Category: NW photography

Wednesday’s Words/Nonfiction: Little Travels, Big Gains

I know many people who have travelled widely in the world. But I’m not one of them. My husband has even travelled on business in Japan, Mexico, Italy, Austria, Germany, England, Slovenia, Croatia, Canada. I am a domestic traveller, though I have a passport for going in and out of Canada. I’ve travelled through all of the states in USA, save Alaska and Hawaii, and I hope to take care of that.

My parents took us five kids on summer trips to visit relatives and to experience national parks, historical sites, cultural events and random churches here and there. (If it was Sunday, that often meant church attendance wherever we were.) I didn’t enjoy being stuffed into a sedan with my siblings but I did love stopping for warm, ripe fruit from farm stands. (A favorite memory of a summer peach: almost prickly fuzziness of beautiful skin giving way to rich sweetness as I bit into it, juice released, trickling down my chin.) I didn’t much like cheap motels my father targeted in the middle of nowhere “to save $5 a night”. (Who was he kidding? It cost $5 to drive several extra miles). But I did love verdant, surprising landscapes farmers’ or ranchers’ country roads provided. I didn’t appreciate driving through heavy trafficof a metroplis’ city center for museum hopping, but I did love being inside the cool stillness of such places, absorbing powerful details of art and history. I liked singing in harmony with my family as we rattled and rumbled along. Hearing my mother and father call out types of soil and rock, plants, animals was fun. And driving through isoalted villages, stopping for ice cream or good soup with oyster crackers.

I’d observe comings and goings of people in passing cars, on sidewalks, in parks where we might take a break under shade trees, relishing a tender breeze. I recall thinking: How amazing that they are all different, and what is it like living their lives? I made up stories explaining them to myself as some smiled at my guiless stare or looked down or shook their heads. Anything or anyone that I deeemed curious (everyone and thing), the strange places where things happened that I could seldom be certain about, never would be–they all got my intense attention.

It might be just Kansas or Maryland or Wyoming but it was a grand trip away from home grounds.

I didn’t get bored. Hot and restless or tired of my siblings trading words that pinged or stung, or revolted by a sister’s car sickness as we wound about curvy stretches. No, it was life being lived, a wellspring of impressions that gave me ideas–up close and personal, vividly within reach even if moving on to the next stop. It was a kaleidoscope of moments that would never again be felt, seen and heard.

So this is how it still is for me: possibilites of life. Panoramic experiences made of small and big variations.

We discussed a short trip around my 74th birthday and I chose Hood River, a community known as the world capital of windsurfing. Kiteboarders frequent the waters of the Columbia, too. (Pictures above are the two trip photos I could find from iCloud files due to issues.) It is the first trip of more planned and only 1.5 hours from us. Our May calendar has notes of trips to Bend, and Newport, OR. Late July it is off to Medocino, CA. area. There will be scattered hiking jaunts, as usual, in between. Sometimes smallest forays are made of that desire to explore and, fulfilled enough, return home. All might consider them an option rather than huge trips that are more costly and perhaps complicated.

Hood River and the nearby town of The Dalles are each on the river’s banks in the Columbia River Gorge, which begins just beyond Portland. It’s a wondrous place I’ve written about over the past decade. An impressive fact to recall: it is the largest National Scenic Area in our country, dominated by the massive and deep river and forested Cascade mountains with varying rocky prominences; steep, zigzagging trails to alpine areas; and flowering meadows. And, of course, Mt. Hood, which watches over us on the Oregon side.

(The Columbia River, above, with windsurfers in better weather.)

The plan was to be outdoors hiking, exploring new trails but it simply had to rain alot. It is spring, afterall. The wind is always fierce in the Gorge, but the long week-end’s temperature was decidedly quite cold. (Often we visit in summer–sunshine is then almost searing, the air very dry.) We stayed in a Euro-style king studio room at Columbia Cliff Villas located next to the renowned Columbia Gorge Hotel (photos, above). The two share connected grounds with bridges and gardens, lush with spring flowers and walkable via tidy pathways. A little creek runs through grounds and ends in Wah Gwin Gwin Falls that empty 208 feet below into the Columbia River. Our view rewarded us with fine scenes even as we dried out, the Columbia River rushing by, changing hues with fickle, reflective light and thick scudding clouds. Sunshine visited a few times, glinting off white-capped waves.

We strolled the streets of Hood River’s business district (named for a small river that runs through it, then empties into the Columbia). There is a favorite coffee shop/eatery we always visit called Doppios, and Chemistry, a jewelry shop not to be missed. Coffees, pastries and sandwiches did not disappoint at our first stop. My new dangly, silver and old earrings are well made and fun. We spent time in two bookstores, not that happy with the inventory, but I did pick up The Murder of Mr. Wickham by Claudia Gray, a new author to me, at Waucoma Bookstore.

(Marc at Doppios; a small view of Hood River downtown; part of the the Columbia River Gorge at end of a lovely walk.)

A good surprise came when perusing the art in 301 Gallery located in the historic Butler Bank building downtown, built in 1924. The interior is elegant and open with light draping over the gallery. The show “Taking Shape” is showcasing three-dimensional works until end of May. Good art! I was tempted to buy ceramics for my small collection, but restraint prevailed.

We also walked the riverfront path on the banks of the Columbia. Dressed well for the weather, we were nonetheless lashed by rain and heavy winds as we pushed on. No windsurfers were out then, but the following day it was a bit calmer, more dry with some sun. The water was taken over by darting crafts helmed by stalwart men and women. Watching them move fast, even acrobatically, is a treat in any season.

Following the walk we headed to Stoked, a good coffee nook, to pause awhile with our cups. Then it was off to The Dalles, an inland port and historically an important trading center for Native populations who first lived there 10,000 years ago. The Europeans ultimately arrived a brief time a go in contrast, participated in trade and development but forever changed the course of history. The ancient ties make it one of the oldest inhabited places in North America, per various sources. Only about 16,000 now live there; it was a quiet town as we looked about, but it remains important due to its longevity and contributions.

We also visited the Columbia Gorge Discovery Center and Museum where exhibits detail the lives and times of this area along the Columbia. The exhibits were excellent; we learned much about Native American tribes as well as European settlers that altered life as it was known before. Also of interest were creatures who once roamed about the land, including Short-faced Bears who towered over all and the Dire Wolf who wiehged about 150 ppounds and coexisted with the gray wolf, coyote and jackal for some time. There was an enormous beautfiully carved wooden sturgeon as well. The beginnnings of the Gorge go back to powerful glacial activity and the huge imact of great floods, but the river ran there even before those events.

An equally interesting aspect of the trip, however, was walking through and photographing the hotels’ gardens a few times. I so regret I cannot upload current photos as there was much to enjoy. The atmosphere was enchanting, especially as dusk and twilight fell and the rainfall at last slowed to a spattering. The last day of our trip it was much better weather so we had clearer vistas all about.

An interesting experience occurred the last night we were at the villas. It reminds me of my early interest in paying close attention to people and events that may seem random.

I glanced out the multi-paned windows and noticed a man dressed in a bright variegated-colored hat with wide brim, a pink jacket, white pants and vivid yellow, white and orange sneakers. He stood by a tree staring at the river that rushed not far beyond. Then he took a couple photos with his phone. He seemed an unusual person, near-clownish in attire, certainly eye-catching in a uniquely theatrical way– and yet somehow at loose ends. How can we know what someone else feels or thinks? We do sense things and I felt his presence strongly. Perhaps it was loneliness or uncertainty of immediate purpose. He was dressed just so, and where was he off to? I expected he’d move on and so went to eat my dinner. But not long after as I finished and again contemplated nature, I watched him enter an older model station wagon at an edge of the parking lot and sit in the driver’s seat. I thought he was leaving. But as time passed he remained, not budging from the lot, still alone.

I wondered about him–if he was mainly enjoying the impressive scenery as was I and taking pictures, then only resting. Then night fell on our quiet corner of the earth, chilly, damp. I admit I was disconcerted. He would be able to see us in our illumined rooms so I closed the curtains. I couldn’t tell what he was even looking at, what was happening. I mentioned to Marc that maybe he was part of the large wedding party that had continued to arrive all day. And maybe he’d had a bit to drink and was sleepy. We considered other reasons why he was parked but none of them made sense. We went to sleep after reading, but my last thoughts were of who the mystery person might be, why he was there.

At one point in the night my husband awakened so looked out the window. He barely saw the shadowy shape of a man, but he had turned his car about in the lot so it faced the river, away from the villas or eyes on him. It struck me as too unfair that we were warm, fed and safe inside a lovely room. And that interesting man was not, cramped inside a vehicle. In the morning, Marc got our car to pack and go; it was parked beside the other man’s so he glimpsed him still at rest there. On the way put he mentioned the situation to the hotel manager. Just in case. But in case of what? That the person wasn’t really alright? That he was sleeping in his car for a reason we only speculated about? But it seemed sensible to do.

I thought alot about the unknown traveler as we drove back home. How he’d perhaps heard about the beauty of the place so decided to come by awhile. Perhaps he was worn out and determined it was a good place to stay the night. Maybe he was homeless. Maybe he was a musican on his way to a venue the next day but had little money for a cosy room. Maybe he’d had a few drinks or other substances and dozed off in a stupor. Or he might have stayed up all night.Marc said as an aside that the man was using his phone when he’d looked out at him the previous night, as the phone had lit the car’s interior.

His unique attire and contemplative manner as he had stood there looking out over the river has stayed with me as much as the power of the Columbia, the fine museum, the coffee and chats, and the gadrens. I wonder how he is faring. Does he have good friends, does he eat alright, is he finding what he wants in this life? He was at the least someone who was looking and seeing, experiencing many things. We are all somebody, somebody looking out at the world and inward again. We each need our fill of beauty and peace as well as other sustenance. Comfort. Care. We are each and every one of us travellers, going a little way or farther than planned and, if fortunate, going home to a safe dwelling.

(Most of these photos were taken from previous trips due to my uploading issues with more recent iCloud photos–hence, the sunshine!)

Wednesday’s Words with Photos: Revisiting Irvington’s Cheery Spring

There are times I become nostalgiac about our old neighborhood; we lived there for 27 years. It is a lushly flowered place as spring arrives with meticulous yards that overflow with small and big greenery and blooms, and houses proud with fine porches for sitting about in interesting chairs. One can feel time melt away in those lovely spots. Irvington is on the National Historic Register, and a place where one is loathe to leave, which is why we stayed so long (then found a couple reasons to move to our current home.)

My walks were zigzagging and circuitous, crisscrossing streets, pausing often to photograph like mad. I admired grand old homes and accompanying maples, oaks, and the apple and cherry blossoms–all arched overhead. I mused over varieties of flowers, the care with which they were planted. Poems came easily as I meandered–I recorded them as I went to put on paper or computer later. My mind was stilled by a fine clarity, heart lightened with elation. The very air was redolent of nature and life deeply rooted, generous of fragrance and design, a touch of wildness amid the finery. The air was so sweet in spring that it clung to me a bit when I left outdoors; I threw open windows and doors so it would wend its way in day and night.

I became accustomed to the presence of those places, thosew streets– the gravity yet lightness of them. Some houses fancy, others more modest–all lovely. They were a comfort with the serene proportions, friendly verandas and gardens a-shimmer with color and humming with bees. As winter failed to lash its way through unfurling leaves, sunshine became a bolder presence. I revelled in another unfolding of the seasons.

I suppose when I visit there what rises within me is a sense of sweeter, kinder times, when the world seemed to turn a little more slowly. Even all the way back when, as a child, I could safely roam the streets on bicycle or on foot, wandering several blocks to visit friends or to while away the days. I’d stop in my tracks to marvel over bird songs or a neighbor’s garden abundance, to observe ants at work or butterflies fluttering beyond my reach. The natural world was luminous to me as it is to a child–vivid and unfettered by more serious climate matters. Electric and perfect. It spoke to me. It brought me right to God.

It still often feels like this. So one way I try to hold it closer is to photograph. I have taken hundreds of pictures of Irvington neighborhood delights, and offer only a few today.

I am juggling many feelings as I search archives. I am entering a period of anniversaries of loss. I don’t grieve day to day, anymore, but those worn, softened places where tears have run like rivers linger in my being. I turn to what I want most to see, experience, revisit during the next month or two. I seek and create greater cheer. It may be the memories I need to evoke, as well. Despite vowing to return to that area in the peak of spring, summer or fall, I only infrequently have made good on it the last five years. And none of the recent photographs taken have matched the beauty of older ones. Perhaps it was the regularity of walks that distilled my fervent attention. There is an intimacy that such familiarity brings. And so when I look back over reams of pictures, I am lit with happiness. Still, I will go again. Soon, camera in hand.

The last two pictures–tulips which signal to me another birthday is soon coming, and one of myself from 2016 that was in an Irvington grouping: how the decades come and go! How fortunate to look back and find the good and true in all the ups and downs, before and since. I found joy then and I find it now, for what benefit are melcancholy reminders of losses if we cannot discover rejuvenation and go on? As a Christian, I know the cross will become empty soon with the promise of greater life beyond. As an ordinary woman, I know that what is lost can be honored while creating and loving anew.

So, Happy Easter, Happy Spring! Happy flower findings, all.

Wednesday’s Words: A Revisitation of Northwest Appreciation

I don’t moon over the past; it’s been lived for good or ill, and done. Yet sometimes looking back aids me in embracing the present. It can illumine, help interpret or expand current experiences. Noting the continuity of life is important. I do this more at the start of winter. Maybe it’s the holidays beckoning and all that has meant or will become. This year it might be that time blurred with unexpected events, many a challenge.

In any case, I skimmed a few photograph files from the past 10 years to see what captured my intertest during other Novembers. When I revisit this period it’s not so much details of family gatherings that intrigue me unless they’re from decades ago. Rather, it’s the sensations of November, how the month gathers days and nights into a maelstrom of colder, moodier weather, and soon with drizzing or slanting rain. It signals transitions for earth but also a few basic human habits: fireplaces are lit, blankets heaped on, hot tea and coffee kept at hand. And that nesting feeling that draws one ever inward. A more pensive time even as there continues outdoor time.

Of course, a Thanksgiving feast will happen tomorrow, as ever, with many family members tucked around our big oak table, savoring foods, being merry and counting all that we value and love. I will welcome them, immerse myself in the time shared.

But today I’m drawn to the earth’s stories, and many places I have walked and spent in quiet thought as an edgier wind pushes me down pathways. I recall an old neighborhgood, the odd wallkabouts and a few longer trips, and think how rich a walking life I have enjoyed for decades. It matters so much, my daily walking, and becoming more present in the world no matter wherever I roam. Body and soul are enhanced by energetic or contemplative movement and nature’s bounty of complexities.

Oregon (and next door neighbor, Washington) is a peculiar place as it moves from autumn to winter months. I noted tiny white and red roses today, fat blue hydrangeas. But I wore gloves as my fingers will soon hurt from the lower temps. A lovely contrast of bare tree branches and roses, sunlight and sharp breezes…the changeability happens each year, with generally temperate weather dominating. The skies stun with sudden light and blueness, then close ranks so that it seems evening visits at noon. And then may come layered grey-black clouds bearing icy rainstorms and 45 mph gusts whipping treetops. I love it, the masses of once-vivid leaves lining paths and the horizon transformed from moment to moment into new scenarios. A theatrical and exciting landscape, in a city as well as along a shore. I get all these chances to wake up, be attentive and note vagaries that fuel the engine of Pacific Northwest weather. They offer such beauty to mountains, valleys, the oceanside and high deserts–and some danger with landslides or flooding and snowy mountain passes. I can travel 2-4 hours and submerge myself in a new landscape. It is like moving through a series of tales, finding a way to opportunities for creativity and medtation. It suits a person who is fascinated by weather, nature’s mysteries and the work and joy of human motion.

Of course, this night before Thanksgiving I take a moment to note my heartfelt thanks–as ever–for my family and friends. How could I have such a fine life without the richness of diverse personalities, their generosity of time and care, their finely honed wits and multiple capabilities? And I am also grateful for the gift of exploration, to be able to embrace this place I respect and adore. To inhabit a life is a wonder. I realize it each time I end a day with relief and prayers, and awaken the next in anticipation of more good, more hope, accepting challenges the best I can. I don’t take anything for granted; it all can be so easily taken from me.

All this said–I am sharing a small sampling of photos I found of past autumn-to-winter views which brought me to this moment in 2023. Thankful for: home.

My warmest regards to you and yours this day, and the coming days. Though they can be uncertain and terribly hard, may you find and offer more Light.

Friday’s Poem: The Body Rises Up

Today the body (its losses a low simmer)

rises as if it wants this more than anything

despite the mind demanding it cancel,

just return to chair, find a pillow for head too

crowded with ruminations and shadows of illness.

Body in its totality smirks, lengthens and stretches

despite scarcity of rich blood of vigor;

two feet lift and fall, step and pause, seek and carry.

It is off this way, a twinning with river so in a fluid

state, and parting multi-treed spaces like a whisper.

It is clarified by November rain, now bright and clean.

I thank you, it says, for good passage here, and moves on.

Breath presses ribs sore from heaves of coughing;

knees resist from lack of work and attention.

And yet the body must move; it takes limbs

and shoulders, hips and hands, a neck

so tight it may have rusted,

and before there is a yawn or complaint

a rush of liberty wends its way from heart

to sinew to brain and the spark! The body goes forth.

This is the way of the fraught flesh,

slipping right past weariness, beyond any reproach,

forgiving its booms of pain, repeating discrete movements

until the roaming is complete for the day.

The ferocity of cells regenerating

when one suspects too much is lost…one gasps.

For the body loves its inhabitant;

it carries one to the edges and back.

The route is cobbled with danger

and made smooth with joy, all in the briefest of times.

This is the body’s intention: to deliver life back

to its deep knowledge, and more adventure to the soul,

and when motion stalls for good and sputters,

the flesh waits for greater tranfusions of light.

One knows this; one has left life and returned

burned by the fire of passing grief,

remade by wordless astonishment.

The body is witness to the cosmos

even when given up and then reclaimed.

But today this walk with small leaps toward health

makes the miracle again, rewards effort with peace

as canopies of fluttering, frail leaves sing out.

(Photgraphy by Cynthia Guenther Richardson)

Monday’s Meander on Tuesday: Stunning Red Rock State Park (Plus, My Surprise)

As you can see, I am leading with a blurry but happy photo of me taken when visiting Red Rock State Park, the last part of our trip to Central Oregon. Not because I think the picture is special. Rather, because my admitted self-image does not currently match up with X-rays and MRIs. I must have thought I could bypass various aspects of this qging body; I might have had rose colored glasses on too often.

Sitting on the fence that day three weeks ago, I didn’t feel like someone with a major knee issue. I was a little tired and very thirsty–that sun was nearly scorching my skin. But I wasn’t fending off bothersome pain after a nice walkabout. Those who’ve read my blog are aware I had a medial tear of a meniscus (right knee) in January and have been working with that ever since. To little avail, though a cortisone shot diminished the worst pain after two months’ physical therapy. Which I had to quit as it was the wrong thing to pursue, it turns out. I managed increasingly better after the injection (but it made my face and neck beet red and was itchy several days). I have from the start kept up with daily walks if possible –but after that they were faster and farther and even on hilly terrain with just a tad lingering soreness.

I know this sort of injury is common for lots of active people and so wasn’t that concerned; I had another tear 4 years ago and it healed up. But then came further consults with orthopedic surgeons about that jagged tear. I had the second one yesterday. The first doctor did not inform enough or clarify a timeline for a plan so I sought another’s opinion. I learned I have some degenerative arthritis on part of the knee in addition to a difficult-to-fix tear at the root of the injured meniscus. Bottom line is I will– this year, likely– need a partial knee replacement. I so appreciate the second surgeon being clear and frank about things. And we will talk again in awhile unless things go south faster than hoped.

But–what? Hang on a minute– I didn’t even know I had any, much less significant, arthritis! Sure, a crunch here and there, sometimes a sudden pain. But nothing impossible. I push to override discomfort, anyway, then go my merry way, whether that’s good or not. So this was a shocking reveal. (I still don’t know what will happen with the irregular tear–that procedure didn’t sound so nice/simple. Partial knee replacement with that repair may occur at same time.)

Ok, maybe a little discomfort in the semi-lame knee….enough walking for one day. (And where’s the iced tea? Just snap the pic, will ya?)

I can’t quite sort out or elucidate feelings about it; this isn’t a creative nonfiction piece, and I have to sit with the information awhile. I ponder this: I felt strong and well before this last injury. I have dealt with pain alright, overall, tried to take care of myself and looked forward to an effective treatment plan. Well, reality is what it is. And any fix that will help me stay active outdoors and for longer is the better news. I am grateful for what all I do not have and am counting on more healing, in time.

On to the good stuff: Smith Rock State Park, which spreads out at 3200 feet above sea level. (We met our granddaughter and friend and also her mother there for a last visit.) It is renowned for sport rock climbing of all sorts and levels. Made of volcanic rock–basalt and tuff– the peaks are intriguing colors and shapes. Hard to imagine the upheaval and profound alterations that occurred with the eruption(s).

I regret I wasn’t able to descend into Crooked River valley to hike those miles of trails, nor climb among rocky abuttments this time. You can spot in the distance a few rock climbers and hikers. Paths wind all about below, which I plan to revisit–it’s an exhilarating hike!

The trail you see above travels up and then down and around the river’s length. I am zoomed in here. The shot below gives more perspective on the descent, as well as height of pinnacles. If you look closely, you can see one person walking at far left on the trail by the river; there are a few others barely visible on far right end of trail that are mere specks.

Below, there is a rock climber inside a crevasse farther at right side of the rocks. Look for a white shirt half in shadow. Hard to spot–I did have a telephoto lens–in the car!…

Fanily insert shows Granddaughter Avery, Marc and me; Avery and her friend on an upper trail; people at right looking down toward river valley, left of shot.

I love the textures, shapes, colors of the high desert. And the sweet-sharp fragrances everywhere.

The afternoon began to melt away in the heat and beauty. We had four hours to drive. After saying a fond farewell to our Avery we started back home. Here are a few parting shots from along the road.

We passed through Warm Springs Reservation on the way to the Cascades. Whenever I do, I think of the clients I counselled while working in addictions/mental health treatment. I was once employed by a Native American organization and it was an experience that changed me, meeting people from multiple tribes, witnessing the palpable suffering and learning about their survival; learning a few of many traditions, hearing their music, and feeling their great desire for wholeness. I still have some beadwork sliped into my hands by some women clients who completed treatment succesfully. I was given a beautiful painting by a well known Native artist…but couselors shoould not take such gifts. The director decided to keep it since I wasn’t American Indian, anyway– and it was valuable. That hurt a bit, but I wonder how the male artist fared once back home.

This rugged land–and all the rest– was once theirs. The lossses were and are grave; the Native peoples are traumatized and it carries forward generationally. I ponder it even now–our country too often seems to not consider the impact of all this. And we cannot forget.

This trip–about which I have posted for four weeks– was only three days but stuffed with interesting experiences and fun hours. Marc and I will be getting away more this summer. Actually, we are off to the beach on Sun. so I won’t be posting next “Monday’s Meander.” But the following week: some choice Pacific Ocean stories and shots!