I never tire of this.
I met Anne last week for a little “boring” shopping and fit
I loaded it all on the bike and then headed up Interstate Avenue hill. Whew!
That’s not pot in the trunk of my car. It’s a huge load of invasive yellow flag iris, on their way out to my parents’ house where they will hopefully spread and hold in a collapsing pond wall. Invasives are good at that. Ever notice?
I have mixed feelings about invasive species. On one hand, I admire the buggers. They grow well. They don’t seem to need much, and they can often fill in space where other plants couldn’t cut it. They are determined, that is for sure, and I am not one to look down my nose at something that works so hard.
On the other hand, they are pushy. They squeeze out native plants and don’t often have much benefit to animals, making them run out of control. Some are actually impossible to control, like scotch broom, and though sort of pretty on a faraway hillside, are tyrants to live with. Master gardeners and other such knowledgeable grey heads tell me they are bad, and I like to respect my elders. Plus I like those master gardener types. I feel like I should believe them. They have the word “master” right their in their name.
This last week I had a huge chunk of time to myself where I simply dug out all the plants that had gotten too cheeky. But instead of tossing them right in the yard debris, I carefully bagged them up for transport. I even tried to give some away.
In the interest of being COMPLETELY HONEST (brad), I even clearly identified this one as an invasive. I am not sure what it is, but within a couple years, it has nearly overtaken my entire front yard.
It’s hard for me to outright kill a plant. I want to give it a chance. It’s pretty. It is usually one of the first things that blooms each year, but it is definitely a plant on the move. What started as a sweet little patch of yellow is now marching across the yard.
There were some people who actually took my little plant home. I mean, sometimes there seems to be a place for something that knows how to be prolific. But I assure you, I am not totally stupid. I once knew these people who cultivated the himalayan blackberries on their fence line because they liked the idea of berry picking. I’m not that bad. Yet.
I feel really lucky to live in Portland. I guess if I was living in New York City, after awhile, I might learn how to escape the city. And my short year that I lived in Toronto, Ontario, I definitely learned places to go to pretend I wasn’t really in an urban area. I have thought a lot about the city versus country thing. At heart, I think I am really a country person. High school years withstanding, throughout my life, I’ve felt comfortable in the country. I love the woods. I love the quiet. On the other hand, the city is full of fascinating people. I feel part of society in the city—ironically I find I love people more in the city. My memories of growing up in the country are of being happy on my own up on Rock Creek Road, but lonely and sad whenever I had to venture out to Willamina or Sheridan. Maybe that just represents the angst of youth, feeling like you are just so weird that you can never quite belong, but I never learned how to feel okay in my country community. On the other hand, I feel really comfortable in the city, but I get tired of the constant noise. I don’t find peace as easily in the city. The constant sound is so invasive.
It’s very important to me that my children learn how to feel at home in the woods because it has felt like such a grounding presence for me. (I still need to read Richard Louv’s Last Child in the Woods but I am afraid it will freak me out too much.) Luckily it isn’t too hard to get out even in Portland. Just a few miles from our house we have access to hundreds of miles of trails and semi-wilderness. We went for a great hike a few weekends ago on one of the Fire Lane Trails.
These trails are nearly deserted this far out of town. We passed one woman with a dog during our two and half hour hike.
The kids liked being out under the trees watching maple leaves slowly spin to the ground. Zephyr especially dug the pine cone fights.
So “one foot in/one foot out”. I guess it is a balanced way to live….
I went to the informational meeting for the coop hosts for the Tour de Coops and oh-my-holy-Jesus, these people are intense! I had considered getting the chicken coop all prettied up for the tour, but it hadn’t occurred to me that really these people are gardeners—intense, crazy gardeners. They are going to care about things like my invasive species and such, and my wilted and dying basil, and my patch that was suppose to be cauliflower but is actually some crazy chrysanthemum that seems to spread wildly all over my yard. And what with my trip to Ashland next week (poor me!), I only have 9 days to get the entire yard totally whipped into shape and ready to be oooed and ahhhed at. I’m a bit stressed out about this.
The tour is going to be fun though. The organizers said that we should expect between 300 and 500 people to come visit our yard. With that many feet, maybe I should make a path right through the invasive ivy. They could trample it to death, right? The previous owners of this house were great believers in plants that spread, so most of my work these days is ripping out, not putting in. I picked up an invasive weed pamphlet up on the Wildwood trail and saw not one but five weeds that are in residence in my yard (blackberry, ivy, pokeweed, morning glory, and old man’s beard or clematis). That isn’t even counting spearmint, which perhaps is not invasive but still makes me do battle yearly pushing it back so that I don’t have an entire yard of cocktail garnish.
To be fair, my yard is better every year. Sometimes it is even pretty. I’m thinking that if I can pace myself over the next couple weeks I can arrive at something lovely in time for the tour. I’ll let you know!
Sorry I haven’t posted for a bit. I am recovering, kind of slowly I might add. Something about returning on a serious red-eye and going straight back to the needs of clamoring children plus a big old house to pull together makes for, well, tiredness. Returning from Japan was sort of bittersweet. I missed Brad and the kids of course. I didn’t miss the laundry. I didn’t miss keeping the refrigerator stocked. Or the construction dust that covers every surface around our house right now. Or waking up to no milk for my coffee. Time out for some self-talk—-(Stay positive. Quit bitching!) Okay! So I am glad to be back! And all the things I just named can only predicate MORE TRIPS, so what is so bad about that?
Kobe, where my dear sister is living, is an interesting little corner of the planet. Osaka/Kobe itself is not a gorgeous place. It has some nice elements like the way that the city nestles in between the mountains and the ocean. It is clean and orderly. The hills are green and the ocean is wild and lovely. Coming in from the airport is a trip though! I couldn’t figure out if it was just the efficiency of a port area, good zoning, or if I should be incredibly depressed with the consumerism that fuels so much industry, because all you see for the first hour on the bus in from Kansai International airport is just warehouses, docks, and manufacturing for miles and miles and miles.
These two photos are actually sort of charming, but I truly saw electrical plants the size of cities. And no actual housing to be seen for miles and miles. Is this good or bad? I guess it is good. Keep all the ugly stuff that keeps society going in one place…and yet to see it all in one place is sort of depressing. Some of the factories looked like sets from apocalyptic movies.
Oh dear. I’ve run out of time. I have to get to chores around here. Today is the day to run stuff to proper recycling places: namely, Free Geek and Rebuilding Center. Stay tuned for Japan Rocks the Asian Continent Part 2!
I have a babysitter for a few hours every Friday. This is a life-saver. Even when I don’t know what I am going to do with myself, I treasure those short hours of solitude where I can just be firmly in my own head, not listening to anyone, not talking to anyone, and not needing to consider anyone’s needs except my own.
My own needs at this juncture in my life are enough to balance. I have come to accept that I actually need a lot… and I am not going to get it all at once, (or I hate to admit, maybe not at all!). I have accepted this, but I am well aware that if I am going to get anything at all, I had better prioritize. Here is what I have figured out that I need for optimum happiness:
Can I fit this all in three hours once a week? Nope. It is a balancing act, this motherhood thing. I want to do an art project, but my body is screaming for exercise. I want to read my book, but there is grocery shopping that must be done. I want to stay home and clean but the kids are there with the babysitter. I can’t have it all.
Today I went for independence and accomplishing tasks. I did some light birthday present shopping, had a double latte AND attempted to read Ulysses, but my mind was completely wandering and I totally could not understand it. So much for intellectualism! On a whim, I hopped out of the coffeeshop and decided to go take a jaunt on the Wildwood Trail above Lower Mclaey Park.
Oh lovely, lovely, lovely. I don’t know about you, but there are some things in my life that are so transcendent. Singing in gospel choir is one of them for me, as is watching theater. Sitting by running water is another, as is listening to early morning bird song and smelling the midsummer wild roses in bloom. Wildwood Park is right smack-dab in the middle of Portland. From some stretches you can hear the work on the waterfront and the cars zooming through downtown and St Helen’s Road, but from other places you can hear… nothing. Nothing except the birds. This morning I walked for a few hours, letting my mind go blank, dreaming of things, (specifically, how to hike the Pacific Crest Trail with kids and how I might get over to Japan this year to see my sister Anne). Half way through this hike, I felt my chest lighten, my brain lift out of my head, my breathing become slow. In short, I was really, really happy.
I am not an unhappy person, but I think a lot about holding on to happiness. Why is it that sometimes we are so joyful and full of life, and then another day things seem flat? It isn’t what is happening to us; somedays nothing at all happens and I feel so great. Others, not so much. I wonder though how to get back there to the happy place. Why can’t I live there all the time?
I know that we hear this all the time, but we human creatures NEED nature. We need the woods. I returned home peaceful, tired, ready to meet my little ones and make some grilled cheese sandwiches. Recharged. Ready for another week.