many small things

I have been doing a lot of small things I like but I have not been taking pictures. This is one of the interesting aspects of online public displays of how-cool-and-busy-I-am; sometimes I would rather just enjoy rafting down the Deschutes, bird watching at Sauvie Island, and cooking a fantastic meal without worrying about re-performing these actions for everyone else. So a brief selection of old photos and a news update.


Small things I like: rainier cherries in the height of july, the way fruit juices sink into the cutting board, throwing birthday parties for a friend.


Mount Hood from the top of the OHSU Aerial Tram. Paul and I are driving back across the country in less than two weeks, settling in Asheville, North Carolina. Good bye big mountains! Hello rolling green glory of the Smokies! Taking another cross-country trip reminds me that I have yet to recount our first adventure here, the epic five week journey from Brooklyn to Portland. Perhaps the two trip tales will overlap, a sort of temporal concordance of coincidence. Maybe I'll just keep them safe and tangible, in my paper journal.


The sunflower runt toppled last week after a particularly windy day, probably due to the explosion of blooms that must have weighed heavily upon it. We massacred it into five massive bouquets, which leave yellow pollen trails about the house. At the height of it's glory it had over fifty flowers and brushed the rain gutters.

the runt, again

After two days of ninety degree heat.

cantalope

Will we be able to eat it before we move to Asheville?

the sunflower runt

When we moved to Portland, we knew we wanted space for growing things. Everyone here gardens in their yard; flower beds full of artichokes, window boxes bristling with basil. We built two raised beds, one four feet by nine feet, one four feet by seven feet. We planted lots of vegetables and herbs, and some sunflowers.


The sunflowers we grew from seed and planted in the front bed to be posts for our pole beans to climb. (It worked quite well until the heat wave charred the beans). There was a runt, a little seedling slightly crooked and drooping, that we planted in the backyard just to see what would happen, expecting nothing.


The runt is now a massive tree, which shades Bible as he lounges about. It is twelve feet high and at this moment has at least thirty blooms. It leans slightly but looks stable. The stalk is a good three inches around. I can smell the flowers from the kitchen window. So much for runts.

monster cukes

You leave for ten days...


and the cucumbers take on a life of their own.

love soup

When Paul and I were a-courting, he made me a picnic of vichyssoise with heavy creme and chopped scallions under a flowering tree, and it is our love soup.


He made it for me again, after a hard day's work, while I soaked in the bathtub reading Ursula K. Le Guin.


This time with love and bacon.