It has been bright, sunny and COLD the last few days. I have had fun taking pictures of the flowers that are thriving in the cold, and some noisy crows, as well.
Crows do really well in Portland. They drink out of the bubblers downtown and enjoy over ripe fruits and leftover take-out food here in the neighborhood.
They have something to say (I’m still not sure what) to everyone who passes by, including dogs on leashes and cats on porches. I reply and try to understand, but they don’t seem particularly motivated.
In the story I am writing, there is a character who was also a real-life Chinese doctor here in Portland, Dr. C. Gee Wo. He advertised every day in the local newspaper, The Oregonian. He was very successful, also investing in other businesses and donating to charities here in Portland and all along the west coast.
In order to describe his neighborhood and office, I have been trying to learn what the Chinatown here in Portland was like in 1903. So you can imagine how happy I was when I learned that a brand new Chinese museum had opened up! Yesterday, Grandpa Nelson and I went to visit it.
But first, there was a doctor’s visit and then, lunch. We parked by a wonderful old building called The Hazeltine, which was built in 1893. Amazing stone work right out on the street!
Pine Street Market
Across the street was the Pine Street Market, which is another old building that is now being shared by about five different restaurants. Checkerboard Pizza, Pollo Brava, Markum Ramen, and the Kim Jung Grill all vied for our attention.
We ate at “Bless Your Heart” Burgers, and they had wonderful burgers, fries for Grandpa Nelson, and Mexican Coke! I only have about two sodas a year, so I need to make them count.
Cool Dragon Logo
Then we walked across Burnside, past Voodoo Donuts, and to the Portland Chinatown Museum. As I said, it is brand new. There are still pictures resting on the floor, waiting to be hung, and the model that shows how the museum is laid out is still sitting on a back table. But there are wonderful displays of Chinese stores and restaurants, and essays and photographs that show when Chinese folks came to America, what jobs they did, and where they lived.
Mr. James Wong
I met James Wong, a retired teacher who is on the Board of museum. He told me that he was born and raised two blocks from this museum in the 1950s. He explained that there were really TWO “Old Chinatowns” in Portland. The one from the time of my story, 1903, was south of Burnside, along 2nd and 3rd Streets. The later one, from about 1905 onward, is north of Burnside. That would explain why Dr. Wo’s office is so far south, on Alder.
We read, looked and walked all over the museum, bought a book called Sweet Cakes, Long Journey by Dr. Marie Rose Wong, and went off to see what else we could see.
Yesterday Auntie Bridgett and I went for a long walk. We enjoyed the dogs and trees at Laurelhurst Park, and the pretty houses of the Laurelhurst neighborhood. We wandered for quite a ways before we decided to turn back towards home.
When we did, I realized that we were very close to The Lone Fir Cemetery and that it had been a long time since we visited the folks there. So we went in.
As you already know, I love the peace and perspective of this old cemetery. We saw familiar headstones; heroic pioneers and shady ladies, revered doctors and just plain folks. And, as so often happens, something new caught our eye. Mr. Frank Dekum.
Auntie Bridgett with Mr. Dekum
We know the name, because a big stone and brick building built by and named for him is on the corner of 3rd and Washington and we pass it every time we go downtown. Mr. Dekum came to Portland in 1853 with his family and started a very successful fruit business. He was also a candy maker, so obviously, a lover of good things.
His tallest namesake
When he had made his fortune in fruit and candy, he started investing in real estate development. He was involved in every building that went up on Washington Street between First and Third. He was on the Boards of banks and water companies, helping bring railroads and fresh drinking water to the city.
When the city was hit by a financial panic in 1893, property investments crashed and Mr. Dekum was badly impacted. He died the next year with only a fraction of his fortune intact. He is buried in our dear Lone Fir along with his eight children, so I can visit the whole family whenever I want.
It is winter in Portland, wet and pretty chilly most days. But it is also beautiful. After a really rainy night, I went for a walk in Laurelhurst Park.
Oh, before I forget. I met a lady walking her dog the other day, and she says we should call it “Squirrelhurst” Park.
I guess if you are walking a dog in the park, the squirrels become much more of a focus. Leash-training is a good thing.
Even though the calendar says it is mid-winter, not all the plants are shut down. These green shoots are promising jonquils, or snowdrops, pretty soon. I will keep my eye out for them!
Careless Camellias
The Camellias are beginning to bloom, both red and white, all over the park. They don’t worry about freezing temperatures, diminished sunlight and buckets of rain, apparently.
Puddles become a real thing in the park after a rain. The paths need to be walked with care, and the lowest parts are really muddy. Another reason to keep your dog on a leash!
Puddles
There is a stone wall that runs along a bit of the Cesar Chavez side of the park. Because of its shape, I call it The Wallosaurus. It has gotten a nice sweater of ferns and moss which makes it even more charming.
Wallosaurus
Another wall I love on the way to the park. Cast in concrete decades ago, it sort of looks like an aerial photograph of Oregon’s Willamette Valley…lush and green with a few roads and rivers running through. Very Pretty.
I had hoped to have happy news to post…..and here it is!
On Saturday, we got to be a part of a perfectly Portland activity, recycling our pretty Christmas tree. It took Auntie Bridgett a whole evening to take the ornaments off and pack them up.
The next morning, we lifted, swept needles, and carefully coordinated our movements… and dropped the naked tree horizontally off the balcony! It landed very neatly on the patio. This was Auntie Bridgett’s plan to keep from stringing needles all down the stairs, and it worked beautifully.
Grandpa Nelson had looked into where we could take our tree, since we don’t have yard waste pickup at our condominium. It turns out, the answer was our favorite local school, Sunnyside Elementary, only two blocks away! Hooray!
Walking the tree to Sunnyside School
Thanks to Grandpa Nelson for taking these pictures! I forgot my camera…
Instead of loading the tree onto our car, we just carried it between us. Along the way we saw evidence of other trees being delivered; car traffic, branches and bits of trees along the sidewalk, and happy shouts.
At the schoolyard, there were little kids holding signs, adults directing traffic and taking the five dollar donations, and bigger kids stacking the trees. It was a well oiled tree recycling extravaganza.
Trees on the schoolyard
On the way home, we saw this fellow bringing his tree to the yard…on his skateboard! Perfectly Portland.
Keeping things Perfectly Portland
Later in the day as we were walking back from the library, Auntie Bridgett and I saw the trees going into the chipper. They will be turned into mulch which will be used in the gardens around Sunnyside School itself. Talk about keeping it local.
I love that the powers that be have managed to work past some of the obstacles for getting good things done. Not all, of course…there is progress to be made. But it’s very nice when it works.
I can’t believe I am sending you two sad letters in a row. I apologize and hope for more cheerful news tomorrow.
Yesterday, Auntie Bridgett was robbed at the SideStreet Gallery where she works and shows her art. She was alone in the gallery and a fellow came in and visited for a few minutes, then left.
He came back a little later and said he wanted to buy one of her collage artworks, a wonderful piece called Blue. He said it was a gift for his mom. Bridgett was excited and they chatted about the work.
The man asked that she change the hanger on the picture so it would be easier for his mom to put up. That meant a trip into the back room for hardware. Then he asked for her to gift wrap it. That meant a trip across the gallery.
All this meant that her bag, with her wallet inside, was left by itself behind the counter. When the art was wrapped, the man made an excuse to leave without the art, promising to return soon with his credit card to finish the purchase.
When he left, her wallet was in his pocket. She didn’t notice for a while, but called the police when she did, then spent the evening reporting the theft to all the banks and credit card companies. The fellow had already been charging a great deal of money, but she will not be made to pay for it.
Overall, it looks like she lost a little over two hundred dollars cash (Christmas money) and her favorite Vespa patterned wallet.
But what has been lost for good is a certain level of trust, of faith in the goodness of people. We knew that in Salinas, where we used to live, there were people who would break into houses and take things. I guess we knew there were bad people in Portland, but they were always somewhere else, not in our immediate vicinity. Now we know they can touch us.
A level of innocence that we probably didn’t have any right to is gone. And that is disillusioning.
Yesterday was a sad day for me here in Portland. I am all right. Let me explain.
Great Uncles Tim and Jim, Great Grandpa Lowell, and me in 1966
Yesterday I found out that my oldest brother, your great uncle Tim, has had a heart attack. He is in a hospital in San Diego, and the people there are trying to get him better.
He was in the Marine Corps and spent many years in Viet Nam during the war there. He has been hit by hand granade shrapnel, had Malaria a few times, and lived on what he could hunt when he got separated from his unit for a few days. He has been a tough guy.
But he is seventy years old, has smoked for most of his life, and doesn’t take care of himself. So it is not a surprise that he is sick. But you can see something coming and it still hurts.
Great Uncle Tim at his wedding to a different Auntie Bridget
My nephew Wade, Tim’s son, has come out from New York to visit his dad and see what can be done to put him on the road to recovery. Tim’s memory is affected and he is having trouble placing people. I am hoping for a happy resolution, recovery and a return home for Tim. But, like for Momma and Dad and our brother Jim before him, I will most likely live to mourn the brother who taught me how to climb trees and clean fish.
Great Uncle Tim, Great Grandma Billie, and Grandpa Nelson, the last time we were all together, about 2010
The Hoyt Arboretum kept showing us things we didn’t expect.
It’s Cold!!
Coming out of the forest, we saw a grove full of lacy bamboo with something…odd…hanging in it. We headed down stone steps and past a Japanese style gate to where we found this sculpture, called Basket of Air, by Ivan McClean. The sphere is about 6 feet in diameter, and it is suspended over a creek by cables attached to three bamboo poles. The “basket” is made of steel but looks as light as a soap bubble. It was so surprising, I laughed out loud! I want to visit it at other seasons, to see how it looks different.
Basket of Air by Ivan McClean Photo Credit Bridgett Spicer
We headed off to The Holly Loop, where all sorts of holly bushes are growing. From the top of the loop we could see Mt. St. Helens, a volcano only sixty four miles away from Portland. Maybe we will go visit it sometime.
When we had seen all the forest we wanted, we started back down.
But wait! There’s the Veteran’s Memorial! Grandpa Nelson and I hadn’t seen it, but Auntie Bridgett had. She sat down to draw while We walked around.
The memorial is in a large ‘bowl’ in the shape of a spiral, and near the top are plaques remembering the Oregonians who died in the Viet Nam War. The war went from the 1950s to 1973, when Grandpa Nelson and I were growing up. My brother Tim was in the war, and Grandpa Nelson would have been if his draft number had come up. This war always feels more personal than others.
Viet Nam Veteran’s Memorial
The cold started to creep through our coats and gloves, and the sun on the moss was chillier. We picked up a very shivery Auntie Bridgett and headed home, for sure this time. Tea and hot cocoa, a rest, and then dinner, put us right.
On the first day of 2019, Grandpa Nelson, Auntie Bridgett and I drove west across the Willamette, through downtown, and out the other side, up into Washington Park. I have been there many times, to see the Zoo, the Rose Garden, the Japanese Garden, the Children’s Museum, even the Holocaust Memorial last summer. But this time we headed for the Hoyt Arboretum.
An arboretum is like a zoo for trees, if you think about it. The trees are planted near others like them and are labeled so you know what they are and where they are from. Of course, the trees stay where they are put, so they don’t need fences. It felt more like a forest. An icy cold, bright, sunshiny forest.
Frosty Lace
Grandpa Nelson had done some looking and found something labeled “The Winter Garden” in the arboretum. He knew I liked gardens, and it’s winter…. so we headed there. It was still 37 degrees F, so there was a pretty lacy edge of frost on everything. Even the weeds by the parking lot were pretty.
The trees that lose their leaves already have, leaving beautiful stark branches against the blinding blue sky. I want to capture those shapes, somehow. Maybe with some nice thin lines of embroidery somewhere.
Squirrels, chubbing out
Lovely delicate branches
We saw two squirrels sitting on maple branches that seemed too thin to support them, methodically eating the seeds one by one and dropping the husks. Grandpa Nelson said they should keep eating until the branch breaks, because then they will know they are fat enough!
The Winter Garden is really a very small part of the arboretum and there were some little lily sort of flowers blooming, which is unusual in January. The label was too small for me to read. The ferns were frosty and there was the tiniest creek running through by them.
Flowers in January!
Down a hill past the Redwood Deck, where a wedding was being held, the trees got taller. Cedars, redwoods and pines towered overhead. We felt as tiny as rabbits.
I will tell you more about the arboretum tomorrow.
One fun thing about Portland is that there are so many wonderful places to eat!
I have had spicy Ethiopian food, luscious vegetarian burgers, and some really indulgent Portland brunches. Last night, however, I had dinner at the best French restaurant outside of France. In my humble opinion, of course.
We took a Lyft car to Bistro Agnes at the corner of 12th and Alder, downtown.
The Wine
Grandpa Nelson only ever orders French fries (or pommes frites, on the French menu) but he made up for it by ordering a very nice bottle of wine from the Rhône Valley. It was scrumptious.
Grandpa Nelson talking wine
Auntie Bridgett was very excited about the restaurant’s dozen or so Absinthes and got some advice from Justin, our waiter. He said that the Jade 1901 was the most authentic old-time Absinthe, since it was copied from absinthe in bottles from that time. A lady came by to do the special presentation, with ice water dripped over a sugar cube and into the glass, and it all felt very fancy. Bridgett declared it smooth and sweet, totally delicious.
Absinthe Presentation
We had escargot and mushrooms for an appetizer, served with wonderfully crunchy bread. We were glad we shared! There was so much!
While we were eating, we were treated to the greatest show on earth, the people of Portland out and about. Bistro Agnes has large windows that let us watch umbrellas, stylish coats and wooly hats go by in the drippy evening.
For dinner I ordered the Mussels Mareniere , which are mussels served in a buttery garlic sauce with MORE crusty bread. I would take a bit, have a sip of that delicious red wine, then go in for another. Yumm!
MMMMMMMussels
Bridgett ordered a Winter Vegetable Pithiver, which was vegetables and cheese in a beautiful puff pastry. It was so gooey and tasty, she couldn’t stop eating it, even when she was full.
But even the good wine and great food weren’t what made Bistro Agnes the best French restaurant this side of the Atlantic. It was the people, and their attention to making us comfortable, informed, and relaxed. A lady at the door took our coats and umbrellas. Justin asked about food allergies and explained the dishes, including how long Bridgett’s puff pastry would take to cook. The absinthe and dessert presentation were delicious and beautiful.
We stayed two hours, incredibly long for an American dinner, but just about right for France. We never felt rushed or awkward, because every single person there was charming and welcoming.
We won’t be going to Bistro Agnes often, of course, since it is not an inexpensive dinner. But as a stand in for a trip to our home-away-from-home country, it is cheap at twice the price!
Dear Liza 