We went to the Oregon Country Fair on Saturday, and we had a great time, but this was one of those events that had been over-hyped to us.
You HAVE to go.
You’ve never see ANYthing like it.
It’s where all the weird in Oregon goes to let their freak flags fly.
It’s SO WEIRD.
You have to see it to understand.
Yeah, not so much. I mean, it’s a little weird, but it’s barely weirder than a renaissance festival, and that’s basically what it is, minus the renaissance trappings. More hippie than history. It’s a giant arts/music/crafts festival out in a permanent location in the woods. I mean GIANT – this place was enormous and easy to get lost in. There’s a ton of handmade stuff, lots of fair food, music everywhere, and people dressed as anything you can imagine: themselves (like us), fairy-type stuff (lots of headbands with horns, flower crowns, masks, face-painting), people on stilts (we saw a group dressed up as characters from the Wizard of Oz all on stilts), a couple of hippie marching bands (tie-dye shirts and flowers), and a few topless women and men wearing barely anything, which I suppose is what people were trying to tell us when they kept saying how weird it is.
It wasn’t that weird, and it’s an alcohol- and drug-free zone, so it wasn’t likely to get crazy, either.
I liked it very much – I don’t mean to sound like it wasn’t a really good time or that I didn’t thoroughly enjoy all the people watching, but it makes me wonder about everyone else’s definition of weird. Or maybe it’s my own definition I should worry about.
Tuesday night (4th of July) we were up past eleven, watching fireworks from a footbridge over the Willamette River a couple of blocks from our house. Sounds great, right? Like one of those experiences we’re all supposed to savor. Eh. The fireworks were totally not worth it – uninspired, no music, blocked by trees, washed out by the lights on the bridge and in the park. Sorry, Eugene, but your fireworks game is weak.
Tonight, two days later, I’m ready to climb into bed at 10 after 8. The sun hasn’t set yet, and it’s a beautiful night, but I’m so. crazy. tired. I bet Margaret and Erik will be able to hear me snoring all the way in California.
Life with me is a real roller coaster ride, people. Better hang on.
Let me tell you the story of our hike last Saturday. “Story”, since it’s not like anything eventful happened. Mostly I want an excuse to show you pictures. Oh, that reminds me – I want to preface all these pictures with something. Every picture and video posted here was taken by me on my phone’s camera. I have the resolution cranked all the way up, and for the still photos, I have HDR turned on. I don’t edit my photos, and I don’t use filters. (This is not a vanity or ego thing – I don’t have the patience or desire to spend that much time on my pictures.)
Anyway, I wanted a hike with waterfalls, but I didn’t want to drive all the way across the state to see the famous ones, like Multnomah Falls (two and a half hours away) or Klamath Falls (three hours away). Luckily for us, the Mackenzie River has a trail called the Waterfalls Loop Trail, and it starts less than 90 away from us.
We started at the Carmen Reservoir. The day was perfect.
The river was so clear it looked it looked chlorinated, and the water was so cold that the air on the banks felt like air conditioning. Everything smelled fresh and clean and clear and that reminds me of something I forgot to mention about our redwoods hike. That national park smelled SO GOOD. Margaret, wonder that she is, explained that the park has a lot of bay trees, and surprise surprise, they smell like bay leaves, and it was so freakin’ pleasant (and I am so glad we had Margaret to tell us that because otherwise I would not have been able to explain why it smelled so good). This forest did not smell like bay leaves, but it smelled like fresh, clean air, and it was so nice.
The path was clear and well-maintained (and by the waterfalls, it had big log railings that reminded John of Busch Gardens in Williamsburg), and the forest was beautiful.
And then we rounded the corner and saw the first of two waterfalls. (I think it was Koosah Falls.)
It was loud, of course, but I could have watched it for hours.
Speaking of well-maintained trails, I’m always tickled to find stairs in the woods. These were on the way up the river, past the first waterfall to the second (and the top of the loop).
So then we came to the second waterfall. Look at all that green! I can’t get over how nearly neon it was.
Then of course we asked someone to take our picture. Not great, but whatever.
So we climbed to the top of that waterfall and kept following the trail, but when it was time loop back, we weren’t ready. There was another path that was supposed to lead to Clear Lake (never heard of it, but it sounded promising), so we figured we’d follow that for a little bit.
It led us here. We weren’t impressed.
We were going to turn back, but another hiker came by and pointed out that the trail continued on the other side of the road. That was awfully nice of her because that’s how we found the Lake of Shining Waters Clear Lake.
It had a cool bridge going across the river.
We walked a little and turned around pretty quickly, but when we got back to the bridge, it had been overrun by tweens from sleepaway camp. There were at least 20 of them, daring each other to jump off the bridge, their camp counselors egging them on. I got video.
After that, we headed back to the waterfalls loop to go down the other side. We found where the trolls live.
And then as we got to the top of that upper waterfall, we climbed down from the actual trail to get closer to the water and I found my new favorite spot in the whole world.
That’s where the water plunges down, that horizontal line of frothy water with trees above it (beyond it). My toes were an inch from the waterline on the bank.
I crouched down under a tree to get the water rushing over rocks inches away.
Shifting my focus upstream, look at how clear it is and then how cold it looks.
And then there was this spot, where I could sit up against a tree with the water rushing by below and the dropoff 30 feet ahead.
We stopped here for a while.
And, well, John was hot, so he tested the temperature.
We did eventually head back down the trail, and we found ALL the rainbows at the first waterfall.
This next picture is why I mentioned all that stuff about not editing and not using filters. I have done nothing to this picture to make it look like this.
It’s my favorite. Occasionally I get lucky. And that day, I was very happy to be on that trail.
On my bike ride today, I passed a guy going the other direction. He was on roller blades. He was wearing tiny speedo-like shorts with an American flag pattern, no shirt, suspenders, and a bow tie. And a helmet because safety is important.
Happy 4th of July from Eugene!
Also, have some roses from our garden, just because.
So, before you ask, no, I don’t think that’s the turkey who spent the winter sleeping (and pooping) on our front porch. I mean, what do I know from turkeys, but I know we had more than one adult turkey hanging around, and I don’t think this is the one who chose us.
They seem to spend most of their time in the neighbor’s yard behind us. As we were walking by the other day, two of the neighbors were out trying to herd one of the baby turkeys back towards the house. The mama turkey and the rest of the babies were on the roof of their house, and the last baby was cheeping and scurrying around their yard because it couldn’t fly quite high enough.
My laptop is downstairs. I am upstairs. I am in bed, and I’m so comfortable, and I’m so tired, and the AC is on, and the lights are dim, and my eyes are closing, and all of this unnecessary detail means that you don’t get the post about our perfect hike on Saturday or the Seattle crab legs saga I keep forgetting to tell you about or the muddled and confused rant about the Netflix series Anne With An E that I’ve been trying to articulate.
Instead, you get choppy thoughts and one long rambling sentence that is meant to be an apology for…not telling you anything interesting. I’m sorry? Yes. I’m sorry.
California is a lovely place, with lovely weather, and lovely friends, and GIANT TREES.
It’s kind of funny – we visited Erik and Margaret (and their two adorable, smart, and funny children) for a little more than three days, but the only pictures I have are from the day we went to see the redwoods.
We followed the creek and found a nice picnic spot, and then the kids (and Margaret) played in the creek. It was all so wholesome and fun, and I mean that – no sarcasm here.
I made this last one big ’cause otherwise you can barely see us.
It was so good to see them again, and it was such a relaxing weekend. They did a good job of making California seem like the place we want to be. It’s not, not long-term, but they did such a good job of showing us all the good parts that we temporarily forgot that, and it was really hard to leave.
I had a really good riding lesson today. This was my fourth lesson on Olive, an actual horse-sized horse, and I’m getting much more comfortable on her. A woman I hadn’t met yet, who was sitting and watching with Wendy, complimented my release after a set of jumps.
I don’t know what that is, and I didn’t stop to ask just then, and I don’t want to look it up now. If it’s something I’m doing well naturally, I’m afraid that if I look it up, I’ll start thinking about it and do it badly. There’s so much to think about that if I can delay thinking about something, that can only be good. Except that now I have guesses about what it is, and I’ll probably overthink it, so maybe I’m better off if I look it up.
Okay, I googled it (and my guesses were wrong). It has to do with not pulling on the reins (and then the bit) as you go over the jump. Wendy taught me to move my hands forward on the neck and hold the horse’s mane to avoid pulling the reins accidentally. Apparently that’s called a crest release (long or short depending on how far up the mane you hold) – she left that part out. So okay, I’m already doing it and thinking about it and it’s all good.
John took the plane out this afternoon at the same time (I dropped him off at the airfield, drove to the farm, and then picked him up when I was done), and he found me and flew circles around the farm while I rode. He said he could see someone on a horse jumping, and he assumed it was me (it was). We saw the plane and waved madly with no idea if he could see us. Turns out he could, and he tried to make the plane wave back. I thought I saw a wobble, but it wasn’t as dramatic-looking as it felt to him.
Anyway, it was cool, and it made for a good afternoon.
Big sigh of relief: Beauchamp Besieged was pretty good! I don’t think I’ve ever read a Harlequin romance before, but I’m happy to say this one exceeded my expectations. And there I go, outing myself as a snob. I guess everyone’s snobby about something, right? I’m just happy I can honestly tell my friend I enjoyed her book.
White lies are fine, but it’s so much easier to be honest.
Huh. I don’t know if I actually believe that. Sometimes honesty is harder, and often it’s unkind. It depends. Everything depends. We live in a morally gray world. I do, anyway.
From romance to philosophy: it’s a roller coaster around here!
I just decided not to read another book, but it’s for a good reason! I think it’s a good reason, anyway. I read (and enjoyed) Gentlemen and Players by Joanne Harris about eight years ago, so I happily picked up another book by her last week. I started to read it last night, thought it sounded awfully familiar, and then realized it’s the sequel. It’s probably not exactly the same story as Gentlemen and Players (as John pointed out, it is called Different Class), but it’s set at the same school in the year right after that book ends, and the main character is the same and you know? I don’t want to. It’s another thriller with another mystery about some former student who has it in for the same teacher and while I’m sure it’s good – it’s probably good – I’m out. Back to the library this book will go. Instead, I will read one of the cheap paperbacks I have picked up since we got here so I can discard it before we move. I will be practical, and I will be done with Joanne Harris. Since this will be the second Joanne Harris book I have put down in a row (I gave up on The Gospel of Loki a year ago April), she gets no more chances from me. Except that I will almost certainly read Chocolat at some point. I love the movie. I’d like to read the book.
We got stuck behind a really slow minivan on our way home today. Seriously, he was going 15 miles per hour in a 35mph zone on a very busy road, we’d been traveling for 8.5 hours, and we were LESS THAN ONE MILE from our house.
Some more thoughts on The Gate to Women’s Country, all entirely non-spoilery. Or maybe less about this book in particular and more about, well, let me get to that.
I have read a large number of books that left me wanting more when they were over. More books in a series, more information about the world that was created, more information about the characters or their families or their earlier adventures. Sometimes I have questions, maybe a mystery was left unsolved, or maybe something mysterious happened in the past that drove a character to do something, but that mysterious thing was never explained. I usually consider this a good thing, even if it’s mildly (at best) frustrating. It meant I was fully engaged. I want to know more. The author did something right, and if I’m lucky, I’ll get those answers in later books. I’m not always so lucky. Robin McKinley is a good example. Off the top of my head, I can name three books of hers, all stand-alone novels, set in three distinct worlds. All three books were complete on their own*, but the worlds in those books had histories, the families had problems, and the books were about one event, one adventure, just one snippet of those worlds. I want to know more about those worlds and those characters. What was the cataclysmic event that happened to the world in Shadows before the story that was written began? How did a world that was basically our own turn into that world? In Sunshine, what is up with the main character’s family? It’s clearly important to her character, but wasn’t necessary information for the story itself so it’s only hinted at, not included. I don’t remember having a lot of questions after I read Dragonhaven, but I want more family history AND more dragons, please.
The Gate to Women’s Country falls on the opposite end of the spectrum. Everything is explained at the end, even a few things that the very smart main character should have already figured out. Some of it is explained to the main character, some of it is explained to someone else, but all of it is explained, and I find it very satisfying. No loose ends. No open questions (except the reader’s own questions about the future of this civilization, which are totally acceptable). There’s clarity at the end, the kind that makes you go back and re-read the first few pages now that you’ve been enlightened. Sheri S. Tepper tends to do that, to lay everything out for the reader at the end, to spell out the things you’ve suspected or point out the things you missed.
I don’t know which approach I prefer. I like it when things are wrapped up neatly. I like knowing everything there is to know about a fictional universe. (There’s a reason I own two companion guides each to Anne McCaffrey’s Pern and Robert Jordan’s The Wheel of Time.) On the other hand, hinting at the richness of another world leaves so much scope for the imagination. I find it harder to let those books go and move into something else, and I can’t think that’s a bad thing.
*I’m not talking about books without resolutions, like one by an author I really like that is billed as a mystery and that moves like a mystery and HAS a mystery in it but is really just a cover for character development so it ends WITHOUT SOLVING THE MYSTERY.
I have decided to travel light this weekend. John and I are in one suitcase, and neither of us is bringing a laptop. My carry-on is my Paris tote, and John will be walking on to the plane with only his Kindle in his hand. I’d be able to go lighter if I didn’t have to carry prescription meds everywhere I go.
I always think I’ll use my laptop on trips more than I actually do. In Seattle, the wi-fi in the hotel was terrible, and I don’t plan to have much free time for laptopping this trip. I expect we’ll only head to our hotel late at night, tired and ready for sleep. That is okay with me, so I am bowing to reality and leaving my laptop at home.
This is a bit out of date, but I have pictures and video, so why not share?
Eula Ridge is only maybe 30 minutes outside of Eugene (although it took us more like 45 minutes since we went past it the first time – it’s not well-marked). It’s all wooded, nice and shady.
There’s a little parking area at the bottom, right off the road, and there was a truck and a school bus parked there when we arrived. The bus driver warned us that they had just dropped about 35 mountain bikers off at the top (I can only assume there’s a road that goes up since a bus did NOT take the trail we were on), and they were going to be making their way down, and we should be careful.
John and I started up the trail worried that a pack of mountain bikers would mow us down. We spent the entire hike scouting for good spots to hop off to the side. There were a few kind of narrow scary parts, but mostly there was plenty of room for us to get out of the way. They came through pretty spread out, one at a time, not at the breakneck speed I was picturing.
It was a really nice afternoon. Some website said it’s three miles to the top, but there aren’t any spectacular views, and we had…something…that night (I don’t remember what – it was nearly a month ago), so we turned around at two miles up. I took video to commemorate it.
And of course I tried to get a selfie of us.
We are not good at the selfie thing.
I will leave you with the soothing sounds of a babbling brook for meditation.
Friday morning we’re getting up at airport-thirty for an 8am flight. We’ve considered spending Thursday night in Portland, but we’d still have an early start and what’s a couple of hours when it’s already early to begin with?
That might be stupid.
On the plus side, it’s a short flight because for the first time in a year and a half (a little more for John), we aren’t flying ALL THE WAY across the country.
Now that I think about it, I’m not so sure that’s a plus considering what time we’ll be getting up. A longer flight means a longer nap. And I think we’ll need it.
Still! The weather is supposed to be beautiful (sunny and not too hot), and we’ll have gotten an early start (which I usually enjoy), and we’re off to visit dear friends we haven’t seen in YEARS, and coffee is a thing.
I finished reading The Gate to Women’s Country today. For the third or fourth time – I don’t remember. I love this book. Since I read it this time for my NOW book club, and since it was my pick, I read it more carefully and took notes. I feel so virtuous. And I’m excited for book club, but we don’t meet for another week (the other reason notes were important).
Happily, Elaine remembered to bring me my very own personally autographed copy of Beauchamp Besieged, so I’ll start it tonight. I’m a little nervous. I want to like it because she’s so nice, but what if I don’t?
John and I are slowly eating our way through the largest lemon cream pie I have ever seen, thanks to Amber and Brian who left it with us after the four of us were unable to make much of a dent in it Friday night. The two of us, classy couple that we are, have been eating it straight out of the pie plate for dessert every night since then, and I think we finally crossed halfway last night (night 3). This thing is a monster. A 10-inch, 3-inch deep, creamy, lemony, delicious monster.
My facial person moved to LA last month, so I had my first facial with my new facial person (aesthetician is too formal) last week, and I’m not sure I like her. I certainly don’t like her as much, but we didn’t click very well. It was all awkward chitchat and too much of it. She rallied at the end of the hour when she massaged my face.
No one has ever massaged my face before. It’s a weird thing to do. Rub temples, sure. Gently move in circles while applying products, yes. This was an all-out massage. Both hands on, whole face covered, pressure added. I could feel my whole face contorting as she rubbed and twisted and IT WAS SO GREAT. I would never have put that on a list of things I wanted, but now I want it again.
So yes, very young person with the awkward chitchat, I will see you again next month. And then I might cancel my membership because I have other priorities for that money. But she doesn’t have to know that.
I’m so glad I don’t have to write jokes for a living. There are many, many, many jobs I’m glad I don’t have – SO MANY – but having to be funny all the time? For money? SO MUCH PRESSURE. Also, I’m not funny, so I would fail right away, assuming anyone hired me in the first place. On the rare occasions where I AM funny, it’s accidental and cannot be repeated (and is usually because I messed up the punchline to someone else’s joke). Crafting a joke, revising it and messing with the timing to make it funnier – that’s hard. It’s fascinating, and I love to hear comedians and comedy writers talk about it, but I can’t imagine doing it myself and having the end result make people laugh. Is that a skill you can learn? Maybe? Maybe I’ll add it to the long list of things I want to do. At the bottom. And in the meantime, I’ll just enjoy all the actual funny people out there.
