oregon

state nickname: the Beaver State
state motto: Alis volat propriis / She flies with her own wings

The first time I came to Oregon, I saw five rainbows all at once, a veritable fleet of them cascading down the purple sky, and felt blessed... Oregon is like that; bless-full, blissful, occasionally too-much-so.

Coming up from the south, stop by Ashland, a charming town that's home to the Shakespeare festival (and Shakespeare seems to permeate year-round). In the center of Oregon is Bend, word on the street is that Bend is cool, but I've never been, so don't blame me if it's sinister. If you're coming from the east, I-84's not a bad interstate, as it follows the Columbia river winding its way to the sea... it's a natural flow of an interstate; all that dry eastern-Oregon-prairie just makes you hearken for the water even more. The Oregon coast is not always accessible, without paying state-park fees (no free land, anymore)-- but visit anyway; the town of Newport is lovely, as many of the coastal towns are.

Portland is one of the greatest cities in the U.S.-- walkable, progressive-- but I haven't spent enough time roaming its streets to comment on it, Bootsnall has a good travel guide to Portland. South on I-5 is Eugene is your pedestrian-mall-college-town-gutterpunk-destination; can it live up to its chill-liberal-rep? Coffee abounds-- grab a croissant at Espresso Roma (825 E 13th), espresso at Full City (842 Pearl); really you can get good coffee anywhere. The street corner to the west of John Henry's (77 W. Broadway) is a good place to sit and talk with people on the street, or listen to someone playing the washtub. The most glorious place to eat in Eugene (breakfast or lunch) is the Morning Glory Cafe (450 Willamette). Chess, organic biscuits and gravy, Gogol Bordello in the background: a wonderful way to start the day. With that good energy in your stomach, cross the train tracks and hike up Skinner Butte, or walk down to the river... Sundance is the big natural foods store here (748 E. 24th Ave); though there are others around. It's near the hostel, which is friendly, like crashing at a friends' house-- one of your more energetic, likes-to-party friends, not one of your quiet bookish friends.

From Eugene, I recommend heading out to Cougar (Terwilliger) Hot Springs. Natural pools in a ferny forest... some people think this hot spring is too visited, but I've been the only one there before, and there's four pools to soak in. Take Hwy. 126 East, and just past the sign for the Blue River Campground, follow F.S. Rd 19 for 7.5 miles to the trailhead (turning right at the dam, which is 4 miles from when you get on F.S. 19)-- you'll see a lake on your right, and a trailhead; parking is on the left.

field notes: Ashland, Oregon / 9 August 2005 (anniversary of Hiroshima)

I thought it would be nice to sit awhile
in the park in Ashland Oregon with the ducks
and the Japanese gardens and the guitar-strumming kids
playing "Come Together" -- do they feel
like they are wasting their lives or living their lives;
and if I spend an August day sitting in a meadow
watching butterflies or ripping through a spidery forest
am I living in the moment or idling my life away
at a time when there is so much work to be done?
if only there was more time
already i am old a smiling baby passes
in her mother's arms the ducks quack how can this be?

the scent of nag champa on the breeze,
the greenness of the lawn, the violence of the past weekend hidden
the violence of the past sixty years blown away, or maybe not
i'm watching to see how this all turns out as spellbound as the next person

field notes: Veneta, Oregon / 8 August 2005

So I was quite excited to spend an hour up in the branches of a redwood in Oregon with my beautiful friend Rain. He pointed out that the berries of the redwood, when crushed, are filled with a sticky red substance; tells me logger-ghost-stories of bloody trees... The Great Trees Fall i think; I think I enjoy ecological horror-stories and that I am living in one. Nevertheless this is a perfect summer afteroon.

We are playing outside, dancing and drumming, I am showing Rain some moves with my poi; he is showing me some moves on the staff, another kid is drumming and in the background there is this guitar-harp-shanti-music playing; the garden is full of statues of Buddha and Jesus and Kuan Yin; a wrapped Maypole; trees laden with sweet little plums and apples and blueberry bushes; that Pacific Northwest abundance of late-summer here on the Farm...

This little blonde girl is there; she dances; she pulls a Mexican blanket over a bench and tells me to lie down; pulls my shirt up and starts giving me a massage. I have never gotten a massage from a nine-year-old but I don't argue. Then she goes inside and trades her white Kid Village-Rainbow Family T-shirt for a tight black leotard so she can cartwheel around w/out exposing herself; she grabs Rain's butt and squeezes. Rain makes some kind of evasive maneuver and his black dog, Anubis, comes to his defense-- nips the little girl in her rear-- all of this so quick I barely see it. She covers herself, the thin black fabric of her leotard torn; I walk with her inside to help her clean up beacuse there are no other females around-- the girl's father has gone to evict some hippie and his three dogs from his warehouse; whatever...

She is running a bath for herself. I have grabbed some antibiotic cream from my medkit and perch on the toilet as she sits in the water. "Now when I think I'm about to cry, I just hold my breath instead," she tells me, her eyes wide and old. I think for a moment. "That seems like a good idea as long as you let it out again," I tell her. She has a gash on her buttcheek that's pretty deep, but she never dropped a tear. I tell her she's a stoic.

Dressed and bandaged, she goes to the room where her & her father sleep & starts up her video game, dresses her video game character-- "do I look pretty?" --twirls her hips-- Rain is there, says-- your father's going to be upset when he sees this-- she says, I'm going to my mother's house tomorrow and she has health insurance.

She says my father's a new man since he came back from jail
(which was yesterday)
(he was in a fight with the cops)
okay. we go outside and a few minutes later the father returns and it's all male posturing and warming up to spar and NOW I'VE GOT TO GET MY KID TESTED FOR RABIES and SHOULD I CALL THE COPS OR KICK HIS ASS MYSELF and NOW I'VE GOT TO FACE HER MOTHER AND SHE'LL LET NEVER LET ME SEE MY KID AGAIN and PLACE NOT SAFE FOR CHILDREN and WHY DO I GOTTA LIVE LIKE THIS and TOOK A CHUNK OUT OF HER FLESH, all this with the guitar-shanti-music in the background, this violent eruption onto the soil of the farm and so an hour later Rain is homeless again, newly evicted from the shanti-farm, and I remember the eyes of this little girl and wonder where she learned to massage and grab men in the ass and already she is more hardcore relaxed & stoic than i am

i want to reach out to this girl but i will never see her again, feel empty, she will have a painful and amazing life

which reminds me of last night in the hostel when i was sleeping through the lamplight & clatter & all of the sudden in the next room somebody is shouting about HOSTILITY and WEAPONS, roll over, remember this is what i hate about hippie hostels, and how can these placid peace & love environments be charged with such sudden unpredictable violence, where does this violence come from, is there something about the free-love chill-out ideology that breeds it