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Unconventional

Unconventional

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When I’m here in this western city, I notice the eccentricities, the differences, how the houses assert their individuality. 

Take the Coleman House, for instance. Owned by psychiatrist, author and gardener Brian Coleman, the place is a Victorian dream, cast of warm rich colors with whimsical touches — an owl, a sunflower, a turret with the Latin phrase quo amplius eo amplius (“more beyond plenty”) — and set amidst a garden that changes with the seasons.

An article in the Seattle Times tells me that this house is featured in Private Gardens of the Pacific Northwest, edited by … Brian Coleman, who does not reveal in the book that the house is his own. 

I know the houses of my northern Virginia suburb can’t be as unconventional as this one. But they could try a little harder, couldn’t they?

 

Magnificent Forest

Magnificent Forest

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“You are entering a fragile, ancient forest,” the sign read. “Please stay on the trail.” So we entered the woods with reverence, walked quietly along the path, and guessed the age of the towering trees. 

To be old growth, a forest must contain trees more than 250 years old. Seattle’s Seward Park has them, though many of its specimens are “only” in the 200-year range.  But the Western Hemlocks are dying, the sword fern too.

How to protect them, to understand and prevent their demise? How to keep this “Magnificent Forest,” as it’s called, as dark, mysterious and magical as it is now? Researchers are working on it. And yesterday, we did our part: we looked, we marveled, we stayed on the trail. 

How the West Was Young

How the West Was Young

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I write this post from the Columbia City neighborhood of Seattle, south of downtown and (from the sound of it) on the flight path to Seatac.

The hosts of this Airbnb have thoughtfully provided a local history book on Rainier Valley, so I’ve been learning about the history of this place, from early pioneer Isaac Ebey in the 1850s, through waves of settlement, Italians to Africans and more, to the opening of the light rail line in 2009. 

What strikes me about all of this is how recent it is. Not that I exactly live in the midst of antiquities, but compared with the East, the West is … young. 

(Lake Washington waders in 1905)

Another Word for Travel

Another Word for Travel

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We spent much of yesterday in Discovery Park, exploring Capehart Forest, the West Point lighthouse and a steep trail that connects the two. A bald eagle soared above us.

West Point is one of 18 active lighthouses in the state, and the point of land it sits upon has been a gathering spot for thousands of years. As the largest park in a city of vistas, this place offers a stunning array of views to contemplate. 

What an apt name for a place of long history and tradition. Discovery: to be discovered, to find something unexpectedly in the course of a search. Another word for travel.

On Foot to the Sound

On Foot to the Sound

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Yesterday, the reprise of a walk I remember taking years ago: through Seattle’s Carkeek Park to Puget Sound. We started on a trail that my friend Peggy designed and helped bring about. From there we entered a woods so deep, light-filtered and northwestern that I wanted to bottle it and bring it home.

There were meadows and wildflowers and an old orchard. Pipers Creek was our constant companion. 

Shortly before we reached the water, we walked across a high bridge that straddled a railroad track. A freight train was moving through, car after car.  The view took on motion then, and the water glittered in the sun. 

Coast to Coast

Coast to Coast

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As just mentioned, I grew up on car trips. For me, the idea of transcontinental travel is all mixed up with long, dusty drives. 

I may sound like Rip van Winkle, but it will never cease to amaze me that I can wake up on one side of the continent (albeit quite early) and be on the other side before lunch.

I pondered this last night, as I watched the last light of a long day fade to orange, then black.

Endangered Radio

Endangered Radio

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“How long till Tucumcari?” 

“Why is it so hot back here?”

And … “Can you turn up the radio?”

These aren’t my children’s comments about long-distance travel; they’re my own. Or at least what can I remember of the cross-country travel my brothers and sister and I took as kids. 

We were stuffed into the backseat and nether regions of the old “woody” station wagon and driven more than two thousand miles, from Lexington, Kentucky to Hollywood, California, and other western destinations. The view out our windows was priceless: forests and grasslands, mountain and prairie, red rocks and cactus; the whole continent unfolding before us. And the soundtrack of our travels? AM Radio.

That’s going to change soon, according to a report in the Washington Post. Some automakers are already omitting AM Radio from their electric vehicles’ dashboards. And Ford is eliminating AM radio entirely.

There have been protests from station owners, first responders, listeners and politicians of all stripes (it’s a rare bipartisan issue), saying that the move may spell the end of AM radio entirely. 

I don’t listen to much AM radio — until I’m on a long-distance car trip. And then I tune into these staticky stations to catch the weather, oldies and talk. AM stations give you a taste of the places you’re driving through.  I’m sorry to hear that, like so much that is local and authentic, they’re endangered, too.

Decisions, Decisions

Decisions, Decisions

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We leave tomorrow for more than a week in Seattle and environs, so the dust is flying. Among the items on my packing list is one that recurs on every packing list: book. The singular is deceptive. Often this means books.

Sometimes I’m dragging school work along.  And I used to pack work reading, which falls into the general category of books. Neither one of those this time.

Today’s task is simpler, though not without challenges. Today I need to find a good book to read, as in just read, as in for pleasure. Ideally, it would be a medium-sized paperback. Long enough to last me but light enough to keep my baggage allowance where it needs to be. 

I’ve dipped into the home library and found House Made of Dawn, by M. Scott Momaday, which I haven’t read but have always wanted to. It may come along. Also Crossroads, by Jonathan Franzen, a hefty library book, which I’ve listened to but not read in hard copy. 

There are still a few hours to think about this. Decisions, decisions. 

(Book packing with help from a young assistant.)

Out of the Zone

Out of the Zone

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One of the most noteworthy things about this new phase of life is discovering how much I must force myself out of my comfort zone. I’ve always done this to an extent, but I could always count on paid employment to do the rest, especially my last gig.

Now I must make myself do the hard things. What are these “hard things”? Don’t laugh. Driving home on narrow country roads in the dark so that I can be with a bunch of people I work with but almost never see. (See yesterday’s post.) Practicing finger exercises and learning new piano pieces s-l-o-w-l-y because otherwise I won’t learn them at all. Taking tough classes. Making new friends. Forging new trails. 

The key word here is new. It’s not always easy but it’s almost always worth it. 

Table for Four

Table for Four

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When I drove there Saturday in the pouring rain, it seemed as if the place was an extension of Washington’s Rock Creek Park. And in a way it is. Hillwood, the home of Marjorie Merriweather Post, is perched on a hilltop in the Forest Hills section of northwest D.C. It might as well be in England or France, though, with the formal gardens and the extensive collection of European art, furnishings and tapestries. 

By the time my friend and I finished lunch, the rain had stopped, the sky was blue and the just-dowsed hyacinths scented the walk we took around the garden. Inside the house were treasures from Post’s collection, including Faberge eggs and a large collection of Russian art. 

And then there was this breakfast room. Post’s table was always set for four, even if she dined alone. It’s a big waste of plates and silverware, of course, but I kind of like the idea.