“People love to talk. They love to slander you if you have any substance.” -Mattie Ross
Mike Kline, my friend since freshman year at F&M, was in Portland with his family last August. Over Italian food and later over coffee at Albina Press, we spoke of President Obama’s performance in the White House, Portland’s strange ways and finally books. Mike suggested that I read True Grit by Charles Portis. He said I would enjoy it (he was correct!), and also that he is teaching the novel this fall at Shipley School in suburban Philadelphia.
Charles Portis is from Arkansas. He lives in Little Rock. His most famous heroine, Mattie Ross, is also from Arkansas, from “near Dardanelle in Yell County,” to be exact. The events of True Grit take place in 1873, but the story is recounted by Mattie as an old woman.
The novel, published in 1968, has twice been made into a Hollywood film. The first production earned John Wayne a best acting nod for the Oscar. The remake was a Coen brothers movie. Let’s have a look at young Mattie through the Coen brothers’ lens:
There’s a solid argument to be made that Mattie Ross is a feminist hero. Another way to read the book is to understand how hard it was to live on the American frontier in the 19th century. Teen girls were not taking selfies, they were working on the farm and in the house. Mattie Ross is an exceptional figure, larger than life in many ways, but there’s also an unvarnished realism here. She’s a Bible quoting Presbyterian who doesn’t have time to trifle. How exactly do we think the West was won? By women (or girls, as the case may be) like Mattie.
Portis worked as a journalist in New York City before moving home to Arkansas to write books. He has four other novels to his credit—The Dog of the South, Masters of Atlantis, Gringo, and Norwood—all of which are fan favorites. The New York Times says of his books: “Mr. Portis evokes an eccentric, absurd world with a completely straight face. As a result there are not a lot of laugh-out-loud moments or explosive set pieces here. Instead of shooting off fireworks the books shimmer with a continuous comic glow.”
Clearly, Portis has a unique voice and a great sense of detail to go with his good humor. I’m also intrigued by his knowledge of American history and fascination with place. In an essay for The Atlantic, “Combinations of Jacksons,” Portis describes his family history and culture, both firmly rooted in place.
MY ALABAMA grandmother wasn’t pleased when her youngest son (a seventh son, my father) told her of his plans to marry an Arkansas girl. She kindly explained to him that the unfortunate women living west of the Mississippi River had, among other defects, feet at least one size bigger than those of their dainty little sisters to the east. No Cinderella to be found in the Bear State. Any mention of that old slander, even a teasing one fifty years later, could still make my placid mother bristle and blaze up a little. In any kind of refined-foot contest, she said, she would pit her Waddell-Fielding-Arkansas feet against all comers with Portis-Poole-Alabama feet.
In my quest to understand the man, I read his novel, The Dog of the South directly following my reading of True Grit. The Dog of the South is narrated by a son of Little Rock and failed journalist, Ray Midge. Midge, 26, is a bit of a mess, but he’s also on a quest to right the wrongs in his life, thus he is also heroic. His hero’s journey to Central America and back is clownish, for sure, but there’s also a seriousness of intent and time for informed reflection. Ideals, people and places worth fighting for (including actual battle sites along his route)—this is what occupies his mind as he travels by car to find his runaway wife.
There’s a passage at the end of The Dog of the South, where Midge is back in Little Rock and catching the reader up on his status. He says, “A lot of people leave Arkansas and most of them come back sooner or later. They can’t quite achieve escape velocity.” I love this line. Place, particularly one’s home place, has a magnetic hold on us and Portis both reveals this truth, and revels in it.
“I spent the night in Utah in a cave up in the hills.” -Robert Hunter
Last week, we celebrated David Keller’s life at gatherings in Rockville, Utah and again in Salt Lake City.
Anne Decker, a close friend of David’s mom, Big J., made a touching speech last Wednesday night in Mill Creek Canyon.
http://youtu.be/7hcxXuaRq1s
I will not contradict Anne’s fine sentiments. But I will add that grieving the loss of my friend is something I relish. I relish it because I like to feel the intense sadness and joy that comes when I think of him.
Anne is right however, in that we mustn’t be stuck in our grief, but rather use it to fuel new adventures with friends and family.
The Deacon of Freakin’ wouldn’t have it any other way.
“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…)
