July 20, 2023, Salem, OR- The table was set in a way that would have done my maternal grandmother proud: A wide dinner under plate, with a salad plate on top of it and a place setting of sterling silverware, wrapped in a cloth napkin, at each seat. There was a water glass, and empty cup and saucer, at each seat, also. The fare was placed in the middle of the dining table, and we passed the food around, using our best table manners. Such was our host’s first meal gathering, since COVID.

I woke this morning, in Medford, ten miles from the site of the lunch time gathering, to a message from a childhood friend, saying that he was en route to Medford, from a town an hour away. I went to Mellelo Coffee Roasters, enjoyed a light breakfast and coffee, and waited, writing a blog post in the meantime. The meet-up never occurred, due to a variety of small details, but I found Mellelo to be another supremely welcoming place. I didn’t take photos of the spot, as there were people sitting in front, enjoying their breakfasts, but you may find Mellelo at https://mellelo.com/

East of Ashland, there is a place called Equamore-a facility for rescued horses. https://equamore.org/ It is here that my friends, Jody and Philip Weah, have lived, for many years, and until a recent drought, had a garden that was second to none. I know the place will flourish, outwardly, again. It flourishes inwardly, still, as evidenced by the delightful repast that Jody put together, using products that Philip provided from his employer, Harry & David. There were several cheeses and jams, fresh bagels, and even fresher fruit. They do not have horses, per se, but they do have a large dog who may as well be a horse, given his size. He’s a guard dog, though, which meets their needs. I enjoyed discussions with my hosts, and their other two guests-on topics ranging from Baha’i subjects to the state of table decorum, in this day and age.

After an hour or two, it was time for this one to go on up the road, so with a fond hug and farewell to the Weahs, I drove on, in the heat that was somewhat tempered from yesterday’s infernal temperatures. Oregon did not approach the 100-degree mark, at least today.

Salem– Oregon’s capital city is one of several towns in the state that are named for counterparts in New England. I stopped here for the night, planting myself in a room at one of the two Motel 6s that are found here. First order of business, though, was a light supper. Valiant, The Sandwich, a name inspired by video game culture, if there ever was one, proved quite valiant, indeed. An ample, but not overpowering ham, pineapple and grilled onion combination, filling a ciabatta bun, with roasted tomato soup on the side, restored my fading energy-and for the second state capital tour in a row, I found myself walking around Oregon’s seat of government-in early evening and with a ring of construction fence around it, just as had been the case when I visited the capitol at Sacramento, in early May. Salem’s fence, though, goes down to the edge of a busy parkway, on the north side, making circumnambulation a death sentence. I made do with walking on three sides of the structure.

Here are a few scenes of the day.

The cityscape had its share of those suffering, in the wake of high rents and social dislocation. A forlorn woman sat, alone, on a bench, not far from the sculpture of the animals. Maybe she was reminded of a happier time in her life-or maybe it, too, was a nightmare. A disheveled man passed me, as I was checking in to Motel 6. A short time later, a security guard told the desk clerk that “the problem was solved”. Seeing another human being as a “problem” is a problem in itself. She told me that the man had been in the motel’s dumpster-seeking to sleep there. Now, that would have been a problem, had the trash truck shown up to empty the bin, with him still inside. The conversation shifted, to human trafficking, when a man showed up, to pay extra for a young lady, who wasn’t related to him. The clerk wisely asked for the young woman’s papers-which fortunately, they were able to produce. I did not get a sense that there was anything amiss-and after forty years in the field, I pick up on stuff like that.

So, with a good day under my belt, I tumbled into bed. The homeless man went across the street, where there is an organized shelter-and slept in its lobby.