here for aren't here anymore, then maybe it's time to make a change of your own?
Like, where's that next-next spot? I'm gonna be doing some thinking about this ...
This Time Last Year
This September isn't last September. It's different in ways and better in ways. For some reason, though, I found myself looking through photos from last September. It was nice seeing all the faces and the places and the way the light was soft and gold, angular, like it is today.
This is the old Bracewell mini ramp. It wasn't much to look at, but I loved it dearly.
Watched one of my bests get married in the old fashioned way—outside in the fresh air in front of a bunch of good people under the high-country Colorado sun. During their vows, a wind whispering of fall set the aspen leaves a'clicking. Hooray for love!
On the way to the wedding, stopped off in Denver to see nephew Pat and Rocket the puppy—who gnawed on my knuckle with pin-sharp baby teeth.
Hiked up Eagle Creek Trail for the first time: Heat. Haze. Big roving rain clouds. Trails carved out of cliffsides. Waterfalls that drop loudly into deep, green pools.
Used the rest of my garden tomatoes to make a galette. Kinda like a pie, but messier and lazier and in my mind more delicious. Rolling pinned the crust, threw great foodstuffs in the center, and then wrapped it up like a lil baby. It was the oven, really, that did all the work.