Simple fun

Who doesn't like bubbles?  

Here is something simple that made it easy to have fun.  Someone got a bubble machine, filled it with bubble juice, plugged it in and turned it on.

That's all it took to create instant joy.  

Near the bubble machine there were jillions of bubbles, but even far away from the bubble machine there were one or two of the hardiest bubbles drifting by.  One glimpse of those, and you knew something good was happening somewhere nearby.

I suppose anyone could get a bubble machine like this and do the same thing anywhere.  

The question is where should we do this in GroveAtopia?

It had to happen

It's been a few days since I checked on our flowers so I thought I'd look in on them today.  And here's what I found.

First of all, they've been moved.  They are not on the same table they've been on for the past 10 days.  Someone moved them to the neighboring table.

And now they have a friend.  It's a broken sprinkler head. 

I think the sprinkler head came from the nearby patch of grass in the little park where these tables sit.  Someone found it, perhaps broken off by a lawnmower or weed eater, and didn't quite know what to do with it.  After all it didn't belong to whoever found it.  And they probably couldn't fix it.  

If, thinking technically the sprinkler head was city property, they had brought it to city hall, which is practically next door, they probably would have been met by a confused city worker who works either for the accounting department or the billing department.  That's who sits behind the first desk everyone stops at when they visit city hall.  

The Police Department is right inside the front door of city hall and they could have brought it there.   But how could they know if there was any crime involved?  This could have been accidental.

So not knowing what else to do, I think they placed the broken sprinkler head on the table, right next to the flowers.

Can we still call them flowers though?  

Look at them.  They are really not flowers any more, but the phrase "dead flowers" is so heartbreaking, we do anything we can to avoid using it.  

So for now, let's let the picture tell the story without us having to say it out loud, even though we all knew sooner or later it had to happen.

Butterflies and danger

Those two words don't go together, do they.  I would never expect them to be in the same sentence.  Even if it was a really really long sentence with either of these words at the beginning and the other at the end.

But here they are.  Well almost.  It's the word dangerous, instead of the word danger, but it doesn't really matter, does it.   We want to know what these two words are doing in the same sentence.

I have already written of butterflies a few times.  I wrote about the gathering of butterflies.  And I wrote about where butterflies rule.  There was no danger either time.   Well there was danger for the butterflies I think I ran over, but that wasn't intentional danger.  That was accidental.

But this book is about The Dangerous World of Butterflies.  You might wonder at first if the world of butterflies is made dangerous by the butterflies themselves.  How could that possibly be you would wonder?  How can a butterfly make anything dangerous?  

You would be right of course.  The danger is not the butterfly's creation.  It's ours.

The book is about people who make the world dangerous for butterflies.  It turns out some people like to sell rare butterflies.  Others like to buy them.  The rarer the butterfly, the more it's worth.  The seller finds the rare butterflies and sells them.  The buyer buys them, kills them, and puts them on display.  

There's a bunch of other bad things happening to butterflies, but you'll have to read the book to find out what they are.  If you want to.  

As far as I can tell, none of the butterflies of GroveAtopia are mentioned in this book.  For now, our butterflies are safe.

But lots and lots of other butterflies are not.  That can't be good.  

For you.  Or me.  Or the butterflies.

This is getting serious

Seven days.   How can a vase full of flowers stay in a public place, untouched for seven days?  One week later and we still don't know who put them there and why.   

You can see time is taking its toll on them.  But that is to be expected.  

What you and I didn't expect was that they would remain there untouched for this long, put there for reasons unknown, by someone we may never know.   

It's been so long I'm starting to ask myself what will happen when the flowers die.  Will someone replace them?  If no one does, should I?

I never thought I'd have to ask myself these questions.  I thought these flowers would be long gone by now, but they're not.

Aren't we glad?

Day 6

Yep.  The the flowers are still there.  

A Postal Secret

Go ahead.  Admit it.  You like a secret just as much as the next person.

Well I know one about a place GroveAtopians visit all the time.   The Post Office.

If you live in GroveAtopia, you probably recognize the two mail slots in this picture.  They are the only two mail slots at our local post office.

Notice that one slot says "Mail" and the other says "Out of Town."   Let's put aside for the moment that logic dictates that the one that says "Mail" probably should say "Local Mail" or "In town mail" or something similar.  I mean "Mail" is going into both slots.  And when you think about it you realize that if one of the categories of mail is "Out of Town" then the other should be "In Town."  "Mail" will go in both slots.  

But as I said, we will put that confusion aside for the moment because most of us just figure that if one slot means "Out of Town" mail goes in it the other must mean "In Town Mail."

And now for the secret.  Are you ready?

It makes no difference which slot you put the mail in!   

I will pause for a moment and let that sink in.

Now I know you have stood before those slots before and taken a moment or two to look at your mail and decide which slot it should go in.   But now that you know the secret you don't have to do that any more.  

You can just walk in and toss whatever mail you have in your hand into which ever slot strikes your fancy and get on with your day.  No pausing to wonder if your envelope addressed to someone in Dorena or Walker or Saginaw goes in the "Out of Town" slot or not.  

Wow!  

It turns out that all of GroveAtopia's mail goes to Eugene for sorting, so technically it all goes "Out of Town."   That means both slots could be marked "Mail" and it would make absolutely no difference.

So next time you mail something in those slots at the post office, enjoy the feeling of doing something that's against the rules and toss your mail into either slot.   You could even go crazy and toss one piece of mail in each slot, if you have enough mail.  Or how about putting your letter addressed to someone in town in the "Out of Town" slot?   That would be fun.

I think this is a pretty good secret, don't you?  Go ahead.  Pass it on and watch your friends as they react with disbelief.   And I won't tell anyone how much fun you are having.

The flowers

Day 5.  They're still there.

They're doing it again

The people of GroveAtopia are doing good deeds again.

This time they are planting a little park downtown with flowers and trees and shrubs and vegetables and other things that will make the park look better.   

About 30 or so people answered the call and descended upon the embattled little park on the corner of 7th and Main St., just across the street from The Bookmine, next to the bike shop and across from the bakery, for the sole purpose of making it look pretty.   

They had shovels, and gloves and wheelbarrows and dirt.  There were baked goods.  There was a canopy.  

And there was a banner.  The banner said Cottage Grove Garden Club because this was their show.

Beyond the garden workers, a peek into the park bathrooms revealed a surprise.   

Artists!   

They were painting little decorative pictures along the bathroom walls, helping to convert the bathroom's current prison-like decor to something nicer to look at.  

Now you might wonder how GroveAtopia ended up with a weedy little park downtown.  Here is how it happened.

This little patch of land used to be planted by people who cared.  They planted whatever they wanted, and they took care of it with a simple hose.   There was grass and there were fruit trees and  flowers and there was a trellis.  There was a miniature covered bridge that the little kids used to love to play on.  There was a picnic table and there were a few benches.  

People loved that park.  It was GroveAtopia's People's Park.  We called it Opal Park, after our local fairy Opal Whiteley.  She's the one in the park's mural.

But it turned out the park had an owner, and some people didn't like the park's homegrown look, so the owner gave the park to local businesses and they got some money and got someone to design the park and had it redesigned and renamed.  There were tears shed and bitterness felt by those who had cared for the old park, but those concerns were brushed aside and the new park was built.

But they forgot to make a plan to make sure plants were planted.  

So when the Lovely Season came and GroveAtopia was abloom, poor little Opal Park was barren and weedy.   

But today, it was the Cottage Grove Garden Club that came to the rescue.  In one day, they and those who helped them, transformed the barren hardscape into a fully planted garden.  

People from the old park and people from the new park worked side-by-side in an afternoon of truce-making and understanding.  

And you know what?  It turns out that no matter what their differences, if people work together to do good deeds, good things happen.

Not just in GroveAtopia.

Flowers: Day 4

They're still there.  Four days and counting. 

It looks like someone moved them slightly.  

Who did that and why?

Still there

After 3 days, the flowers in the vase are still there.  I checked on them today.  I think someone added water to the vase, but I couldn't swear to it.  

And yes, this is a picture I took today, not the same one I posted yesterday.  I know they look very much the same, but you know I wouldn't do that.

Look what someone did

While driving by the Applegate Trail wayside yesterday – you know – the little park by the Centennial covered bridge –  a spot of color caught my eye. It didn't fit in, but that didn't matter because it was pretty.

I stopped and had a closer look, and here's what it turned out to be.  Flowers!  In a vase.

They were placed there for reasons unknown, but obviously there was a reason.  They didn't just happen to be there all cut and arranged in the vase filled with water.  They were deliberately put there.

Don't you wonder why?  

Did a couple have a picnic there, then realize they weren't able to take the flowers along with them wherever they were heading next?

Did someone put them there just because?

Will the person who put them there keep caring for them or have they gone, leaving the flowers to fend for themselves?   

Will someone move the flowers to a different table?

Will someone come and take the flowers because they cannot resist their beauty?

How long do you think they will stay there?

They've been there for two days now and of course I will be monitoring them.  When I checked on them today,  some of the scruffier residents of GroveAtopia were sitting at the table and I wondered if they would take the flowers.

They didn't.

Sometimes the mysterious, aimless people who come out at night in GroveAtopia break things. What if they break this vase, depriving the flowers of their water and hastening their demise?

You don't know the reason why these flowers are here and neither do I.  We also don't know what the future will bring for them.

Come with me.  Together let's hope for the best for these flowers.   

And while we're at it let's hope for other similar gestures of beauty to appear at random, where or when we least expect it.  

There's something scary in there

This is The Bookmine and it is the heart and soul of GroveAtopia.   It's so pretty surrounded by all those flowers they sell.  They even leave them out on the street day and night and no one ever takes them.  Now that's downright magical.

Inside there are books, and jewels and clothes and toys. There is art.  There are things that smell good and things that look pretty.  There is a cat of course, and there are Gail and Birdie the sisters who started the place back in 1976, when the only bookstore in GroveAtopia was the one that sold Christian books.

These women, fresh from college at the U of O, decided they wanted to live in the country and decided they wanted to open a bookstore.  So they found a log house outside of town, and opened their store in town.  

At first they stocked books on subjects they liked or studied in college.  There were a lot of philosophy books.  And poetry books.  But as the years went by, they got smarter about selling books and started selling other things - all things of beauty - many of them made by local people.

But The Bookmine is so much more than a place that sells things.  It is a gathering place.  Some people go there every day to sit at the little table in the back and drink coffee.  Everyone who walks in ends up talking about something completely unrelated to the reason why they came in to The Bookmine the first place.  That's because Gail and Birdie will talk to you, if they are not on the phone.

Between them they know just about everything about and everyone in GroveAtopia.   When you go in there to buy something, you have to make sure you have time to talk because that is what you will end up doing.  Buying may be what brought you in, but talking is what you will remember.

And now comes the scary part.  I know it's hard to believe that there could be anything scary about this place but there is.   Because amid all the pretty things and happy people talking about this and that lies the Scary Drawer.  Go ahead, admit it, now you are a little scared.  

Here is what I know about it.  If you have to leave something, like say a document, or a love letter for someone to pick up,  they will keep it for you at The Bookmine.   It really is convenient, and you would be surprised how often you find yourself needing to do it.   

So where do you think those documents and love letters and other things go when you leave them?  In the Scary Drawer.   And when you pick something up that someone else left for you, you say, "there's supposed to be something here for me in the Scary Drawer." Then whoever is behind the counter will slide the drawer open, sometimes rummage around for a bit,  then happily hand whatever it is over to you.

Now I have no idea why it's called the Scary Drawer, but really it doesn't matter.  What does matter is that The Bookmine is such a pleasant place that it can make the Scary Drawer not scary at all.  Not even one little bit.

Even so, I admit I do not want to look inside it.  Just in case it really is scary. 

Never enough roses

That's crazy talk, isn't it? People and roses don't really meet each other. Really now, isn't that treating roses like they are, well, human?

But after a day in the City of Roses, I'm beginning to think roses just might be at least part human after all. I mean if you were treated with as much respect as these roses are, you'd feel human too.

They are everywhere, the roses. The pampered ones are in the formal rose garden. Here is a picture, but after I took it I thought, why bother. If it was in their nature, the roses would scoff at your efforts to capture their beauty. Instead they stand by silent and divine. If you look closely you will see them smiling as they tolerate your attempts.

Now look at this. 

What is it? It appears to be a rose cage. Imagine being trapped in there. 

But it isn't a cage after all. It's a tennis court! And it's surrounded by roses crawling up the fences on all four sides.

How could anyone possibly play tennis in there while the roses shower you with their beauty, completely unaware of what they are doing? You might as well sit this game out because you are going to lose. The roses will win.

In the City of Roses the roses are so abundant they even grow on the freeways. These are the careless roses - they require no pampering at all. The roar of the cars does not bother them. Nor does the exhaust.

I will confess I feel a little bit angry at these roses who grow entirely on their own, flopping themselves wherever they want to and blooming with abandon.

That's because I am jealous. I cannot grow roses. Either the pampered kind or the careless kind.

I tell myself it's because the deer will get them, which is true, but the real reason I can't grow them eludes me. Try as I might, my attempts to grow them always disappoint. Yet there, around the corner in a field, or over there along the freeway, the roses grow as if they need nothing whatsoever except to be allowed to show what they can do.

Every year I hope to do better, so still I keep trying.  

Because there are never enough roses.

Are you going to heave or going to heaven?

I happened upon this scene today.  First I saw the question on the left and thought it unusual since it's very rare that anyone cares so much if you are going to heave that they will give you a test for it.  This is must be a new type of medical screening, I thought.

Then I rounded the corner and saw the full scene.  

Oh! this is about heaven, not heaving.  That is a different matter entirely.

Until today I never thought of these two words as having anything at all to to do with each other, but now, I must confess I can't help but think of it.   

What a difference a single letter can make.

Where the butterflies rule

This is a place were the butterfly is king.  And queen too.  

And really, when you think about it, what better type of ruler could you have than butterflies?

The place is Elkton, a small town of just over 1,000 people about 30 miles southwest of GroveAtopia and the way I figure it at least half, and probably more of the people who live there work for the butterflies.

That's because besides the bakery, country store, coffee shop, and winery, the biggest thing in town is the Butterfly Pavilion.

I have driven through Elkton many times on my way to the coast, but never had the chance to stop here.  But this time I got smart and made it my destination.   

What I found was a place devoted to raising butterflies.  There were plants that butterflies like.  There were warm places for them to lay their eggs. There were greenhouses to raise the plants they like.   There was even a stage, which I suppose the butterflies could use to perform on if they wanted to.

Inside there was a man who was tending to the monarch butterflies.  He had them in special little netted houses in which they could safely emerge from their chrysalises and be lovingly cared for while their wet wings dried out and they readied themselves for flight.  Once their wings were dried they were put in another larger butterfly house to wait until the milkweed and the weather outside were ready for them.

In the gift shop I was told of the many students who would be hired that summer to work with the butterflies, to help make sure everything was just right for them.   Clearly this was no small town operation, even though it was in a small town.

The people of Elkton know butterflies.  A big part of their little town is devoted to them.  

Aren't they lucky?  And we are too, because you are invited.  Right there on the brochure it says "We encourage you to enjoy our small corner of the universe."

You aren't going to get a better invitation than that.