Oregon Gardens – Unleashed in Oregon

Solo Getaway in Oregon and Washington–Don’t Forget the Chargers!

The view from Mt. Angel Seminary in Oregon. Evergreen and deciduous trees in the foreground, red barn and other buildings in the center, open fields and farms to the cloudy horizon.

Sometimes a girl just has to get in her car and drive away. Let the winds carry her where they will. Follow her whims. Be free. Stuff a backpack, grab the keys and go.

Who am I kidding? I make myself crazy planning for months before I go anywhere. I clean the house lest the dog sitter think I’m a slob. I make reservations and fill folders with confirmation email printouts, schedules, and directions. I pack work I’m going to do, work I might do, books to read with backup books in case I hate the first ones, orange juice, granola bars, fruit, tea bags and extra tea bags, extra socks, extra underwear, two bathing suits, three pairs of shoes, copies of my books and my business cards, cold cream, face cream, hand cream, sunscreen, my guitar, sheet music and more sheet music in case I find a piano . . . If I’d had a passenger, he/she would have had to ride on the roof of my Honda.

My five-day journey concluded in Centralia, Washington, where I taught at the Southwest Washington Writers Conference. Centralia is a small town about 80 miles north of the Oregon border. Nice place. Nice college. Nice people. I taught workshops on creative nonfiction and book revision, met some great writers, won a raffle prize, and sold my books. It was a fun time that reminded me how much I love to teach. Or maybe it’s just that finally someone has to listen to me.

Photo shows cases of sausages, some straight, some round, some dark, some light, so many sausages, at a store in Mt. Angel, Oregon.

Before Centralia, I took a mini-vacation in Silverton, home of the Oregon Garden and Silver F alls and neighbor to Mt. Angel, a Bavarian-themed town down the hill from the Mt. Angel Abbey and seminary. I wrote poetry, played my guitar, swam, walked, shopped, explored, and ATE so much great food I couldn’t zip the jeans I had planned to wear for my drive home. But pulled pork tacos, chicken salad croissants, key lime pie, eggs Benedict, German pastries from Mt. Angel . . . It would be a sin not to enjoy the food.

I stayed at the Oregon Garden Resort, up the hill past the gardens. Guests stay stay in separate cottages with about six rooms, each with fireplaces and private patios. All are within walking distance of the restaurant, pool, spa, lounge and garden. Such views. Such flowers. Have you ever seen a smoke bush like the one in the picture? I never had. A friendly stranger who knows her plants told me all about it. Overall, the resort was fancy but affordable and it had a real “camp” feeling.

Photo shows odd-looking bush with orangish fluff surrounding green leaves. It's called a smoke bush.

The other two nights, I slept at the Holiday Inn in Chehalis, another smallish town north of Centralia. It was . . . a Holiday Inn. Elevators, long hallways, soaps and shampoos in canisters attached to the wall. Kudos for their perfect indoor pool, though, and for the nearby Jeremy’s Farm to Table gluten-free restaurant and store. Fascinating décor, friendly staff, and amazing food with a healthy spin. I ate there two nights in a row and would do it every night if I lived nearby. Sure, I’d weigh 500 pounds. But life is short. Eat the pie.

I spend most of my life shuttling between Waldport and Newport, Oregon, so it was nice to get out of Lincoln County for a while and see new things. Some folks avoid traveling alone, but I kind of like it. You’re free to do whatever you want, including changing your mind at the last second. You’re also free to get lost, to get sleepy behind the wheel, and to wish you had a designated driver, but that just adds to the adventure. In many situations, I was the only person who wasn’t part of a couple or a group, but I’m learning if I just enjoy myself and talk to whoever is around, I’m not really alone.

Some things I noticed along the way:

No one seems to mind men wearing baseball caps in restaurants.
Why is there always background music playing when nobody seems to need it or want it—except that one waitress in Woodland, Washington who was singing along as she worked? One of the joys of wearing hearing aids is that when I turn them off, the loud music disappears.
Why are hotel doors so heavy and the springs so tight? The one at the Holiday Inn gave me some new bruises as I tried to get in with my guitar and my ice chest. Is there some logical reason it’s three times as heavy as any door on my house?
I forgot the plug ends for my charger cords. Most places I stay have USB charger plug-ins anyway, but not this Holiday Inn. How would I keep my phone and hearing aids charged? Would I have to move to a different hotel? I threw an embarrassing hissy fit at the front desk and was handed a converter I could use. Lessons: Calm down and ask if they have a solution. Pack a couple of converters in your suitcase or remember to bring the plugs. At least I remembered the chargers.
Gas is way more expensive in Washington, and you get to pump it yourself. At my first gas stop back in Oregon, I got out of my car and a friendly woman in a red shirt came running to pump my gas before I had a chance to mess with her machine. Oregon has some self-serve pumps now, but not there.
Almost everyone I saw in my trip up the I-5 corridor in Oregon and Washington was white. With baseball caps. Where are all the people of color?
There is so much to see everywhere in this country. Take a ride. Check it out.

Annie is hanging close to me today. She’s afraid I’ll grab my keys and go away again. Not today.

Tell us in the comments about your adventures.

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Playing Tourist at Home in Oregon

Five days ago, I wrote that no cases of the coronavirus had been reported in Oregon. Maybe people were overreacting. But those reactions had caused me to cancel my trip to the AWP conference in San Antonio and stay home. Now there are 14 known cases in Oregon, and Gov. Kate Brown has added our state to the ones declaring a state of emergency.

The Archdiocese of Portland has asked its churches to stop giving out wine at Communion and to stop shaking hands at the Sign of Peace. I’ve been to Mass three times at three different churches in the last week. At two of those Masses, nobody held hands, shook hands or touched in any way. At our own church yesterday, our pastor noted that life is full of risk and we could decide for ourselves whether to hold hands—so we did. He also reminded us to use the big bottle of hand sanitizer on the way out.

What’s going to happen? Nobody knows for sure. I still worry that the reaction will cause more harm than the disease, but I could be wrong.

I was supposed to be celebrating my birthday today with friends in Texas. Instead, I’m back at home with no birthday plans beyond eating a red velvet cupcake I bought for myself and watching the Bachelor finale on TV. Stupidest season ever? It is, but do not call me after 8 p.m. PDT.

Since I was already out in the world with a packed suitcase, writing materials and free time, I played tourist in Oregon last week. I wrote in the mornings and went exploring in the afternoons, which sounds like a perfect vacation for a writer.

The weather was sunny but cold when I visited the Grotto, a Catholic sanctuary in Portland. I walked the paths admiring the plants, statues and shrines, reading and thinking about Jesus, Mary and Joseph, walking the labyrinth, saying hello to the ducks in the pond, and feeling all my anxieties melt away. I was exactly where I needed to be. When my feet got tired, I sat in the warm glass-walled meditation chapel soaking in the quiet as I looked out over the city past the freeway to Mt. Hood. Leaning back in my soft leather chair, I watched the white clouds moving slowly by and felt blessed.

Salem Riverfront From Portland, I headed south to Salem, where I checked into a much nicer hotel, then walked through the Riverfront Park, which I hadn’t even known existed. It offers miles of walking/jogging paths along the Willamette, a playground and a carousel. I walked, then sat on a bench in the sun watching the world go by, taking pictures, and writing in my notebook. When hunger hit, I treated myself to a steak salad at the Capital Café.

The next day, I went shopping in downtown Salem, where I was sad to see the sidewalks jammed with homeless people and their possessions. So many. And it was cold. I was heading into the stores with money to burn, having filled my wallet with cash for the Texas trip that didn’t happen. I found treasures—music supplies, clothes, books—but I felt guilty as I stashed them in the car and left for Silverton, the small town on the way to the Oregon Garden.

Oregon Garden 3520 Early March is not a good time to visit the garden. The visitors’ center was closed, the fountains were turned off, and most of the plants were still dormant for winter. The roses looked like dead sticks, the trees were bare, and the daises were just dry leaves. Only the daffodils were blooming. On the good side, I had most of the garden to myself. I walked and walked, resting on benches in the sun, thinking and taking notes for a poem about “potential,” about how inside these bare sticks are the makings for glorious flowers and fruits.

While the world was going nuts over coronavirus and while my favorite candidates were dropping out of the presidential race, while the stock market was plummeting in panic and both sides violated their agreement in the war in Afghanistan, I roamed among the sleeping plants and let it all go. I felt the sun on my face, breathed in fresh air scented with fertilizer, and watched a squirrel watching me from a stone wall. He was close enough for me to admire the different shades of brown in his fur.

I usually give up French fries for Lent. This year, I have chosen to give up Internet, TV and radio for two hours every day while I do something physical and real. We all need this. It’s so hard to tear ourselves away from our screens and our perpetual noise, especially with so much going on in the news, but we need to focus on what’s real right here and now.

I’m sad that I missed AWP. I’m sad that I didn’t see my friends. I’m sad that today is my first birthday without my father, but the sun is shining, I played a ton of music over the last two days, and now I’m here at home writing in my pajamas as Annie dozes nearby. What’s better than that?

How about you? Has coronavirus changed your plans? Are you worried about the illness or its effects? Is there a way to make lemonade out of these lemons? I welcome your comments.

Frogs and dogs, oh my

I visited the Oregon Gardens on my recent trip north. Located in Silverton, Oregon (near Salem), the gardens are a huge display of all kinds of plants beautifully arranged into types and themes, such as roses, conifers, vegetables, oaks, a sensory garden, a pet-friendly garden, and so much more. I first visited the gardens last winter when most plants wore their winter brown. This time, I saw a lot more flowers and was blessed with warm sunny weather.

The gardens are wonderful, but my favorite part was the water garden. As I approached, I heard something splash. I looked quickly, saw nothing, took another step. Splash. Again, I looked and saw nothing. Another step. Another splash. Was that the back of a frog disappearing into the muddy water?

As I proceeded, the step-splash, step-splash continued. It became a game. Could I step and see the frog before it disappeared? These frogs were too fast for me. But then up ahead on the bank, I spied a big green frog with a red head. Its colors were so bright and it stood so still that I wondered if it was real. I squatted, cranked my camera up to maximum telephoto and took a picture. No response from the frog. I moved closer and closer until it jumped into the water, its long legs stretched out behind it as it dove into the mud.

At the next pond, I saw two more frogs, darker green, bumpy and still as rocks. I let them be. I’d seen my frog. He’s in the picture, but pretty hard to see. It’s that green dot in the center, on the edge of the water.
*****

Annie and I have decided to delay testing for therapy dog certification. We’re still adjusting to the many requirements, including the new harness. Annie has adjusted so well that she has managed to slip out of the harness three times in the last week. No matter how much I tighten the straps, she does her Houdini act and gets out. But she is pulling much less, and I’m confident we’ll pass the next test with no problem.

Meanwhile,

listened to a talk from veterinarian Dr. Charles Hurty on Saturday. Boy, did we learn a lot. Here’s one important tip: When your vet suggests vaccinations, find out what type they are and whether the dog really needs them. The experts are finding that some vaccines are useless, some are dangerous and many are unnecessary because the dogs already have immunity from previous shots. So don’t be afraid to ask.

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