I can see for miles and miles and miles and miles and miles

Everyone loves a view.  A vista.  A perspective of a familiar scene from a different point of view - usually higher than where you are used to seeing things from.

This is the Astoria Column.  The name says it all.  It's in Astoria, and it's a column.  So how can a column be interesting?  Especially one that is not holding anything up?   One that is just standing there, all alone in the middle of a patch of grass, doing nothing but being tall?

Well the Astoria Column is interesting for at least two reasons. One is for the beautiful murals painted in a spiral around its exterior.   They tell the story of Astoria in pictures.

The other is that you can get to the top of this column.  You can go inside and climb the 164 step spiral staircase (go ahead, admit it, you love a spiral staircase.  Everyone does.)  and emerge at the top onto a little open air observation deck.  If you are lucky, and I mean really lucky - this is the Oregon coast after all - you will do it on a warm, clear day and when you get there you will be able to see 360 degrees of forever.  

To the west is the horizon where the ocean meets the sky.  The place where you can still see the ledge where people must certainly drop off because the earth simply cannot be round.  

To the south you see the exotic formations of the coast range.   And today, its so warm, you these formations remind you of Hawaii.

To the north, is the Columbia River where its 4 mile wide mouth meets the Pacific, and beyond, starting somewhere in the middle along a watery but invisible boundary, an entirely different state begins.

To the east, the Columbia River dominates - leading all the way across the state forming its northern border.  

GroveAtopia's best and most accessible views are from the top of Mt. David.  It's our community backyard, rising 880 feet above where most of us live.  Every GroveAtopian knows and loves Mt. David and despite the fact that it has always been privately owned nearly GroveAtopian has been to the top.

Every time I climb it I am re-amazed and how just the slightest rise makes all the difference. Being even just a few hundred feet up gives you a perspective of where we live that gives you pause.  You simply didn't know those hills over there, and that mountain over there were so close.  And look at all the hills and knolls that surround us.  You didn't really understand where we sit on our little southern piece of the great Willamette Valley until you saw it from this perspective.

A long time ago GroveAtopia had its own Astoria Column of sorts.  It was an oil well.  It sat at the top of Mt. David.   As the story goes, a certain Reverend Olson came to town in the 1920s and convinced a lot of prominent GroveAtopians that there was oil atop Mt. David.  Many of them invested a lot of money in his oil well, only to have him build the derrick, dig the hole, and skip town with all the money.

But the hole is still there.  And the story still lingers.  We could re-build the oil well and this time, instead of drilling for oil, or pretending to, we could build a viewing platform at top of the oil derrick, which would sit atop its original sight on Mt. David.

Go ahead and imagine it.  You know the view from there is divine.  And you know others who haven't seen it would agree,  if only the derrick and the viewing platform were actually there so they could really see it, because everyone loves a view.

Where the pavement ends

It's not as clear in this picture as it was when I drove off it, but where the pavement turns a very subtly lighter gray - that's where the pavement ends and the gravel begins.

Normally gravel roads don't bother me a bit, but when I venture into the wilderness of the Umpqua National Forest east of GroveAtopia, I know I need to be aware.

The forest there is wild, pristine and untamed.  The rivers and creeks are so clear it is frightening.  Water just isn't that invisible.  How can the fish possibly hide?

There are roads there too.  Lots of them.  Thanks to logging operations that have been taking place in the forest for decades.  They are identified primarily by number.  You can see this is national forest road 2213.  It shows up as NF2213 on a map.

The other day my companion, who loves a good road trip, and I set off to seek the route between GroveAtopia and Steamboat.  Steamboat is along the Umpqua River and normally you get there by going through Roseburg.  But that way, while beautiful, takes several hours.  

My friend who works for the forest service told me you can drive from GroveAtopia to Steamboat in less time if you take the national forest roads.  He said it was only 50 miles and was paved all the way.

So when we set out to find the route the other day, we thought we had it straight: take NF 22 to NF 38 to Oregon Route 138.  End up in Steamboat.

But it wasn't that simple.  We followed the road until we found a sign that told us to take 2213 to Roseburg.  So we did.  And Oh My.

I should have known something wasn't right as soon as the pavement ended.  My friend had said it was paved all the way, yet here we were bouncing and crunching along a gravel road.  It was in pretty good shape, or so it seemed so we rattled on.   

Next came NF 5850 and another sign pointing us to Route 138 and Roseburg.  Thinking we were getting closer we were dismayed to find we were still 27 miles from Route 138.  But we persevered.   Until we came to a road hazard.

Now road hazards on national forest backroads are not your typical road hazards.  A typical road hazard might be something spilled on the road, or an unusual bump or rough spot.

Road hazards on national forest roads can mean you have to turn around and go back.  That's what happened to us.

First there was the washout that left half the already narrow road gone.  We gingerly drove our way through hugging the hillside.  Whew!  We made it.  I hoped we never had to go through that again.

Next came a rock slide.  The rocks were blocking the road but someone had made a path through the rocks.  My navigator coaxed me through.  Whew again.

Finally, we came upon another rock slide.  This one left big boulders in the middle of the road.  We summoned up our nerve, my navigator got out and directed me through the only path through the hazard.  

But wait!  There was no way we could squeeze past that one rock.  The car just could not slither around it and we could not move it.  All we could do was go back.  

And face the previous road hazards again.

First there was the tricky matter of getting out of our current predicament.  Expert guidance from my navigator helped me turn around.  We eased our way back through the wash out and the other rock slide and happily started back.

Then we came to a fork in the road.  Which way had we come?  We didn't know!   We were a bit unnerved by the road hazards, and now we might be lost.

I know this is getting long but I must take a moment to remind you that these roads are rough, and poorly marked.  They snake all over the forest, and only those with the best maps can find their way through the maze.

We started up the road we thought was the one we'd taken.  But it was overgrown and we didn't remember swerving around that tree.  So we went back and took the other road.

Yes this was it.  We rumbled and crunched our way back down the road we'd taken, defeated and shaken.  We did not find the way to Steamboat.

But we are determined.  We think we have the correct route now.  And you can bet we will try it again.  

The NF roads of GroveAtopia are not to be underestimated.  They are wild, rugged and remote.  You could get lost back there and it would be awhile before someone found you.  

So if you go, take them seriously.  Stop by the ranger station and get a good map.  Talk to them about which roads are blocked and which are clear.  Take water and food.

And then go.  Go and take a drive on GroveAtopia's national forest roads.  It will be a drive unlike any you have taken.   Maybe I will even see you there.

The two worlds of GroveAtopia

By now you must be thinking that GroveAtopia is pretty much an ideal place.  We talk to our neighbors, smile at those we know and those we don't, are strict guardians of the joys of GroveAtopia's seasonal offerings and sometimes swear the fairies are living among us.  You might even start to think we are not part of this world.  Maybe GroveAtopia exists only in our imaginations, or in some ideal parallel universe.

But GroveAtopia is real and we must take our place there too.   We do in fact live in a political world that reminds us we are really just another jurisdiction; one of many in our state and we must partake in the process and discourse that world demands if we are to retain what we are.  Our very ideal; our vision of what we are and could be depends upon it.

Fortunately, GroveAtopia is graced with a group of people who make it their business to insure we retain what we love about our community.  They are our watchdogs, the shepherds of our public discourse and they make sure we know if there is something in the political world that we need do something about.

They call themselves the Blackberry Pie Society, which is perfect, because blackberries grow wild here, pies are well, just plain yummy, and the word society implies a group of respectful ladies who might partake in nothing more than tea with each other in the afternoon.

But the Blackberry Pie Society has nothing to do with taking tea, although they often serve blackberry pie at their meetings, which is kind of like serving tea.  

It is in fact a political action committee that meets every month to discuss and share the political news that requires our attention.  They help make sure we know what is going on both near and far, so we can exercise the vigilance needed to make sure GroveAtopia has a voice among the others.

So if you were starting to think GroveAtopia was just too perfect, too unreal and perhaps too removed from reality, think again.   Thanks to the Blackberry Pie Society, we get to live both worlds at the same time. 

Now it's the blueberries

Remember?  Just a little while back it was the cherries.   And now, they must step aside and make room for another GroveAtopian summertime treat: the blueberries.

This picture is a meager attempt to capture my favorite blueberry picking spot.  It's out near Lorane.  

You can get there by either taking the regular way, which is out CG-Lorane highway, or you can take the adventurous way and take Gowdyville Road all the way.  If you've never done that, you owe it to yourself.  The road is gravel most of the way, but don't let that bother you.  You can do it.

Either route will take you to the blueberries, just follow the signs.  When you get there, you will be greeted by no less than 288 50 year old blueberry bushes, bursting with big, fat, juicy blueberries.  

You can have as many as you can pick.  They are $2 a pound and sold completely on the honor system.  There are buckets there, a produce scale, a pen and paper for you to record how many you picked and a coffee can to put your money in.  All blueberry transactions take place on the porch.  

When I was out there today, the person before me had earned the title of blueberry picking champion to date by picking 16.5 lbs.  The person before that picked about 3 lbs.  We picked 5, and I don't know how many the couple who came after us picked.  

But what we do know is the blueberry field yielded at least 25 lbs of blueberries today.  And there were still many many more ripe ones and many more than that that were still green.   We have weeks of blueberries ahead of us here in GroveAtopia.

Lots of people who live in town have blueberry bushes growing in their gardens.  I think there are even some growing at city hall.  But I like to pick out in the countryside.  It's quieter there. And to be in the midst of hundreds of blueberry bushes, picking them by the thousands, eating them along the way, so immersed that you see them when you close your eyes, is one of the pleasures of GroveAtopian summers.

So go ahead.  Go to the blueberries.  You know they are calling you.  And if you have any doubts, take a drive out to the blueberry field.  Then stop and listen.  If you still can't hear them, pick one.  You won't be able to resist after that.  And happily, there is no need to.

Byzantine Banners

It's summertime in GroveAtopia and that means banners.  

Once the sun has won its battle with the clouds and rain, the events begin.  Every weekend is packed with local events and nearly all of them are for a good cause.  There are so many, no one person could attend them all.

But what about the banners?  This about the banners.  

Okay here comes the banners part.

As anyone who has planned one of the events that fill every summer weekend here in GroveAtopia knows, and I think, judging by the sheer number of summertime events, that means just about each and every one of the 35,000 people who live in and around GroveAtopia, you need a banner.

You know what I mean.  You see them strung up here and there, sometimes over Main Street, or hanging on the tennis court fence, or on the Vintage Inn fence just off exit 174.  They might talk about the speedway, or the Growers Market, or the Concerts in the Park, or simply say Kiwanas.  Whatever they say, banners are a basic building block of event planning in GroveAtopia.

So if they are so common, how could there possibly be anything even remotely Byzantine about them?

Well I am about to tell you.  And I should know because just today I hung my own banner.

I thought it would be a simple affair, especially because I have done it before.  I knew the ins and outs of banner hanging in GroveAtopia.  Or so I thought.

Let's start with what I thought I knew.

If you want to hang a banner over Main Street, and you have to admit it is a prime place, because GroveAtopia's Main Street, unlike so many other Main Streets, is still alive, so many many GroveAtopians will see it, you have to get a permit.  Makes sense.  We don't want just any cobbled together banner hanging over Main Street.

There is a 2 page ordinance that governs Main Street banners.  The code specifies how big the banner must be, that it must have wind vents and use a certain type of grommet and hook to connect it properly to the wires.  Once the banner permit guy decides your banner meets these requirements and no one else is scheduled to hang their banner over Main Street, he issues the permit and a city worker will hang the banner for you.

Now let's say someone has already hung a banner over Main Street for the same time you want to hang yours.  Then you can go to the tennis courts.  There is a lovely fence there that nearly everyone who comes out of Safeway or visits the post office has a nice long chance to look at while they wait for the light to change.  It's a great spot.

But you need a permit for that space too.  It says so right there on the fence.  So you go to the banner permit guy and fill out permit and he decides if you can hang your banner.   Seems pretty simple.  Now here is where what I thought I knew ends and what I didn't know begins.

It turns out if someone is having a special event in Coiner Park, like say Bohemia Mining Days, the right to hang banners on the tennis court fence (and the basketball court fence - that's thrown in as bonus fence space) comes with that permit.  If you want to hang your banner there, you have to wait until the special event permit expires.

Now let's say you just want to hang your banner on the tennis court.  There is no other special event, there's no banner over Main Street, but let's say you like the tennis court space, or your banner just doesn't meet the requirements to hang it over Main Street, wouldn't you think you merely need a permit, just like the sign says?

Well I'm afraid it's not that simple.   But we are getting byzantine now, aren't we?  I promised you we would so here we go.  The tennis court fence is only used if Main Street is taken.  It's sort of like an overflow banner spot.  The city really wants you to put your banner over Main Street after all.

That would be okay if you knew this in advance so you ordered your banner to fit the Main Street specifications.  But I must say, it is more expensive to get a Main Street banner since it must be printed on both sides, be quite a bit larger, and have those vents and special hangers on it.  But if you just assumed you could hang it on the tennis courts, you would have ordered a simpler, less expensive banner.   But you would have assumed wrong.

So what if the banner permit guy is not around?  Let's say he's on vacation.  Well I'm sorry to say this, but you cannot hang your banner until he gets back to approve your permit.  You are out of luck.

But there is one other option.   You can hang your banner on the fence by the Vintage Inn.  That fence technically belongs to the Oregon Department of Transportation, but the Vintage Inn, our local coffee shop that's just off I-5, informally gives permission to hang banners on the fence.   That permission comes with some sort of caveat that says technically ODOT could remove the banner but they never do.

However, to get Vintage Inn permission, you need to track down the manager or the owner and get the okay.   Now you can hang your banner.  Which is what I ended up doing.

So remember this every time you see a banner in GroveAtopia.  Whoever hung it went through a similar maze of byzantine rules.  And you know what?  I have a feeling there is even more to banner law in GroveAtopia that I don't know.  But don't worry.   You can rest assured that when I find out what else I don't know I'll be sure to pass it on to you.

Life really is just a bowl of cherries

The cherries have come to GroveAtopia, and if you are lucky like me you have more than you can possibly eat.  In one sitting, that is.

These cherries are from our tree.  We don't do a darned thing except prune it every few years, and look what it does for us.  Flawless cherries.  

It doesn't seem right to have more cherries than you can possibly eat, but none of this is up to me. 

It is completely in the hands of the tree, the weather, the bees and nature.   

All I have to do is say thank you.   And eat lots and lots of cherries.

Whap!

Is that even a word?  Well if it isn't it should be because that's the word that comes to mind over and over when I am in GroveAtopia's only automatic car wash.  That's the sound those big dangly sponges make as they wash the car.

To tell you the truth, that car wash scares me.  The sponges are so big, and they hit my car so hard it shakes.  It's as if they are beating the dirt off my car.

And then there is the motion.  Instead of the car moving through the car wash, GroveAtopia's car wash does all the moving.  Your car stays perfectly still.

Would someone please explain that to my brain?  Because all the while it is thinking the car is moving, but without the sensation of movement.  All this works together to both frighten and nauseate me.  This is the only place in the world where I suffer from vertigo.

So how do I deal with it?  Wash my own car?  No.  

Go to the other car wash where you do it yourself?  No.

When I go to GroveAtopia's automatic car wash here is how I cope.  I close my eyes.

Fortunately I am always alone, and no one can see me sitting in there with my eyes shut, waiting for the whole car washing experience to end.  Otherwise I would be embarrassed.

So why do I keep going there?  Because this car wash gets my car clean.  Part of it is because of those giant sponges going whap whap whap against my car, while I cower inside.

But the real reason is the two women who work there, who make sure your car is thoroughly pre-washed.  They spray and brush every square inch of your car before it even feels the first whap.  Frankly I think they could probably do job themselves and just forget the automatic car wash altogether.   

Then at least I could keep my eyes open the whole time.

It's over

It was fun while it lasted.   The vase full of flowers someone put on one of these tables 3 whole weeks ago is gone.  

It disappeared as mysteriously as it appeared.   We'll never know who put it there and why nor will we know who took it away and why.

What we do know is that as long as the flowers were there, unbothered, day after day, we felt good about it.   Then as they started to die, the fact that we let them do even that undisturbed said good things about us and our little town. 

Secretly I was hoping someone would replace the flowers and I will confess I thought of doing it myself.  But now that it's over I'm glad that didn't happen.  

I liked wondering about these flowers.  I liked the mystery.   

And now that they're gone I even like that.   

Lettuce, eggs and time

Wednesday morning in GroveAtopia means lettuce and eggs.  Well it does for me and about a dozen or so others who go to the same lettuce and egg lady to pick them up fresh every week.   We go to her house between 8:30 and 10:00 a.m. and she has them waiting for us.  A dozen eggs and a ziplock bag of fresh greens.  

Some get more than lettuce and eggs.  They get whatever her garden is yielding at the moment. It might be carrots and beets.  Onions and green beans.  Cucumbers and kale.  It might even be all of that and more.  Whatever it is, it will all be fresh, picked just yesterday, packed into the bag you brought and ready for you to eat as if you'd grown it yourself.

However, as is the case with so many things in GroveAtopia, picking up the lettuce and eggs is not just that.  Each of us spends time talking with the lettuce and eggs lady, catching up with what's been happening over the past week, or just talking about whatever comes to mind.   

This kind of thing happens all the time in GroveAtopia.  As a result, we GroveAtopians must estimate how long our errands will take not in terms of distance, traffic or parking availability.

Instead we measure it in terms how long we are likely to find ourselves conversing with whomever we are doing business with, or whomever we happen to run into on our way to doing what we originally left the house to do.  

In the end our errands probably take as long as they do in the big city, but here we use that time greeting, talking and sharing, instead of sitting in gridlock, waiting at traffic lights or waiting in line with strangers.

Now the lettuce and eggs lady lives just around the corner, and if I chose the efficient route I could leave my house, pick them up and be home in 5 minutes.  But I know that my simple purchase will never take just that amount of time.  Because when I arrive, there I am, in her home, standing in her living room, buying from her what she and nature have labored together to make.  You can't do that with efficiency as your goal.  

So even if you thought you wanted a quick trip, even just this once, because perhaps you are in a hurry for one reason or another, when she answers the door and invites you in, you greet each other, and from that point on, no matter what you talk about, be it the weather or the garden or what you heard about so and so or this and that, you know that efficiency is not what you are after. 

What you are really after is what you just got.   Lettuce, eggs and time.