“Choose my bluest tape and unlock my car
An honest tune with a lingering lead has taken me this far” – Houser/Bell
Here’s a run down of the places (other than home) where I spent at least one night in 2013:
Smithtown, NY
Marco Island, FL
Seattle, WA*
Brownsville, OR*
Takhlakh Lake, WA
Yakima, WA
Abbotsford, BC
Lake Country, BC
Salt Lake City, UT
Baker City, OR
Garibaldi, OR
The year in travel was highlighted by an extraordinary summer vacation in Lake Country, BC. The area is described as Canada’s Napa for its bountiful wineries. It’s much more than wine though, it’s lake living at its finest. So, if you want to compare Okanagan to a place in California, think Tahoe, but with outstanding wine.
Seattle loomed large in 2013 too. I visited the Emerald City four times, including for my birthday last April, for Ryan’s birthday and for Dan and Val’s wedding in July.
Baker City is a place I can’t wait to return to — there’s something powerfully alluring about NE Oregon. For it is tempting to believe that all the last great American places are taken, but NE Oregon and the Wallowa Mountains in particular are not Aspenized in the least.
I recently pitched Travel & Leisure on a “three days in Oregon food and beverage experience,” and I can see how that article–and the trip it will require to write it–plays out. But more on that another day. Today, I want to detail a different route into the heart of south central Washington.
Mt. Adams, visible on a clear day from Portland, is the lonely volcano in the range. Mt. Hood and Mt. Rainier are iconic and Mt. St. Helens blew its freaking top, so it’s something of an attraction. Where does this leave Mt. Adams? Unheralded. Unpopulated. And unknown. But don’t feel bad for the mountain, it likely enjoys its freedom from modernity.
Speaking of freedom from modernity, once you pass Trout Lake you’re on rough, boulder-strewn roads to nowhere. Or somewhere, depending on your clarity of mind and purpose. After making it all the way to the northwest flank of the volcano, we were handsomely rewarded for our efforts, as Takhlakh Lake at 4400 feet above sea level is spellbinding and the mountain beyond totally intoxicating in its rugged beauty.
Darby and I set up camp, then hiked around the lake with Lucy and up into a 3000-year old lava flow. Looking back we saw Mt. Rainier in the distance–the place where we got married on July 4, 2009. What a spot this, saddled between the two towering volcanoes on our fourth anniversary.
Our evening was spent fighting off mosquitos, but happily, as we were prepared with wipe-on bug juice. We also collected plenty of “forest hair” a.k.a. dried moss to smoke the little suckers out. Miraculously, no mosquitos managed to make it inside the tent and we spent a peaceful, firecracker and bug free night under cloudy skies.
In the morning we drank iced coffee and packed up camp early, in order to set sail from Takhlakh Lake to Yakima. We proceeded slowly down and out of the Mt. Adams Recreation Area on Forest Road 23, finally reaching State Highway 12, which runs east and west and skirts the southern edge of Mt. Rainier National Park, en route to the sunny desert and fruits of Yakima Valley.
Along the way, we stopped at Dog Lake and prepared a parfait of fresh fruit, granola and yogurt, which we ate lakeside in the cold alpine wind. After breakfast, we descended down into the Tieton River valley and pulled over for a splash-fresh-water-on-your-face-and-head moment. I love to see a river run and this one runs prettily over its rock bed.
North Park Lodge, our hotel in Seyla just north of Yakima, let us check in early which was a score since we wanted to shower and prepare for an afternoon of winery visits in Zillah. Rested and refreshed, picnic-basket in hand and Lucy on leash, we zipped down I-82 to the Rattlesnake Hills section of the Yakima Valley, and opened up with an uneventful tasting at Knight Hill.
Next stop, Hyatt Vineyards. Three women on horseback rode up as we entered the property to assure us that we were indeed in the West. The tasting room was on the cheesy side, but we purchased a delicious blend for just $14.99 and Darby and I enjoyed our picnic on the winery’s patio (with Mt. Adams views) immensely.
Down the road at Two Mountain Winery, the host was particularly gracious and the wine worth taking home. Following our tasting, she sent us down the road to Cultura, a micro-producer with three of its four acres planted in Cab Franc vines.
Rattlesnake Hills reminds me of Dundee Hills with its high density of wineries, but the terrain and weather are much different. Therefore, the grapes that thrive here are different. The delicate pinot grapes so beloved in Oregon are not hardy enough to survive the summer in Zillah. Varietals that do enjoy the intense desert sun and high temps naturally produce wine with a ton of flavor and character.
At this time, Yakima lacks the wine tourism infrastructure of Dundee or Walla Walla. It’s an agricultural community, with grapes being one part of a much larger whole. But this lack of tourist charm, or “local character,” also makes the place uniquely appealing for wine tourism. This is red, white and blue America. Family farms under the volcano, and there’s not much in the way of fancy. But if it’s flavorful wine that you want to drink at a price you can afford, then you’re in luck as it’s available in copious supply.
Since moving to Oregon in August 2008, I have had the extreme good fortune to spend my birthday celebrations with friends and family, mostly in pursuit of wine and food.
This year, Darby and I motored to Seattle early on the 4th. After a morning business meeting and a light lunch on Capitol Hill, we checked in to Hotel Vintage Park (one of three Kimpton properties in the city), before walking over to Seattle Art Museum during First Thursday proceedings. Soon thereafter, the Newmans swooped in to pick us up for the much anticipated birthday dinner in Ballard.
By the way, it is a real honor to travel to another great American city and enjoy a birthday dinner for eight.
When we got to The Walrus and the Carpenter, a tiny room for Seattle’s most popular oyster bar, we were told the wait would be two hours. Normally, that means one hour. On this night the hostess was a woman of her word. It took two hours and fifteen minutes to get seated. Thankfully, an accommodating bar up the historic Ballard street hosted us while we waited to dine on local edibles from the sea.
Writing about Seattle as a Portland resident is kind of like writing about your beautiful “Prom Queen” sister. You either come off as adoring, or bitter.
A year ago, at another fine dining establishment in San Francisco, Darby and I had a great time with three NorCal friends. Our friend Andy spoke about how “abundance mentality” is prevalent in California, while “scarcity mentality” tends to preside in Oregon. The conversation has stayed with me ever since.
Seattle clearly weighs in as an abundance heavyweight. It is an opulent city on seven hills. Part Minneapolis high design, another part San Francisco funky. I have heard mention of the “Seattle freeze,” but I do not encounter cold shoulders there. I find the people friendly and willing to engage in frank discussion, which of course, I appreciate immensely.
I suspect the very things that make Seattle attractive to me, are the things many Portlanders and Oregonians reject outright. As one good friend here told me last week, “Oregonians don’t want (that kind of) progress.” Right. And this is what makes Portland, Portland and Oregon, Oregon. Unlike Seattle and San Francisco, Portland is tucked away, 60 miles upriver from the coast and the world beyond. The city is also nestled in a valley and protected by a wall of western hills and Forest Park green space. To say Portlanders have a fortress mentality may be a bit extreme, but it is also true to some degree.
Of course, Portlanders and Oregonians do have something to protect. Few would argue otherwise. My interest here, in this geo-cultural exploration of three West Coast cites, is mostly about alignment and how we might reposition ourselves as a community. The “G” word, Growth, is seen as an impolite intrusion in Oregon — a reduction of green space and an increase in traffic, pollution and noise. Yet, growth simply is. There’s no way to stop it, and even with an urban growth boundary, there’s no way to maintain a psychic gate around this precious place. The question is how might Oregonians better align themselves with this planetary force?
Urban planners, economists, engineers and politicians have some good answers, but no one group of thinkers or doers has all the answers. The problem however is well documented. The median income for a Seattle family – $91,300 – is nearly half as much more than the family income in Portland of $63,400. To me, that’s a startling difference for two cites 167 miles apart from each other. Also, one in 20 Seattle homes is valued at more than $1 million. In Portland, the ratio is 1 in 100.
If we are to believe the management guru and best-selling author, Steven Covey, “abundance mentality” is something we can choose to consciously manage for personal gain. It stands to reason then, that the people of a city or state might also invite abundance into their lives for the betterment of the community. Too bad there’s no on-off switch to go from scarcity to abundance in a flash. Like most good things, it’s a process that takes commitment, a plan of action and time.
YACHT lights me up. Their grooves are infectious and the meaning in their work is at times profound.
I know this is high praise for any artist, but it’s not everyday that a New New Wave band with deep philosophical underpinnings kicks ass like YACHT kicks ass.
“The Earth, the Earth, the Earth is on fire. We don’t have no daughter. Let the mother fucker burn.”
Pop lyrics with juxtaposing ideas. That’s fresh. “Jona Bechtolt and Claire L. Evans make anthemic power jams, play them backwards and soak them in nearly-psychedelic cherry cola inspired live shows,” writes IFC.
“Utopia/Dystopia” is my favorite song right now. Which is kind of amazing considering I generally do not enjoy techno. Of course, YACHT can’t be defined merely as techno. The band is clearly borne of DEVO’s rib, and I respect their weirdness and ability immensely. But there’s more here. YACHT makes you dance and feel good — all while thinking interesting thoughts.
According to YACHT’s Mission Statement:
YACHT is a Band, Belief System, and Business conducted by Jona Bechtolt and Claire L. Evans of Marfa, Texas and Los Angeles, CA, USA. All people are welcome to become members of YACHT. Accordingly, YACHT is and always will be what YACHT is when YACHT is standing before you.
In addition to five studio albums, YACHT is the author of The Secret Teachings of the Mystery Lights: A Handbook on Overcoming Humanity and Becoming Your Own God, which you can download for on iTunes.
Evans is also a well respected science writer, who “examines the intersections between art, science, technology, culture, and all the lunatic fringes in between.”
Alas, YACHT believes, as I do, in the power of place. In fact, they operate in a Western American Utopian Triangle of their own making — with Marfa, Los Angeles and Portland as the three points in their geographic/geometric formation. My own Western American Utopian Triangle is configured differently — with Omaha, San Francisco and Seattle as my three axis points. Either way, I am charmed by the idea of a vast spiritual territory and the exceptional work of this provocative band.
Oregon, as great as it is, is a long ways from a lot of people we love. Which means we must travel to our people, and the special places where they reside.
Of course, we were not able to go everywhere and see everyone during 2012, but we did spend time with family and friends in northern California, the mountains of Colorado, the Utah desert and of course here in the beautiful Beaver State.
Here’s a run down of the year in place, a.k.a. the places (other than home) where I* spent at least one night in 2012:
Brownsville, OR
Gold Beach, OR
Boonville, CA
Tiburon, CA
San Francisco, CA
Jacksonville, OR
Allenspark, CO
Broomfield, CO
Bend, OR
Otter Rock, OR
Salt Lake City, UT
Rockville, UT
My trip to Rockville, Utah earlier this month was a special visit to an incredible and sacred place. Rockville is a small town just a few miles from the west entrance to Zion National Park. My host and close friend, D.K., was right to remind me that we had moved (in D.K.’s all wheel drive Audi) from the basin-and-range topography of north and central Utah, to the grandeur of the Colorado plateau. To see the desert snow-covered in December, and with so few visitors to the area, was a treat I won’t soon forget.
*Darby went on all these travels too, except the December trip to Utah.
Design is so much more than the look of things. Design is also the way things work, or conversely, don’t work. Portland, Oregon prides itself on being a place that does work, and the city has design and designers of every sort, throughout its history, to thank for that.
Last night, as part of Design Week Portland, we heard six Portland writers address significant designs born in Portland, and how the inventions, systems and objects created here helped to make the city the special place it is today.
Matthew Stadler opened the affair with a brief discussion regarding the formation of The Oregonian in 1850, largely as a civic action to boost Portland’s chances at becoming a viable city, in the face of competition from Milwaukie, Oregon City and Vancouver. Karla Starr presented a wealth of information about Vanport City, a massive and hastily constructed federal housing project near PDX, that was built to house shipyard workers during WWII. Starr noted it was the one time in Portland’s history when there were more jobs here than people.
I particularly appreciated the third presentation of the evening from Ziba writer and editor, Carl Alviani. His talk focused on “The Triggered Oscilloscope,” made by Tektronix in 1946. Alviani explained that this was the first time in our history that we could see and measure the electron world.
The invention of the Tektronix 511 led to myriad new inventions and helped Tektronix transform into a powerful company with 25,000 employees in the 1960s. But it wasn’t just Tektronik’s products or its impact on the local economy that made it such an important design development. The company set out to accomplish amazing things in a narrow field, and this helped it attract people who like to make discoveries, versus people who prefer to grow and manage a giant company like HP, Alviani noted.
Alviani said Tek sowed the seeds of today’s so-called “Creative Economy” and was “a social movement,” as well as a company. For instance, decades before it became routine, the company offered its workers profit sharing, free coffee, open offices and a relaxed atmosphere where individualism was honored. Alviani said, “the hippie engineer” found a home at Tek in the 1960s, and many local companies were born of Tek’s rib, Mentor Graphics being one of the more notable spinoffs to carry forward this special brand of Portland tech culture.
Portland Monthly editor-in-chief, Randy Gragg, shared some great material about Portland’s move to open space, and how San Francisco’s Larry Halprin, an influential American landscape architect and his wife Anna Halprin, a famous dancer, played a large role in “making the city safe for play.” Interestingly, the Halprins co-created the “RSVP Cycles”, a creative methodology that can be applied broadly across all disciplines.
The evening’s event, which was put together by Alviani, also featured two topics I was more familiar with. Chris Higgins shared the story of how the world’s first wiki was invented by Ward Cunningham, a former employee at Tektronix. Finally, my friend Rick Turoczy of Silicon Florist and Portland Incubator Experiment wrapped the session up with a look at beer’s role in shaping the city, from Henry Weinhard to the McMenamin and Widmer brothers.
Turoczy said that when people from other places visit the tech community here, they almost always make note of how every tech startup has a kegerator, sometimes several. Which is fitting. Portland’s makers want to celebrate their best work and the work of their friends, and the hand-crafted, heavily-hopped-but-still-working-class-brew is perfect beverage for that.
I love American history and American culture. I love ‘merican people (especially our artists, writers and musicians) and ‘merican places. Therefore, it pains me to encounter geo-cultural ignorance. And sadly, I encounter it all too often in places populated by lots of “book smart” people.
I just love when a native Portlander scoffs upon learning that I am from Omaha. West coast liberal bias is still bias.
Last Sunday, for instance, was a pleasant early-fall day. We played disc golf at Pier Park in St. John’s. The course, nestled among elder Doug Firs, was demanding but majestic. After our round, we boot scooted back to the car and headed to Breakside Brewery for the first time. I’ve been wanting to visit Breakside on NE Dekum for some time, so it was fun to finally arrive, find a place on the outside patio and order a Cucumber Gose. And an IPA to follow, washed down by a perfectly prepared blue cheeseburger.
A woman and her husband, both in their late forties or early fifties, approached the picnic table next to us and sat down. They minded their own business until Lucy emerged from our under table with a loud bark at another pooch passing by on the sidewalk. The lady — who wanted us to know she’s a native Portlander — started talking shit to Lucy and Lucy barked at her, which elicited more shit talking. A storm began to brew…
The banter from there went down the typical American superhighway. “Where do you live? Where are you from?”
West Linn. Omaha.
Full frontal scoff from the lady.
Darby says uh-oh. I say, I guess we’re done talking.
The lady wants to know where Darby’s from. Ohio and New York.
“Welcome to Oregon,” she says.
We’ve lived here four years.
In the years I spent living on the East Coast, and the years spent living in California and Oregon, I’ve noticed that coastal sophisticates sometimes feel sorry for people like Darby and me. We’re from Cleveland and Omaha – such unsexy places, they’re actually invisible to the “fly over” crowd.
News Flash! Yes, we have left our native grounds behind — as have our friends here in Oregon who migrated from Michigan, North Carolina, Arkansas, Kentucky, Maryland, Colorado, Iowa, New Jersey, Louisiana, Ohio, Nebraska, Wisconsin, Missouri and Minnesota — but we’re still proud of our homes, our histories, our friends and family that continue to grow their own American dreams, back home in the fertile soils of the south and middle.
As a writer, I am a knowledge worker and member of the Creative Class. Which is to say, I am busy developing not only words that make meaning, but dollars that make ends meet.
That’s the deal with the Creative Class. Creative people gather in special places, and through the power of our collective ingenuity we create wealth for ourselves and the communities we call home.
But not so fast. “The Rise of the Creative Class is filled with self-indulgent forms of amateur microsociology and crass celebrations of hipster embourgeoisement,” argues Jamie Peck, a geography professor and vocal critic of Richard Florida’s theories.
Freelance writer Frank Bures of Minneapolis shared that gem in Thirty Two, a new bi-monthly magazine for the Twin Cities. Like me, Bures was seduced by the idea that we aren’t alone in a world where writers are not highly prized. No, we’re members of a club. No, not a club, a class. Yes, we are in a class where we’re always learning and striving, and the future is bright.
Bures suggests that Florida “took our anxiety about place and turned it into a product. He found a way to capitalize on our nagging sense that there is always somewhere out there more creative, more fun, more diverse, more gay, and just plain better than the one where we happen to be.” Given how dreamy writers and entrepreneurs can be, it was an easy sell.
Bures also recounts conversations with Brazen Careerist, Penelope Trunk, on the topic. Bures calls her an “apostle of Floridian doctrine.” Nevertheless Trunk points out, “If you want to look at a city that’s best for your career, it’s New York, San Francisco or London. If you’re not looking for your career, it doesn’t really matter. There’s no difference. It’s splitting hairs. The whole conversation about where to live is bullshit.”
Of course, “One of the most salient features of our culture is that there is so much bullshit,” notes Harry G. Frankfurt. Which makes me want to point to other popular tropes that are really just steaming piles of fecal matter. (more…)
We took a marvelous land cruise to Northern California last month. The highlight of the trip wasn’t the Southern Oregon coast, the redwoods, Mendocino County, or Marin. Those were highlights, but the highlight was having dinner with friends in San Francisco on Friday the 13th.
Our friend Andy made a reservation for five at Lot 7 on Valencia. The place had me at Hamachi Crudo, but everything else was off the hook, as well. Including the ambiance, the oversized photographs of San Francisco in the 1930s, and of course, the company around the table.
Andy is a builder and an entrepreneur, so it’s always fun to hear what’s going on with him. He spent the past several years introducing the California market to the environmental advantages of kegged wine. In fact, Lot 7 carries Andy’s wine and I like how they make the most of the presentation, delivering the red liquid in an artfully designed carafe.
Feel this with me. The air in San Francisco is rarefied, and the light makes everything look rich. In other words, it’s not like other places. And one could, without hesitation, extend that thought to California. California is not like other places.
Andy asked me how things are going with Bonehook here in Portland, and I replied it’s going okay. He said many people in Oregon are coming from a place of scarcity, whereas Californians are all about abundance. He said, tell a friend in Oregon about your new business idea, and they’ll pause and eventually say, “that sounds hard.” In California, on the other hand, the friend gets excited, introduces you to their contacts in the field and encourages you to go for it.
This little tale of two states — the states of scarcity and abundance — lodged in my brain and I’ve been mulling them over ever since. While it is true that Oregon doesn’t have the number of jobs, the economic might, or the vast opportunities that can be found in California, it’s wrong to think of Oregon as a place short on resources. In fact, no place in the United States has the right to think it’s coming from a place of scarcity. Scarcity simply isn’t real here. All of America is awash in abundance. We haven’t spread the wealth to every person and every family, but that doesn’t mean the wealth of this nation is limited in supply. It means it we have a distribution problem.
On the way home last month, we recognized how good it felt to be in California, but it felt even better to return to Oregon. Would I love to see Oregonians become a bit more free-wheeling in their ways? Yes, I would. Would a more open and inclusive mindset — not just politeness, but genuine friendliness — also open Oregon up to bigger and better business opportunities? Of course. Bottom line though, I can only do what I can do about it. I can be more open, friendly and free-spirited, and I can build my business in Oregon, whatever the challenges.
“Instrumental in traveling is the participation in it, the belief in progress, the witnessing of passage.” – Dave Eggers
Dave Eggers’ first novel, You Shall Know Our Velocity, is a travel journal with a lot of internal gyrations, a.k.a. dialogue from the narrator, whose mind “hovers and churns.” I just finished reading the 400-page book on the Kindle, and now I want to reflect on some of its themes and stylistic devices.
Will, the protagonist and narrator, departs Chicago O’Hare with his best bud Hand, for Senegal, Morocco, Estonia and Latvia. The trip is motivated by their friend’s death in a car accident and the consequent desire to offload $80,000 that Will came by unexpectedly (thanks to his silhouette being used on a new lightbulb package).
Adam Mars-Jones of The Observer notes that the book “might be a bleak and uneasy satire on American ignorance and cultural consumerism, with Will’s and Hand’s currency-scattering mission only slightly exaggerating the ridiculousness of over-ambitious holidays – If-this-is-Monday-this-must-be-Tallinn-or-maybe-Riga. Yet that doesn’t seem to be the intention. The title of the book is mystical-technical (finally explained as the motto of the Jumping People, an apocryphal South American tribe), but the style is pushy-flashy, dedicated to producing elaborate effects.”
That’s a solid read by Mars-Jones. The two characters are ridiculous in the way that two “normal dudes” who grew up in Milwaukee might be. Hand and Will are not Wayne and Garth, but they’re not all that far away from these overly-exaggerated characters.
Eggers makes some interesting choices in the construction of the book. He indicates to the reader when Will is talking to himself by placing an em dash in front of a thought. So, you’ll be reading along in a plot-driven passage, and then be dealt a series of dashes, with inner imaginings of the somewhat paranoid, totally addled narrator.
Eggers also time shifts the story, and puts the narrative in Hand’s hands about two-thirds of the way in, before circling back around for a Will-narrated finish. Which is weird, and a bit frustrating because Hand contradicts the things we as readers have come to believe. It does work to shed more light on the situation, but it’s not a fine light, where all looks happy and good.
Ultimately, You Shall Know Our Velocity, is a book with a message. The message is don’t waste time. And don’t run from things, like time, that can’t be outrun. It’s a wonderful philosophy, delivered by clowns in this instance, but that’s okay. We don’t always want our philosophies from a professor, poet or pundit.
