There Are Dozens of Pods

Oregon is rather different from California.  The first thing that hits me is the trees.  Moisture is nice too.  But these are beautiful trees.  They look like trees from home.  But they are never interrupted by winter.  The growth never slows down and all the deciduous trees have such a commanding girth.  Even though the city’s architecture is comparatively young the trees feel four hundred years old.  Perhaps they are. 

Reed is on the edge of a forest.  The trees are extraordinary and the canopy extends on and on.  Lewis and Clarke is situated on an old estate.  A Jewish merchant who was excluded from the posh Portland clubs, decided to build his own retreat. The gardens slope down to a remarkable view of Mount Hood, obscured.  I imagine my daughter at Reed.  She likes it.  I imagine her at Lewis and Clarke.  She likes it.  I wonder more than I should if I’ll return to either of these places. 

My oldest friend on earth, lives in Portland.  We’ve been chums since middle school.  I’ve was at his wedding and he and his wife still have the same place they had when I first visited Portland, ten years ago.  It’s a walk up and then up again and like the neighborhood it’s all coming back to me.  They have a great view.  Worth holding on to.  And now there is some obscure, Brazilian Fado playing, that I've never heard before, spun on vinyl that he's brought back from Sao Paulo.

People visit food pods.  At first I thought there was only one such pod.  Clearly there are dozens of pods.  And food trucks gather and ply their artisanal tasties like collections of killer whales in spots across town.  We however have to search for vegan chow.  These joints all look cheesy, literally.   This looks buttery.  We leave the pod, which I would have otherwise stayed at, and we went on to a restaurant where you could sit down and have things, vegan things, delivered to you.  The food in Portland is as good as I remember it to be.

Thursday 8/02/18