September 12, 2023, Exton, PA- Bushnell Park is one of New England’s best kept secrets.
The park, designed according to the style used by Frederick Law Olmsted, in his construction of New York’s Central Park, was constructed, in 1861, by a Swiss-born landscape architect, Jacob Weidenmann, who came recommended by Olmsted. It is named for Dr. Horace Bushnell, a health-conscious minister and community activist, who recognized the benefits to the public weal, of urban green space, at a time when business leaders were more concerned with making money from tax rolls than with any government involvement in the health of the citizenry.
Bushnell Park is one of the crown jewels of Hartford. Connecticut’s capital city is known for its insurance corporate headquarters and, along with so many other northeastern cities, for its struggles to renew vitality. Hartford has a magnificent core. Stopping there today, on the way from Kittery to this small, and vibrant, western suburb of Philadelphia, I found these gems:
Statue of Apollo, near State Capitol, HartfordEast side view of State Capitol, HartfordHorace Bushnell Theater, HartfordPond and fountains, Bushnell Park, HartfordSoldiers and Sailors Memorial Arch, HartfordThe Pump House was built in 1947, as part of the Connecticut River Flood Control Project, after downtown Hartford suffered deluges in 1936 and 1938.
This last item hints at solutions that might be pertinent to resolving the woes of other flood-stricken communities. As I write this, two Massachusetts towns: Leominster and North Attleboro, are dealing with severe damage caused by flooding. Several Alaska towns had flood damage, earlier this year. Across the globe, fire in the Mediterranean region (Greece, Sicily, Algeria) has been followed by flooding (Libya). It is perhaps essential to more closely examine the role that wetlands might have, in mitigating both flood and fire, since one usually follows the other.,
It also helps, that the majesty of smaller cities be recognized, appreciated and celebrated.
September 6, 2023, Mauston, WI- The bison herd was spread out, mostly standing around, with some lying peacefully about and a few rolling in the dust. This was the order of the morning, at Blue Mounds State Park, just north of Luverne, MN. I had come here partly to walk along the pinkish-blue rocks and partly to sit and watch the bison, who were safely behind a fence, with a three-mile range in which to graze, wallow and just be bison, without any “intrepid” ( I think of another word that ends in -pid) tourists trying to get selfies with the beasts.
Bison herd at Blue Mounds State Park, Luverne, MN (above and below)
There was only respect for these magnificent animals, from those of us who stopped to see them today. A woman who had come with a friend, and her little dog, sat in the car with the pet, while her friend went to observe the herd.
The rocks on the cliffs to the north of the bison pasture were equally magnificent- in an understated way.
Blue and pink ledges, at Blue Mounds.Top of north Blue MoundRolling prairie, along Blue Mound Loop Trail
Like Pipestone to the north, Luverne relied greatly on locally quarried stone to build its public structures.
Rock County Courthouse, Luverne, MNRock County Veterans Memorial, with front of Courthouse in view
After a three-hour drive, the second homage of the day was on a more somber note: Laying a wreath at the gravesite of Mendota Heights Police Officer Scott Patrick, slain in the line of duty, on July 30, 2014, at a traffic stop in nearby West St. Paul. He had been a partner to an extended family member; thus, the added impetus to pay my respects.
Let all know the value of a life cut short. It is gratifying that his killer was caught and brought to justice, serving a life sentence for first degree murder.
Adjacent to Acacia Park Cemetery, where Officer Patrick was laid to rest, is Oheyaw ahi, “A Place Much Visited”, in the Dakota language. It is also known as Pilot Knob. This is a site sacred to the Dakota people, who occupied the area, when Europeans first came there. The hill was a regular gathering place, as the name implies. Sacred ceremonies were commonly observed at Oheyaw ahi. After a treaty was signed, in 1851, giving control of the area to the U.S. government and land to white settlers, 1300 Dakota people were confined to a fenced camp on the opposite bank of the Minnesota River. Many died there, during the winter of 1851-52, and were buried at Oheyaw ahi. Thus, to this day, the site is hallowed ground and sacred to the Dakota Nation. I walked quietly, on established trails, and offered prayers for those who suffered then, and those who may be suffering now.
The north gathering place, on Oheyaw ahi, near Mendota Heights, MN.
After the full day, it took a while, but I found my rest stop for the night, at Quality Inn, Mauston.
September 5, 2023, Luverne, MN- The lady from somewhere in Florida stepped out into the open air observation deck, at Golden Spike Tower, North Platte, felt the bracing Great Plains wind and rushed back inside. When I came back in, myself, she remarked that it was “a nice two seconds of fresh air- Brrr!” My mind went back to the February, 1987, ride on the Chicago El, and a stoned goofball opening the door, which got stuck until a world-weary conductor came along, giving the rest of us a true dose of “bracing”. 67 F , 40 mph winds and all, just felt refreshing, this morning.
Golden Spike Tower
I like the Great Plains, finding more here to appreciate than many do. Then again, that may be said of anywhere I’ve been-and the Southwest does remain my Home Base of choice. Nebraska has its share of flat cornfields, which are themselves hugely important to the nation’s, and the world’s sustenance. It also has its share of forested land, including a National Forest, up near Chadron, in the northwest of the state. I did not get anywhere near there, today, but did pass a number of small forests, particularly along the Platte River, its forks and the many irrigation-focused reservoirs that dot its plain. The Platte, like its fellows to the west, is suffering. It is mostly sand bars, these days-hoping for rain.
The first part of the morning was spent in homage to all that the railroad industry has done for the good of humanity-even as we, with some degree of justification, fret about the after-effects of fossil fuel use. My take is that all this concern should propel us into a Green Economy, which it is doing-just not fast enough to suit some people. The change-over needs to be done carefully, though, lest those whose interests lie in the old energy format convince the masses of people to resist what is, in the long run, best for the planet and for all living things within its gravitational pull.
Corn fields abut the Bailey Yard, home to Golden Spike Tower. The Bailey is the largest Classification Rail Yard in the world, being 8 miles long and occupying 2,850 acres. Union Pacific trains, centered here, transport goods, and more than a few crafty travelers, to 23 states. As the name, Golden Spike, implies, it was on a Union Pacific track, in Promontory, Utah, where the spike that brought the country’s rail system to completion was driven into the ground. This tower, at this yard, underscores that feat.
Union Pacific’s leased cornfield, at Bailey Yard, North Platte (above and below)
There has been more care taken to let tired land lie fallow or be protected by cover crops, in the past five or six years. People are learning, from the excesses of the Monoculture Boom of the last two decades.
A field at rest, on the northwest side of Bailey Yard.
One more fact about Bailey Yard: In 1941,in the aftermath of Pearl Harbor, a young North Platte woman named Rae Wilson recalled that the grandmothers of her town had operated a canteen for servicemen, during World War I. She wanted to do the same in her time, and approached Bill Jeffers, the President of Union Pacific, and a North Platte native, for permission to use a vacant room in his company’s North Platte terminal. He gladly offered the space, free of charge, with the caveat that the community provide all that was needed-food, drink and furniture. He knew that North Platte, and the surrounding area, would rise to the occasion. That, the community did, in spades. Beginning with a company of Kansas National Guardsmen, on Christmas Eve, 1941, thousands of troops passing through North Platte were fed and shown a warm welcome by the community-with plenty of support from communities across Nebraska, northern Kansas and northeastern Colorado. Remember, this was before there many processed foods, before microwave ovens; everything was made from scratch. The effort continued until 1946. The passenger terminal was torn down in 1973, so Bailey Yard maintains a replica of the canteen and offers a video account of the efforts.
I continued on, after viewing the video, stopping for lunch in the town of Gothenburg, an hour east of North Platte. Here, at Deb’s Diner/Nana’s Country Kitchen, I struck up a conversation with two local gentlemen, over lunch. One of the men had been in Colorado Springs, as I had, this past weekend. He told of taking a cabin at a large facility on the northwest side of town, and of his hapless wife getting into bed-and being stung by a bee, that had been trapped between the sheets! Good thing she wasn’t allergic-and there was plenty of mud outside, as it rained almost incessantly, on that side of town. (Mud, for those too young to remember, was the farmer’s medicine for insect stings. I’ve used it quite a few times, though I am no farmer.)
The capital of the Cornhusker State, Lincoln, is a medium-sized city, about an hour west of Omaha, which is somewhat larger. I stopped by the state capitol, for a short circumambulation. The edifice is in the shape of a skyscraper, though its base has expanded, as state government has grown over the decades.
Nebraska State Capitol, LincolnBase of Nebraska State Capitol, spreading southward.View of Nebraska State Capitol, from the east.The capital city’s namesake.
The day was fading, though I had plenty of energy left, so I wended the way north, past Fremont, Winnebago, Sioux City and the southeastern sliver of South Dakota, to the small quarry town of Luverne. Tomorrow, I might hike a bit at Blue Earth State Park, and pay respects to the victims of the Mankato massacre, before heading to Mendota Heights, and laying a wreath at the grave of a police officer, who was the work partner of an extended family member, and who was killed in the line of duty, nine years ago. I became aware of his murder,whilst paying similar respects to George Floyd, in 2021. It is past time, but murder is murder-and Officer Scott Patrick deserves to be remembered for his service and his life, every bit as much as any other victim of our national intemperance.
August 23, 2023- In August, 1974, a family visiting from Montreal had taken a cabin at a resort, in western Maine, where I was working for the summer. A fire was built in the hearth, then thinking that it would be secure and burn itself out-in the hearth, the family went to bed. At 2 a.m., the older daughter, 13, smelled smoke and got her parents and sister up and out of the cabin. I was one of the volunteer firefighters who did the best we could to extinguish the fire-and did keep it from spreading. Many of the other crew members were year-round residents of the village. Their own homes would have been at serious risk, in short order, had the blaze spread.
Tusayan is a small town, of about 6,000 people, most of whom work in service industries connected to Grand Canyon National Park’s South Rim. There are also those who serve the servers: The Coconino County Sheriff’s Substation, the Grand Canyon Unified School District and the Town of Tusayan’s government.
Yesterday, much of the town’s populace, and many visitors, were evacuated, due to unusual flash floods. While clean-up will take time, and there is an ongoing threat of more rain, through Friday, the main road-AZ Highway 64, has been re-opened, from the South Rim’s entrance to Williams. The eastern section, from the entrance to Cameron, did not need to be closed, though in taking that road last night, due to a commitment at a school in Prescott, today, I noticed that a severe hail storm had struck the eastern part of South Rim, earlier in the afternoon.
This is yet another in a series of wake-up calls for the tourism industry, and for travelers in general, that the places being visited are inhabited by people who are essentially the same as those who have left their homes to take a rest, be served or to just enjoy a change of pace from home sweet home. Lahaina is the largest, and worst, such tragedy, in a series spanning several years. Gatlinburg, Big Sur, Talkeetna and dozens of small forest encampments all over the continent-and across the globe, have seen fire and flood drive those involved in hospitality lose house and home.
There are many reactions to a tragedy in a vacation-oriented area, as I discussed last week. It has been reported that at least one tourist raged about his dinner reservation being canceled by the Lahaina fire’s burning down the restaurant. We are all on a journey away from self, and towards seeing “all humanity created from the same stock”, as Baha’u’llah wrote in a prayer, 150 years ago. Some of us have, in all sincerity and from a place of generosity, gone to the suffering area and purchased a vacation package, thinking that THIS is the way to help the people in the afflicted community know that the world stands with them. Others have sent large supplies of goods, often without checking as to what is actually needed. These are good-hearted people, who have just not taken the time to hear from the victims themselves, or from their spokespeople. Thus, some want to go to Maui, anyway. Others will go to Tusayan, and expect that business as usual has resumed, because the highway is open. The clean-up will continue, for some time.
Humanity isn’t minimized by where someone lives, or by which economic group they occupy. Yes, paying for a service does mean that one gets a product for one’s money. It is also true, in this age when nearly every place on Earth has something of interest to offer, that we are all both visitors and visited, servers and served.
I find that it is the deep connecting with those who live in a community, that makes visiting the locale worthwhile in the first place.
August 22, 2023- The robust cat sat in my carport, right by the hatchback, and looked at me, as if tho say: “Have you thought this through? Are you sure you want to go up to the South Rim?” It was raining lightly, which was one reason why the cat was sitting in that dry spot. I had, however, looked at the weather forecast for Grand Canyon, and saw PC (partly cloudy).
So, northward I went. Stopping at my Williams favourite, Brewed Awakenings, I fueled up with a Light Wrap and coffee, then headed up to the Park, an hour away from downtown Williams. The first hour or so of my shuttle bus ride/walk was quite pleasant. I took these shots of the Bright Angel Trail, from Trailview Point, just to the west of the Bright Angel.
Bright Angel Trail, seen from the west.More of the Bright Angel Trail, from the west.Approaching rain, from Trailview Point
I got back on the shuttle bus and headed to Hopi Point, from where I planned to walk back towards the JW Powell Memorial and Maricopa Point. I got in these shots at Hopi.
Hopi Point and the Colorado River below.Approaching storm, from Hopi Point
I walked the short distance from Hopi Point to the Powell Memorial. It was then that lightning flashed in the east, a bus driver told me that we would all be evacuated from the Hermit Sector (the near west segment of the Rim Trail, which I had planned to explore in its entirety) and I found a spot to wait for an empty bus, as his was full. In about ten minutes, one arrived and took a bunch of us back to the transfer station. I went into Bright Angel Lodge and had a leisurely lunch, then returned to the transfer point and waited with about sixty other people, for the lightning danger to abate.
After about forty minutes, the storm was judged to have let up, and we went back towards Hermits Rest. I got off at Maricopa Point, walking about 200 yards, to these scenes.
Trailview Point, from Maricopa PointColorado River, from Maricopa PointThe defunct Orphan Mine (copper and uranium) was just below Maricopa Point. It is marked by this memorial.
As it was still not raining again, yet, I walked the .9 miles from Maricopa to Powell Memorial.
Plaque memorializing John Wesley Powell, first American navigator of the Colorado River, in the Grand Canyon.View of canyon, from Powell Point
Once I got this shot off, the rain began to return, and we were evacuated a second time. I commiserated with the shuttle driver, as it must be quite frustrating to have to repeat an evacuation, only an hour after the first one was lifted. Needless to say, it was time to head for the car and towards home base.
There was a slight hitch in that, as well. The road back to Williams goes through Tusayan, and that little tourist village was flooded. The county sheriff had a road block up, which put those staying in Tusayan, Valle or Williams-or who were scheduled to fly out of Grand Canyon Airport, in a bit of a pickle. For me, it meant driving back by way of Cameron and Flagstaff, which I did. On the way to Cameron, I saw one thing we on the Hermit Sector missed: A huge pile of hail had remnants at roadside, from Mather Point, east to Desert View.
Let it not be said that this year’s monsoon was a total bust.
August 13, 2023– The water shimmered and there were a couple of families overlooking the lake, at Site Six, where there is a replica of Split Rock Lighthouse, which commemorates the sinking of the Edmund Fitzgerald, each November 10. The vessel sank into Lake Superior, in an early gale, on that date, in 1975, and all on board drowned.
This was one of those unexpected tragedies that, in today’s world, might have generated a host of conspiracy theories, but was simply the result of a natural event that occurred out of its “usual” season. This is something to keep in mind, as the tales of state terrorism begin to find their way into the media (and they are already surfacing), with regard to Maui.
Let’s get back to reality, though. It was 109 F outside, as I took ten minutes each, at two locations along Lake Havasu’s eastern shore, to look things over, for the first time since 2011. After taking a photo of a Mexican family, at their request, I got a few shots of the lake, at Site Six. (Each of the boat launches in Lake Havasu State Park are numbered.)
Site Five, from Site Six, Lake Havasu State ParkJet skier, off Site Six, Lake Havasu State ParkView of Havasu Lake, CA, the seat of the Chemehuevi Nation.Split Rock Lighthouse replica, Site Six, Lake Havasu State Park
Having kept myself sunscreened and my head & neck covered, it was time to find a parking spot, near London Bridge, walk down to English Village and enjoy a bit of ice cream. The bridge was brought here in sections, by the founder of Lake Havasu City, Robert McCulloch, a power tool executive, between 1968 and 1971. It consists today of the original masonry of the 1830 version of London Bridge, reinforced in concrete.
View of balustrade along London Bridge, Lake Havasu CityLondon Bridge, Lake Havasu CitySouthwestern Arch, London Bridge, Lake Havasu CityBase of southwestern arch, London Bridge, Lake Havasu City
Having spent a total of fifteen minutes in the heat, divided into two segments, I finished the small salted caramel cone and headed back towards Home Base. Traffic was light, and I briefly considered stopping at Seligman, either for a short nap on the side of the road, an early light supper at Westside Lilo’s, or both. Spotting three men carrying a gas can, along the side of the offramp, I opted for neither one. One of the men went with me to a gas station, filled the can, and was transported back to the vehicle with the empty tank. I drove the rest of the way to Prescott, feeling no need for either a snooze or a meal along the way. I got both, once back in the apartment.
Lake Havasu seldom, if ever, gets unruly. Its large and beautiful counterparts in the Upper Midwest and central Canada, though, have a different story to tell.
August 10, 2023- Lahaina was a royal city. Kamehameha I established his palace there, in the 1802, seeing its value as a central location among the Hawaiian Islands. It was quieter and less subject to visits from rowdy foreigners than was Honolulu.
Lahaina was a whaling port, after the capital moved back to much larger Honolulu. It then built a fort, to protect itself from those same rowdy whalers and sailors who were nonetheless the source of its income.
Lahaina will now decide when and how to rebuild. Fire came, in the midst of Hawai’i’s Big Dry, stoked by one of the furthest traveling major hurricanes, ever: Dora,which started off the Pacific coast of Mexico, passed well south of Hawai’i- while sending gale force winds north to the islands of Hawai’i and Maui, and is now on track to brush Wake Island, albeit as a tropical storm, by the middle of next week. My concern rises for the low-lying Marshall Islands, lying as far to the south of Wake as Hawai’i lies to the north of Dora’s recent track.
Serving those who come to recreate, relax, “vacate” is often a thankless job- and one which depends, as much as any walk of life, and more than many, on the good graces of Mother Nature. It falls to the character of those being served, as to how much appreciation is shown. In times of tragedy, especially when the tourist, the traveler, the surfer, the diver, the hiker, the casual visitor are joined at the hip to those who have made their home in a place of paradise, there is an awareness of just how connected we all are-and of the fact that there is no one class that really rises above the rest, in terms of privilege and protection. Everyone’s pants go on one leg at a time.
I make my home in a salubrious place, which has seen its share of natural calamity. Prescott’s version of Front Street, Whiskey Row, has burned to the ground, twice, and came close a third time, in 2012. I watched that last one play out. We have had ravaging fires, many times, which have come close to the densely-populated areas of town. The worst, in my lifetime, was Yarnell Hill, which took the lives of 19 wildland fire fighters, just ten years ago.
Lahaina now takes its place among the paradises that have suffered Nature’s wrath: Pompeii, Krakatao, Angeles City, St. Pierre, Montserrat (where Plymouth is still off-limits), Galveston. There are places that were pounded, though not sundered: The entire Indian Ocean basin and much of its Rim, in the great tsunami of 2004; Grand Bahama, in 2019’s Hurricane Dorian, Guam, this past Spring and Haiti, more times than one can count.
Lahaina was a palace town. Lahaina was a whaling town. Lahaina was vacation land. Lahaina now lies in ashes-and has the love and support of every good-hearted soul.
August 6, 2023- When I was first learning the use of tools, like wrenches, screwdrivers and ratchets, my father would caution me against either being overzealous in tightening the screw, nut or bolt, or being too timid and not tightening it enough. Each one has its particular tight place, he’d say, and I have followed that practice to this day. Every point of contact has its proper tightness.
At breakfast, this morning, another patron was inveighing against members of the political party opposite hers, saying that if we were to get rid of them, the country would at long last be in good shape. Being independent, politically, I replied that there needs to be a balance in all things. That didn’t set all that well with her, but she had no rebuttal. Others at the table agreed with the notion of balance, expressed the wish that those on the “other side” would see the need for a happy medium, as well.
I see the “wrench” in this case as a means of bringing people together, in just the right measure. The lady in question has no friends, or even acquaintances, on “the other side”. There are those from whom I’ve heard, on that side of the fence, who can’t name one person whose views are opposite theirs, who they regard as compadres. It’s all fear, and apprehension makes a very poor fastening agent. I pointed out, this morning, that if Right and Left came to understand they were both being used, and by much the same individuals and groups, the political differences between them would take second fiddle to the unity that would ensue against those wirepullers. There was no argument after that.
This afternoon, a gathering for the purpose of commemorating the Atomic Bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki reiterated that things like poisoning the atmosphere with nuclear fallout are an equal opportunity death sentence for the entire planet. I have had exchanges with proponents of maintaining a nuclear arsenal, at various times over the years; my point being that it really only takes ONE high-capacity nuclear weapon to pretty much wipe out a large swath of the Earth’s population. Some are not convinced of that, but really the nuclear screwdriver would take but a few turns to obliterate its fastener, its handler and everyone between its launching site and its target-as well as everyone beyond.
We are, as Walt Kelly said, our own worst enemy. We can also choose to be our own best friends. It all hangs in the balance.
August 2, 2023- A photo has gone viral today, of a stern-faced man, in Niamey, Niger, holding up a sign that says, in French, “Long live Putin”. There appeared to be about five hundred people around him, in the photograph, at a rally organized by the new self-appointed leader of that impoverished West African nation. How many were there of their own volition is debatable, but if they were brought there under duress, or with the promise of perquisites/rewards, the adulation for the autocratic leader of the Russian Federation will soon fade. It would not surprise me to learn that the man mentioned above was put up to holding the sign, by soldiers of the Wagner Group, who are ubiquitous in the Sahel region. He certainly did not look very happy to be there.
In a nutshell, I attribute the ease with which demagogues can rise to power, in impoverished nations, to the legacy of colonialism. When personal agency or a sense of community is cut off, by interlopers, for the sake of satisfying the greed of those invaders, the resentment simmers. This will prove as true for the Russians, as it has for the western European colonizers of yore. The only path to overcoming poverty among the masses is unity-under a democratic system, not under the yoke of a tyrant-be he home-grown or foreign-born.
This brings me to Florida-and the notion that slavery was beneficial to the enslaved. That this trope was first advanced by a professor of history, who is himself African-American, does not impress me in the least. Anyone can excuse abusive or oppressive conditions, and offer up a silver lining. More convincing is the umbrage taken to this cockamamie nonsense, by several Black Conservatives. They may ascribe to the noble concept of self-reliance, but attach to it anything that says their ancestors benefitted from having been enslaved, and the cord, rightfully, is cut.
Everything, as Dr.Thomas Sowell once wrote, is a trade-off. If you enslave a people, you break their self-reliance. If you steal agency from another person, then they learn dependency, and you now have an albatross around the neck. If, on the other hand, a person is empowered, honoured and granted agency for life, then society has one more individual who can actually contribute the gifts given by the Divine-on her/his own.
I was told, some time ago, that the homeless community along Washington State’s southern tier had been removed, by sending the lot across the Columbia River, to Portland. Being skeptical that this is even something that could be pulled off, without a whimper from a city that was already choking with a large unhoused community in its downtown and other neighbourhoods, the last time I visited (2015), I went to Vancouver (WA) this morning, after checking out of the motel in Kelso.
Vancouver, not to be confused with the much-larger city in British Columbia, has a lovely park along the Columbia River, and pleasant, clean downtown and uptown sections. It also has the manicured Fort Vancouver, a well-maintained National Park site, whose historic homes are leased to residents and businesses. Living wherever they can put up tents, usually in nooks and crannies along the Columbia, are the remnants of the unhoused community, admittedly smaller than those of Portland, Seattle or Tacoma, but in Vancouver, nonetheless. Denial of a problem will never make it go away. Whoever passed that information along to people down at my Home Base, in Prescott had probably not been to Vancouver.
I took a walking loop to the banks of the Columbia, then around to Esther Short Park, after first enjoying a vanilla latte at Brewed, a small, but efficient coffee shop, combined with a bar and small bakery, on Main Street. Not far from Brewed, there is a parking lot with murals on two of the walls.
The Skagit, Yamhill, and other nations, have not lost their dignity.Nor, for that matter, have the Hispanics who come here for agricultural work.The African-American community here seems small, but holds its own.Columbia River, at I-5 Bridge, Vancouver. “Boat of Discovery”, commemorating the visit here, by Captain George Vancouver’s fleet.A long wall emanates from this plaza, honouring veterans of all “foreign” conflicts, from the War of 1812 to Iraq and Afghanistan.Clock Tower, Esther Short Park. The park was being readied for a special event, when I happened by.
Having a couple of errands to do, across the river, I gave myself an hour to explore Fort Vancouver. The post was established to safeguard U.S. control of the mouth of the Columbia River-with .British, Russian and Spanish claims not fully resolved.
Here is the flag staff, in the midst of the parade ground. This was a serious parade ground!Grant House, intended for use by Ulysses S. Grant, when he was stationed here, in the 1850s. He never lived in this mansion, on Officers’ Row.Here is a view of the Enlisted Barracks, south of the Parade Grounds.These cannons were replicated, from descriptions of the originals, by local high school students, from 1990-92. They are owned by the City of Vancouver, which supplied the materials.This was the residence of General O.O. Howard, the post commander from 1874-80.The Artillery Barracks-It struck me that this could house a lot of people.Non-commissioned Officer’s HousingMarshall House, home to General George C. Marshall, during his duty here, prior to World War II.This pavilion honours the Chinese diaspora to Oregon and Washington. Chinese immigrants faced horrific treatment in the Pacific Northwest, during the late Nineteenth, and much of the Twentieth, Centuries.
After leaving Vancouver, I made my way across the bridge to Portland, getting my Pastini fix, with a late lunch at the Italian food chain’s Northeast Portland branch. Then, it was time to locate and purchase a new adapter, to house my photo SIM card and post these and other scenes. It took me all over North Portland. At one point, I stopped in front of a crosswalk, so that a young lady could cross. One would have thought I had held up the President, for the insistent beeping from behind me. The lady shot a dignified, but definitely disapproving, glance at the impatient motorist and gave me a gentle smile.
The shop I eventually found was a Best Buy, on the far northeast side. Its location afforded a fairly lightly-trafficked way out of Portland, so I missed all but a small amount of rush hour. Still ahead, however, was the large influx of participants, family members and spectators at the Junior Olympics, which I learned was being held in Eugene, Springfield, Albany, Corvallis and Roseburg. All of those cities’ accommodations were either occupied or were priced exorbitantly by the Law of Supply and Demand. After gassing up in Eugene, I made my way down to Grants Pass, and got a reasonably-priced overflow room. My last thoughts of the day, though, are wishes for the kids to be successful at their sport-and more importantly, to have a good experience.
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A Sagittarian Seeker 