Parachutes and Rails

So here I am involved in the best the transportation world has to offer:

I carpooled to a train station, and am currently taking the train to the airport to catch a plane to Ohio.

There are so many people with luggage going to the airport. It feels like a sea of drifters, except with more happiness and purpose. It's Christmas, what else do you expect?

I love the feeling of being whisked along on rail. It's so much more graceful than bus. The rocking motion, the speed of the ride, and the objects as they blur past you. It's exhilarating.

But what of the people themselves? Where are they going? What are there lives up to? Does it ever make you wonder if they themselves are making new choices, new leaps?

Much like transit, do their lives stay static and fixed, our do you decide to deviate to explore? Stay with the path, but make sure you go on some side journeys to help those aspects of your life which most need it?.

A Supplement to Placefulness & Geography

For wistfully carrying on about place and placefulness, I sure am troubled by it often.

Today I felt different feelings on place and geography, with the realization that the place I am in now simply does not "fit"me well. I guess one could allude to it as a simile for clothes:

A place you are familiar with fits well. Like a new jacket you can't take off, or the perfect fitting pants. Sometimes it takes breaking a place in... For a long, long time. Other times, it happens like magic, where you fall into... place... and its like putting on the correct fitting shirt, and scanning the tags on the shirt on the cash register while you are still wearing it as you leave the store.

Barcelona was a lot like a good pair of sneakers for me. I was a bit wobbly putting them on, not quite finding where I was, and how to deal with the new lumps of sole underneath my feet. But once my feet became adjusted to them, the soul of Barcelona fit me like a malleable track fits a runners shoe. I never took those shoes off, and it was sad that it was mandatory to return those pair of shoes after six weeks.

Southwest Washington, and mostly Vancouver, is like that shirt. You put it on, and at first it fits just right. You wear it throughout the day, and it sits well on you. Then... that one time you get out of your chair, it just catches on some invisible force on your shoulder, and you can't quite fix it.

This city is perplexing. It is solidly defined in contrast to its "other"... Portland. The city across the river (in Oregon) is very hip, cool, and has a couple of TV shows about it or based in it. It is the alternative scene, where bikes are the thing, weird shops abound in places across from the local supermarkets, and the weirdness of it is just charming enough to bring people in... but weird enough for them to be able to leave after a week. The city is also very, very community oriented. The sections of the city all have their diverse and distinct flavor, and you will know it when you travel between the two (I didn't believe I would at first, but trust me... It happens.)

Vancouver on the other hand is distinctly not Portland. I was attracted to this at first. (Not trying to sound too hipsteresque here...) Vancouver was a welcome relief to "normalcy" compared to Portland. There are distinct social classes in Vancouver, deserts of suburban emptiness, and a quirky small up/downtown area, charming enough to draw in regional tourists. It is also very historical compared to Portland, with priding itself on being A. Older than Portland, and B. More historical sites and a greater consciousness about its history. Vancouver politics are local community politics, whereas Portland works much more in the national spotlight.

So naturally, I loved this contrast. This subtle "We are more normal & more complex than you" sort of feel. The city brings you in with the welcoming "Come this way child... You can rest easy away from the strange city of Portland over here in the safe environment of Vancouver Washington..." Over here there are bigger box stores, more people drive their cars places, and in general a more middle of the road approach to life. But keep in mind, this is all in contrast to Portland.

(I.e. Compare say... Lancaster to Vancouver... Lancaster would probably see Vancouver as the "wierdos across the river.")

So how does this not fit right? Well... It gets a little too... Not historic... Nothing physical or popular in Western historical thought here goes back past basically the 1830's. There is no sense of decline and dismay, much like the industrial rust belt across the Midwestern and Mid-Atlantic states on the east coast. There are no "giants of industry" here, only small firms which employ lots of people. No "one value or staple" can make or break the community. There is a Port, yes, but it has A. Never gone out of business and laid of tons of people, or B. Been a huge employer to begin with.

The identity of the place is very fractured. Many people are from elsewhere, combobulated into this space where they can make a living and provide for them and their families. Their families. Lots of new families are here. And they all identify on loose strings, if any at all. The most thing people here have in common is that they... all live in the same geographical area. Very few, if any, families are staple dynasties, there is no major industry to identify around, and there is not really any "downfall" to rally against. Its like everyone does their own thing, ... together(?) , but not to go anywhere or pioneer anything..., except to make money, and to support themselves, so that they and the neighborhood kids can place nice?

As always, these things are best compared and identified when looking at something else. Here, if you could not tell or are not from the rust belt or the east coast in general, is where I compare and otherize this place via my own home region: The Heartland.

The Heartland is the region which lies south of the Great Lakes (basically south of Canada), North of the Ohio River, and East of the Mississippi River. Westward it extends basically until it hits that other unique region of Appalachia. (And try to define those borders. It doesn't work well. Trust me.)

The Heartland is characterized by its reliance on agriculture as its staple and lifelong industry. Yes, fewer farmers are working in the fields, but people still identify with "the crop" and still see it as a vital part of the region. Many people work in urban centers while living in suburbs, and some small outlying rural towns (Hey! That's like my town in Ohio!) Many people work in business, and technology, and the service industry. This is only because the once glorious industrial powerhouse of the Heartland (and Mid-Atlantic) pretty much pulled up shop and moved abroad in the mid 1970's to 1980's. Since then, tons of people have searched for work in different fields, but! within the same region. People stay put, and rarely migrate outside of the region itself, but mostly from rural areas to urban areas.

The Pacific Northwest (or at least Portland and Vancouver) is characterized in opposite of this by wild boom and growth in the technology sector, along with skilled workers who come from near and far to work in this industry. People readily move up from California, and down from rural Washington, and! westward from the plains states and open prairies. The growth rate of industry here has brought more people than the local region could ever supply, so we get migrants from out of the area, especially from those plains and high desert states to the east, in between the Rockies and the Cascades. And the area just keeps growing! People keep coming into the area for jobs, and don't leave. They set up shop here, and make more people!

The quality of life tends to be pretty good in urban areas, while rural areas are completely depleted of youth and innovation, because all of them either left for the cities a long time ago, or the new youth (very few) are getting the hell out of Dodge once they graduate high school. So we are left with a once logging boom, which kept much of the population evenly distributed between urban and rural, to a massive growth in urban areas to a depletion of population in rural areas, while still bringing in more people from outside the region to fuel the job and career engine.

I guess this is why this doesn't sit well with me. There is too much changing and diversity of people coming in. The place can not only not decide on a solid identity, but really has no basis to work on yet. The area is in such flux, that the "leftness" of the Pacific Northwest is about the only thing that binds people together, along with their eco-consciousness and desire to have a good education system and pay workers living wages. Progressiveness.

There is dissent, but it is so little, it rarely gets noticed. This in comparison to back east, where the dissent is well known, and there is a battle to the death over ideals and the future. Maybe its because we have seen the boom bust cycles of capitalism, and we want stability from our leaders and for our futures. In Portland and Vancouver, it seems as though there is so much progress, the people don't know the dangers of the bust cycle that may or may not be coming their way. The logging industry felt this, but the effects were felt mainly in the rural areas. When will the urban fall come for the cities of the Pacific Northwest (or the West Coast in general?)

Now that I am done with my Wikipedia entries and horrible over generalizations; here is a little food for thought:

Make it a challenge to seek out these places and stay in them for a while. From my experience, even if the shoes squeak and the shirt snags, there always becomes a happy medium. The longer you live in a place that "doesn't fit you well" the more, and better, skills you will learn to see that place from the perspective of the people who live there. The better you learn how to understand the viewpoint of another human being, and the life and culture they live and participate in. And I think that is a pretty valuable skill to have.

Hotels, Home, and Reference Points

So I'm sure you have found yourself in a place where you are returning to wherever you are sleeping for that night, and just instinctively call it "home". Then a friend asks "Home? Its just a hotel?" And you catch yourself wondering "Hummmm... That's odd. Why did I call that home?"

It seems like the place where you will lay your head for the night is a general term for home now a days. I think it is also a clever short hand for a place that you feel comfortable staying, along with being a hub for your operations in whatever area you are staying. What does this say about people, or at least my friends, in today's age?

Last week I did some trainings with my VISTA group on communication and dialog across cultural differences. Now while the training itself wasn't about place, there was an exercise we did where we had to listen to a person, uninterrupted, for three minutes. It was harder than you think.

The topic of place came to up with one of my partners. She talked about her lack of place, and how she felt deep connections with every place she has lived in her life. She then explained that even though those connections were deep and meaningful, she still felt troubled by the fact that she didn't identify with one place versus another. Is there a societal norm that says we have to choose one over the other? Why can't we feel invested while living on a multi-way bridge between different places?

I guess the ultimate reason is that it boils down to a need for concreteness. In today's quickly changing world, we still have a desire to latch onto and establish a solid base. Perhaps that is our nature? To categorize and settle?

But more and more we are transforming these ideas of roots into moveable roots. Its easier and easier to split and graft different species onto one another across the globe. So ones mobility determines how one sees the world, and what identities and agencies arise out of that.

So more and more it can be said people are becoming more independent in their thinking and identities. We see this in the "global citizen" identity, especially in environmental movements. No longer is ones view tied to a nation or state, but increasingly to the globe.

There is resistance though. Stronger local identities can assert themselves in conflicts, and this is okay too. We are battling millions of years of agricultural evolution, where staying put meant you lived longer and survived. That paradigm is changing at an incredible rate, and change at today's pace is difficult to deal with. So we have to navigate this mine field of local versus global. How do we do it?

It first starts with managing this transition with as little harmful conflict as possible. There are numerous theories and methods out there for this management, but killing and destroying physical beings is not going to stop and win the local versus global debate. Once we can hone this conflict into a non-harmful interaction, then we can start to forge something new.

I like looking at the rapid change in today's society as a new flavor of the human state: hyper-interconnected migrants. We move. Its what we've done for a while now. We have just done it very very slowly in the past. We should let ourselves become hyper-connected migrants. We can share ideas literally at the speed of light, such as I am doing now. This quickness brings more people into the solution creation process, and allows for even more individualized reference points for the world. People can create their world as customizable as they wish via this new digital migratory revolution. They can embody themselves as much, or as little as they wish, because in this new world, having the choice and liberty to determine your own direction is the new norm.

So next time you log into Facebook or Twitter or any other online medium, remember that you are participating in one of the biggest and most customizable ventures our species has undertaken ever. And that it is okay to claim a place, but it is also okay to live on an impossible bridge that connects limitless landmasses and cultures. The world is yours, so be amazing in it.

The Times Roll By (on Faith and Other Things)

Tonight I find myself mobile blogging from under the covers of my nice warm bed.

I was listening to the TED Radio Hour on NPR tonight, and the old question of belivers versus doubters was the subject. TED seems to handle these things very well, and I will leave it to you to listen to some of their programs if you haven't already.

Tonight though, I am wondering about the cyclical-ness of life. (Inspired, no doubt, by the program tonight.)

One thing I struggle with in my own life is to find a balance not only between believing or not, but contrasting the many different subjective cycles I see with my want and inspiration for a single objective and universal Truth (with the capital T).

I like to be very light hearted with religion, beliefs and certainties. It makes conversation in a secular section of society much easier and enjoyable. Light-hearted jokes about ones' devotion, or the many stereotypes (be them true or not), allows for a commonality between people, and I think that is a good thing.

But when I get to thinking, I do get thinking.

I like to say I began to believe in God* when I saw the Sagrada Familia in Barcelona. I believe it was the fact that such a concept could inspire a mortal (Catholic) man to create such an amazing naturally deviant place of worship. When I went in I was breathless by the sight, and could not stop looking up (which is what basilicas and cathedrals are meant to have you do anyways). The 1000 seat choir and the immense size and color of the stained-glass windows were so much to take in all at once. I quickly combatted this by fleeing off to the more manageable parts of the church, giving my senses a little relief.

After looking at the spire artwork, and investigating the tomb, I went back to the main hall. I began to take it all back in, only this time with peace. I wandered up to the place of worship in the middle, and was told by the curators that I would need to be absolutely quiet and non-disruptive to the people in the area. I had already read this on the signs, but I was giving off my American more than usual that day by gawking so much at my surroundings.

While on that bench/pew, I felt emotions which I have never felt before in my life. I felt love, calm, peace. The sounds around me mysteriously disapated into silence as I stared ahead to the alter (another very peculiar creation, look up pictures if you wish to see it.) The feelings were not warm, not terrifying, and not beautiful. They were shaking, moving, and made me question my existance and faith in the utmost factor.

I, for the longest time, did not want to leave. I wanted to bask in this curiosity for as long as I could, to try to figure of what it meant. But such is life to leave us in mystery. Something compelled me to get up and leave, and forever admire a still unfinished piece of art.

This leads me to now, when I bid farewell to one of my friends as she heads off from her VISTA position to begin and continue her life in California. It brings up the question for me: Is this just a part of a cycle where shufflers get shuffled, the deck gets rearranged, and we start a new hand? What if I don't like that?

What if I had just settled down to a comfy college lifestyle, yet to have it completed, compacted, and presented to me in a piece of paper?

Or in contrast: Do I even want to try to seek stability in my life right now? Having an anchor is good, but pulling it up when you have finally gotten to know the harbormaster allows you to continue on the journey across the ocean.

What or where is that balance? Is there even supposed to be a balance? What happens when a grand adventure goes wrong, and you find yourself stranded in the doldrums... Alone and by yourself.

Is there a cyclical wind which will pick you up again, or should you have faith that a solid anchor, with enough work and time, will bring the continents to you?

Bringing Me Back To Those Hills

The presence of my college keeps breaking through to me like Rose's faintly heard messages to the Doctor, or the crack on the bedroom wall that was not supposed to be anywhere.

The memories keep coming back about how much a wonderful life I led at that place. Up until now, I have seemed to work on a routine, always going four years, dropping down, beginning anew, resetting the equation. But now... Now I don't want to forget. I don't want to start fresh this time.

I want to go back. I want to continue with what was once was.

High school was miserable. I wanted a complete reset in life, one to start again from square one. I feel, looking back on it, I left some people in the dark, some people I highly regret leaving there... But at the time, I wanted the change.

So I had it. I went off to college some odd 400 miles away. Enough to drive in a day, but not enough to drive on a regular basis. A good distancing from my old life. And things were great. The world was a mystical place, full of new experiences and potential.

Then came the wear and tear of academic life. The sleepless nights, the endless fun with friends, the constant research. All of it came to a point of acclimation. I had figured it out. I had done the best, and completed the curriculum. I had won college.

And then, in a blur and flurry... Graduation.

And summer.

And VISTA.

And now... Well... Now(?)

Now that I have had time for it to sink in... I am not going back to that wonderful environment that I had adjusted to so well. It was lost, only to be relived and remembered in snipets available at certain times and certain places.

But here I sit, wanting to admire. Wanting to hold my college up high, hold my place and my friends up in a glory of pride!

Pride? Is this what it feels like to be proud? I have not really felt such feelings so strongly for a place, a lifestyle, an area. What I miss so much, and what I love so much, and what I feel so much for is my four wonderful, amazing, unbelievable, and miraculous years at that institution.

I want to share that feeling, help others to love that college! I want to make sure every student who wants, gets the chance to experience something like I did! To have the opportunity to live the four best years of your life thus far in that amazing, pretentious, and life-changing oaken and ivory chair that Wilson strives to tear down and recreate from the ground up! To let you work with your hands, appreciate the office, the classroom, the community! The views, the exploration, the magical fairyland of the self!

But to those who matter most to me in my life: My best friend... and my best friends. My advisors, my professors, my opponents. My family. All those who have touched my life significantly over not only the last four years, but the last eight, the last twelve, the last twenty-two. Thank you all so, so very much for helping me this far.

I never think I have stopped to actually thank you, and tonight, I find all is right with the world, and what not a better time to give praise, and be proud.

Oh I thought those mountains would go forever. And as it turns out... They do.

The Power of Radio and Night Transit

I have become increasingly fond of radio drama and the entire format of using the radio (or spoken dialogue) as a medium for telling stories. I really like storytelling and the many different ways surrounding the methods behind it. Radio is only one that I have recently discovered, which I have come to love.

I should have suspected this on my constant addiction to NPR on the radio during my summer job half way through college. I had about a 30 minute commute one-way into the warehouse, so I had a bit of time to myself. After exhausting the Top 40 of: Pop, R&B, Classic Rock, Modern Rock, Rap, and Country, I decided to scan to the NPR channels. I really the station in Western North Carolina (aptly named WNCW) because of its bluegrass shows, but also because of their weekend story programs.

I instantly became hooked.

Garrison Keillor became my favorite of all. I instantly became hooked on A Prairie Home Companion and the witty comedy and wonderful stories told on the program. I believe it also resonated with me a lot because I consider myself from the Midwest...ish. (More Heartland, but more about that later.) It made me feel good, and still does to this day, that there is a program that can poke fun at, criticize, and applaud Midwestern culture. You don't find many more references to the Midwest outside of Garrison Keillor's show.

Moving through time, I came to my road trip out here (Vancouver), where I simply listened to the radio as my only means of entertainment. Yes, I had an iPod with music on it, and I did have my Google Play Music account... But I made it a challenge to myself to listen to the radio with no other recorded sound or music available. I would consider it a success, even if it did mean having to listen between a preacher giving the word of God, or really terrible mariachi love songs. (No judgement on either of those forms of radio, but after 4 hours in a car and those are the only choices you have... It gets kind of old.)

I heard all kinds of news stories and programs. I pretty much was hooked on news my entire trip, for five days straight. And I loved it.

Here was no constantly moving talking heads, no distracting literature, and no cliched riffs or chords. It always was being updated, always on the move, always with wonderful and meaningful stories. I should say I am a little biased here, because I did listen to only NPR the entire way out.

But this brings me to a program I have been obsessing over for the past week: Welcome to Night Vale. Now this is not a "radio show", but a podcast. And this is why I throw in the "spoken word" category. There is so much you can do with your voice, and this program shows it.

Its about a creepy little town in the middle of the desert named Night Vale. That is pretty much all I can tell you coherently. (Without the black helicopters coming to scan my brain.) But the usage of the voice of the announcer (Cecil) is amazing, along with the progression of the format (it is always the "Community Radio" news segment), and the tones and background noises and sounds. The effects capture your ears in no way a television or book can. You have auditory clues and clips, leading you on into certain events, which literature does not. But you are also left without the distraction of moving pixels, and visual clutter in your brain, which television and movies do.)

What is left is a stripped down program you must pay attention to more than television, but not nearly as much as a book. It makes for a strange middle ground. When a creek happens behind the announcer, or a strange noise is heard faintly in the background, it really leaves your imagination up to fill in the blank spots.

And now, the weather.

So tonight I went to see/hear War of the Worlds performed live by the Willamette Radio Group. I really, really liked it.

The foley for the entire show was awesome, and the narrators and reactions of how it all played out were great. But it was also nice to sit back and just stare to a wall in the room and imagine yourself in the situation of the people in the program. At the beginning of the show they said they strive to make you feel apart of the action and story, to make it feel like you can hear it as if it were going on around you. It takes a special kind of touch to get that harmony of sound effects and descriptions to line up correctly. And they did it without fault.

I bumped around town for a bit, and shopped for a new phone charger and some batteries. I found the batteries, and eventually found the phone charger, but it was way too expensive. And somehow I ended up with five free flashlights with the battery purchase.

Whoops.

But there is always that nostalgia/reflexive attitude the night bus, or in this case bus and rail, can give you when traveling. After a long day, I was headed back home on the bus, and felt really proud of myself. The reflections in the windows bounced back my situation to me, and let me know that... Everything is alright in the world. All of it is quite dandy. 

Square Dances in the Port

On Sunday I attended a square dance in Portland, and it reminded me of the social goodness which exist.

It was a place you would not expect to find an old-time band. I don't want to be cliche, but it was a concrete jungle leading through spiraling exit ramps and right-hand roads to a bike shop/bar/dance floor/community center.

Upon arriving, I watched the dancers for the first move (which we had narrowly missed). Its alright though, I didn't want to jump right in into the first dance of the night. I watched them do a line dance, kind of a simplified version of the Virginia Reel. After that, I jumped in with my partner, and started spinning and wheeling and turning.

I learned so many new moves during the dance. Actually... all of them were new or variations, which was wonderful. The whole dance brought new light up within me (And saying that, trying to not sound religious.)

Its weird.

Dancing seems to let me be the happiest that I feel. Well... I should say square dancing. I have tried other dances, and I really like them. But I think social dances are the best. I really like the fact that people can simply meet together, hold hands and swing together as a group. Its a place to chat, meet, and catch up, and just enjoy yourself.

One move I really liked was called the half alamand. One person was the "anchor", and the other was spun around the square. It included holding their hands, and the "anchor" swings them from right to left and then letting go as the next person catches them and keeps swinging them. It ends with you getting your partner back and then swinging.

I also really like the fact that this group does the two hand swing, instead of the ballroom swing. I don't want to sound creepy or strange, but I'm really glad there is a community within an urban area so full of people, that are willing to touch and interact with each other without feeling creepy or strange. It is such a good sign that strangers are willing to take people in and swing them away.

And now I have been having a bliss moment for a while. It happened at the coffee shop, when I was just staring out the window, thinking of the people on the bus, and how they are all wonderful. It reminded me of people that I have met throughout my life, and how I am still keeping up with them and posting things like this blogs to share my thoughts.

I am also wrapping up with my night, listening to Welcome Night Vale, scaring myself with the creeps of the podcast. I highly recommend it.

Completing the Myth, Seeing the Last Great Mountain

There are three mountains which prevail as the tallest, most prominent and popular in the Columbia River Gorge. They are as follows:

Mt. Hood-

Mt. Saint Helens-

Mt. Adams-

All of these mountains seem to have a personality of their own, each with their snow capped tops and glaciers.

I titled this completing the myth because there is a legend that these three mountains were the result of a lover's quarrel, one which ended in permanence.

It is said by Klickitat tribal legend that the father and his two sons came to find a home to settle. They came across the Columbia River Gorge, and thought it was the most beautiful land they had ever seen. Yet the two sons could not agree on who got what stretches of land, therefore the father shot two arrows, one landing north of the Gorge, one landing south. These respective places were where the brothers would settle. The father built a natural bridge made out of stone and earth so that his sons and their relatives could join, meet, and celebrate together from time to time.

One day a beautiful woman appeared in the Gorge, and the two brothers both took very envious eyes towards her. They both began to try to court her, and woo her into their respective sides of the Gorge. The woman liked both of the sons equally, and could not decide on which one to go with.

While courting the woman, the brothers got into a heated argument. It became so intense, that they actually started wrestling with each other to see who could win the woman over. During this match, the earth shook violently as the brothers cascaded through the Gorge. Both became fatigued and came to rest on their sides of the rivers. In the heated battle, the brothers had caused the natural bridge to collapse into the river, damming it and destroying the land link that had held their families together for so long.

The woman was so ashamed of these two fighting, she turned the men into mountains, tall and prideful, but separated and permanent. One brother was transformed into the modern day Mt. Hood, standing straight and prideful as to try to still win over the woman with his pride.

The other became modern day Mt. Adams, still very tall, but with his head bowed in respect and love towards the woman he so dearly loved.

And the woman? As for her, she too turned into a mountain, also known as Mt. Saint Helens in modern day. She would always be within eyesight of the two other mountains, but doomed to be just as permanent as they were, always fastened to the earth, never to move.

As for the bridge? The legend has lived on in the modern day bridge at the place where the natural bridge was said to have been formed. The modern bridge has been aptly named "The Bridge of the Gods" and to this day links both sides of the river for collaboration and celebration.

I felt this myth today as I visited Mt. Adams and Klickitat County. Yes, I was out for work and visiting organizations in Goldendale and White Salmon. But for some reason I seem to have an affinity for Mt. Adams, on the edge of two worlds, two biomes, ever vigilant on the dichotomy of the area, yet tucked away and not consuming the limelight. There is something so majestic about that mountain, towering over the high plains, creating a grand scale of just how small we are in comparison to the natural world...

(Mt. Adams from 50 miles away.)

The Weekend In The Woods

I am currently sitting on the floor of the Wellness downstairs nook, right across from the washing machines. Its been a while.

The eastern mountains, Appalachians in particular, are a magical place. The woods envelop the mountains, covering the highest peaks, the lowest valleys. There is warmth and humidity in the air. Crickets chirp, and another southern mountain night comes to a close.

Waking up in this magical place is one of the best feelings one can have. Your eyes open, and you realize you are in a new day, with a new place. But the friends are familiar, the land you remember vividly. The mountains surprise you every day, the new vistas drawing you ever closer to the imagination.

The memories come flashing back, and you really cannot prevent them. Welcoming them is the best thing to do. I can't believe it has been five years. Five full and wonderful years of my life, spent in this place. I will never get tired of it. Creating false hopes in that there is a perfect place balanced with your needs. So far my college has been the best suitor of those needs. The campus enveloped me at first, but was a grand and mystical adventure, always new turns around the corner.

I felt that today. I felt that this weekend. A fairyland of recollections and . Always with the emotions which come with those reunions. The emotions that come with leaving a place once you have settled back into your niche. The reintroduction to the alien and the uneasy situation of the position you accepted. I felt that today.

We are so privileged to be along on this journey and have these resources. To have the ability to zoom, jet, drive, walk to our familiar, and our place of refuge. Our cornerstone. Times of new exploration are tough, especially when you are happy and exhilarated to be where you are, when you grow into your new place and get it to fit you just right.

Its a feeling of... Peace and happiness. One that you wish you didn't have to leave behind, and are immensely sad that you had to do so...

Travel Tips & Tricks from 30,000 Feet Above the Continent

So I flew out of Portland International Airport this morning, and am well on my way jetting over to North Carolina. Can I say that flying still boggles my mind?

The fact that I am 30,000 feet up in a pressurized tube soaring over the North American continent is amazing. The fact that I am writing a blog post from that perspective is also awesome.

I saw some of the highest peaks of the cascades today while flying out. The mountains are unbelievably huge. They literally soar above the clouds. I am still bewildered by the amazing scale of things out in the west. It is funny because I have been here a month, but living in the Wilamette Valley, you never really get to see these mountains except for choice opportunities. (On the I-205 bridge you get a great view of Mt. Hood in Oregon.) And it still blows me away each time I see them.

Now I am headed into Dallas-Ft. Worth to transfer to a plane to Charlotte. Mad props to my friends who are picking me up and dropping me off. It means so much.

Airports are always a great place to explore, especially from behind the security gates. Had I had more time, I would have explored PDX more, but it seemed like your medium sized airports in terms of businesses and passengers. The diversity of people was lacking, but as I said, it is a smaller airport, and not a hub such as Seattle or LAX.

I really do not understand how people can be annoyed by airports. There is so much to see and do, so many people and cultures mixing in one place. Always a constant moving of people, ideas, and goods. It really is quite a spectacle.

As for now, I'm going to attempt to watch some of The IT Crowd on Netflix. This wireless is a bit spotty.

Stevenson & The Urban Night

Today I visited the wonderful town of Stevenson, WA. It is a little village on the Columbia River on the Washington side. I went for a meeting, but the Columbia River Gorge really took hold of my trip.

I went back into the Cascades where the river carves a steep but massive gorge through the amazing mountain range.

Cape Horn

After having some dinner once I arrived back in Vancouver, I decided to get back in touch with my urban side, and drove some highways around Portland. There really was no nice logical reason to do this, I simply just started out from my apartment onto the freeway.

I decided to do the I-5, I-405 loop around the city center. This doesn't take long, but the views you can get of the city are amazing... So I did it twice:

It really is hard to describe the feeling I got from driving my car around the city center on the freeways. At first it was a revolt against how anti-car the city is. I was thinking to myself "Ha! I am driving your roads, and not commuting to or from work, and not using public transit! Take that Portland! I'm burning gas for recreation!".

This then quickly turned to "Ha, I'm using roads... That people commute on every day... That you still fund better than Washington to keep your drivers appeased..."

Which led to "Wait. Portland really isn't that much different than other cities I've been to..."

And then I thought about the fact that driving is one of America's most popular recreational activities. And that most people in and around Portland most likely drive many places for recreation (National Forests, other cities, other tourist towns like Seaside and Tillamook).

Portland has a very strange relationship with Clark County and Vancouver. I've been discussing it with some of my friends at work, and the way they describe the relationship is "Portland shadows Vancouver in almost every way. Economics, popularity, accessibility, population, and... political." The local politics are strained because Vancouver has been integrated with Portland as part of its metropolitan area designation. Therefore, as a whole, Vancouver proper is supposed to get part of federal funds for Portland that are designated as "federal funds". This obviously does not happen very well because Portland's population takes up the demand for most funds on their side of the river. (One prime example of this is that the 211 system in Vancouver is... Portland's 211 system. And they barely have Clark County resources listed or compiled.)

Another huge issue here is the commuter traffic. A lot of people who live in Vancouver work in Portland. But there is no integrated public transit system that runs between the two cities. You must take a C-Tran bus through the horrific traffic to get to the MAX light rail station on the other side of the river. And because there are only two crossings into Portland across the Columbia, those crossings get very, very congested...
But the road funds are... Managed by each state. Washington road funds mostly go to Seattle-Tacoma area, while most of Oregon's funds go to... Portland. So this leads an impass in the sense that a new system needs to be developed to cross the river (see "Columbia River Crossing" project) But... Washington state funds have not been approved/created for their side of the project. (Remember Seattle-Tacoma?)

So where do we go now? An aging (but beautiful in the sense of ruined industry) I-5 bridge cannot deal with the traffic, and Washington can't/won't approve funding for a new crossing. Also it doesn't help that if a large earthquake hits the area, the I-5 bridge is pretty much gone. Oh, and the I-5 bridge is a drawbridge. One of the last remaining interstates (as far as I know) that has a necessary impediment to driving located on it.

All of this aside, (along with the fact that I prefer Vancouver over Portland) Portland is a really beautiful city at night:

And driving around in a not so different city than the others I have been in is... Kind of comforting.

Electronic Bank Transfer & Other Ramblings

On Friday I got by EBT card. It was strange, walking into an office and waiting among other people who are applying for the same if not more benefits than you are. There was also the event in which the man out front had a table advertising free phones, and when he caught my attention he went through his speech, and then he said "and there is a booth inside with information about work opportunities if you are interested." To which I simply replied "Thanks, but I am already gainfully employed."

I was kind of offended by that. Just assuming someone doesn't have a job because they are coming to the assistance center for the city. But then again, maybe he was just trying to be helpful?

There have been many thoughts around poverty that I have had recently. It is amazing simply being in the position of having to use those social services, and being in that position of need. I didn't think I would need to be so far, but it is amazing how expenses come up, and circumstances change. It really gave me a new perspective to the "situation-based poverty" instead of "perpetual poverty"

After getting my EBT card, I went shopping today (Sunday) with it. That was also a strange experience because... I unintentionally felt ashamed asking of the place accepted EBT. I put it off until I had my basket full of groceries, and finally I asked someone quietly at the bakery counter "Do you guys accept EBT?" and she said yes, they accept all forms of payment. It was a large relief, because I had all of my groceries by that point, but I still felt shy about asking it. I still felt ashamed to have to use it. The same happened with the check-out counter when I asked. I did not know it would automatically detect it was an EBT card and not a regular credit card. A lot of lack of knowledge and strange unintentional feelings of shame came with the whole experience.

This leads me to my second point, which is the entire perception of poverty.

It seems as though the perception of poverty has been built up over so many years, by so many powerful people, that it has ingrained itself as the popular majority. The same could be said with any kind of identity/condition, but it seems as though poverty, or in other words assumptions based upon class, is one of the most prevalent and visible out there today.

Such a history has been made about racism and sexism  throughout the ages, that it has popularly been pushed back and labeled as "being taken care of". (Although we know that there are still many "outed" and "closeted" societal norms based around racism and sexism prevalent to this day.) But it seems as though assumptions and stereotypes about class (positive and negative) are still "open" and very kosher in today's society. There are still many criticisms, public statements, and prejudices of one's class that it doesn't take very long to identify. There are still many destructive discriminatory actions based on class in today's society, carried out by today's people. (I say destructive because I do believe that constructive actions are beneficial, and help to come to equality and equity.)

I would be incorrect in saying that I did not fall to these destructive discriminatory thoughts and actions. I too have been raised in this society which still openly degrades people in different classes, and I have too held these thoughts about people in different classes. I do have destructive thoughts (but not so many actions) about people in classes that are higher than me. I do have destructive thoughts about people in classes lower than me (albeit less now then before I started college.) I am now just realizing that I even have these thoughts which are deep seeded in me. I also harbor those same unintentional societal thoughts within race and gender, I have just simply tried to combat them more via college & my coming into adulthood. But class... Not so much.

The world today says class is okay to discriminate against. Society says it is okay to look down upon, and degrade those who are lesser or greater than you in wealth, because... Well why because? That is something I am still trying to figure out. It is still something I am trying to combat in my own circumstance. I am trying to get rid of my hatred towards those who hold higher economic status than I do. I am trying to include them into my world and my feelings, because I believe it is not okay to degrade anybody to less than a human being based on any of their values and mindsets. At the core of it, we are all still human.

But alas, it is very difficult.

That is why I think that in this field we need to constructively discriminate against those who are different from us. We need not degrade them, but empower them to use their positions of power, or powerlessness, to help those who want to elevate themselves to a higher status and higher equality. This is not to say I do not judge or assess people. I believe it is inherent to judge based on actions of those people, and not their status in the world.

This ties back into a conversation I had once upon a time ago with an animal rights/ethics professor who was very radical in his teachings. He asked me (in context of a conversation) if I believed that Hitler had the same standing on being a human being as Gandhi. I hesitated for a moment, contemplating the ultimate silly ethics question, and replied "Yes, I do believe on the core level of their being that Hitler and Gandhi are respectable human beings who are fundamentally the same." This question relates to the fact that on the core level of humanity, I believe that all humans are the same, and their actions determine their judgement & rights on my level. Regardless of class, race, gender, sex, identity, or ethnicity.

But I don't want to focus too much on the deeper levels of that. It was simply to reference my beliefs on the standing of others. Its their actions, not their labels.

So get your heads out of the sand society. Who says its okay to degrade rich/middle class/poor people because they have more or less than you? Who says its okay to degrade them at all?  Try to think about that next time you are angry at a person who has EBT but uses a smart phone. For all you know they have the phone through their parents plan, and the EBT card helps them to try to get off of their parents plan and form a life for themselves.

Portland Palooza

Over the weekend (Saturday in particular) I traveled across the river into Oregon to Portland for an excursion to the Saturday Market. To begin with: I can still not believe that they hold this event every Saturday. To begin describing what it looks like: Picture a street festival, with its many food vendors, craft shops, and entertainment acts. Now multiply that by an entire park and two side streets. Then schedule that for every Saturday. Woah. That's a lot of festival. But maybe I should back up for when I left:

I drove my car with a friend to the Vancouver downtown, and began the process of validating an all day/all zone pass. The deal for this was it needed to be validated in Vancouver, because... Well the pass was supposed to be for downtown Vancouver. Well I can get to downtown Vancouver pretty well by my own bus pass. What I was after was the "All-Zone" pass so I could use the MAX line in Portland. So I parked my car, and we ran out to catch the next bus. When on the bus, we validated it for an all day all zone pass. We rode for about two blocks then got off at the next stop. Yeah, kind of silly, but it got the pass validated for that day.

We then proceeded back to my car, and drove and parked in Northwest Portland in a residential neighborhood. From there we took the Yellow Line MAX into town, ultimate destination: The Saturday Market. Here is where things get tricky.

When we arrived in Northwest Portland and parked my car, I saw many old single family homes. There were some lawns that haven't been mowed for a while, and some boarded up houses. The main drag, where the MAX line was, had a couple of seedy looking businesses with the rest of the buildings being boarded up. It was kind of dirty, and some trash could be seen in some corners.

As soon as we boarded the packed MAX line, the train took off, and within 3 minutes the scenery changed. All of a sudden there were new posh apartment buildings, clean streets, and a nice green pathway for bikes and roads with no potholes. This lead to the Rose Quarter stadium, and the "gateway" to downtown across one of the many bridges spanning the Willamette River. We transferred stations, and the MAX crossed the river, giving a very good view of the downtown.

Downtown was a mixture of older buildings (but not old by east coast standards) and new skyscraper/hi-rises. The general feel of a developing downtown area. The Saturday Market was filled to the brim with food vendors, craft vendors, workshops, and music. It was like a yearly festival, that apparently happens every Saturday. The downtown area was such a mismatch of different cultures and feelings. It was truly where it seemed like the whole city came together in one huge mesh.

After the downtown excursion I traveled to Northeast Portland, around Alberta Street.  Driving past the houses we came to the main drag... Wait. There was a main drag? There were cute independent shops and small grocery stores, with the basic necessities of life in non-chain mall stores. This seemed like it should be its own separate small city, and not incorporated with Portland, but the kind that people would drive to and from to get to Portland everyday, with some local flavor mixed in. But that position is reserved for Vancouver which is large and has the chain stores to accommodate the many people who live here.

Needless to say, the area, and the ice cream shop we went to (The Salt & Straw) had many strange flavors. One ice cream was olive oil flavored, and another was sea urchin and mint. There was also PB&J flavored ice cream, but what I got was the shaved woodblock chocolate with the bourbon & coffee flavor. The woodblock consisted of a chocolaty malt with shavings of dark chocolate and smoked sea salt, giving it a smokey flavor. Combined with the coffee and bourbon it was a Northwest timber flavor combined with the elegance of a strange mix of Southern and European flavor.

What a beautiful country we live in. One could spend a lifetime simply trying to get to know one region of this place.

Lady Saint Helens

When talking with rangers, they always referenced to the mountain as a "her". I will let you gender studies majors out there do with that what you will. (You know who you are :) ) Needless to say, I went to Mount Saint Helens over the weekend.

I went with a new VISTA friend, who was great company along the way. We first started at Ape Cave.

Ape Cave is an old lava tube made from when the mountain erupted many years ago. (They really don't know when.) But that is not the point. The point is, that two forest rangers rented us a propane lamp, and just let us descend into the cave by ourselves. No guidance. No assistance. Just descend into a dark cave by yourself and your lamp. Sweet. (They don't do this in the East, just for reference.)

We then checked out the "Trail of Two Forests". Yeah. Cheesy name, I know. But it was amazing because of the fact there was old growth beside new growth from the explosion of the mountain in 1980. One really cool feature were these holes in the ground where lava surrounded trees, and the trees burned to charcoal, and then rotted away, leaving just the hardened lava hole where the tree was.

We then drove onto the next hike, to a lake created from debris blocking a river. On the way up, we saw the mountain herself:

June Lake was a really pretty site. It had a waterfall flowing into it from a cliff above, and was stock still and clear. The lake was also located in the path of a debris flow from the 1980 explosion, which was really cool to see the ash and pumice covering the ground around the new vegetation. It was amazing thinking that this area as a huge active volcanic site when everything seems so calm and peaceful.

Finally, the last stop was Lava Canyon. The name pretty much described it all. Once upon a time, not 1980 explosion, lava cascaded down the mountain and created this huge ravine of solid rock when it cooled. Water has slowly eroded this area from a small stream to a gushing waterfall.

Apparently there was a suspension bridge loop which crossed the canyon. We set out in search of adventure, and eventually found it. Here is what I mean a stream to a waterfall.

And here is what I mean by suspension bridge.

It was literally one person wide, and swung when you walked across it. It was pretty much the most thrilling experience I have had to date. (Yeah, my life isn't that exciting and perilous.)

Climbing up the other side of the canyon, we got great views of the side we had just hiked up and over. There is so much perspective when one looks at the canyon. The huge rock walls, the sheer drop to the stream/waterfall below, just the massiveness of the mountain itself. And the best part of this was not only the scenery and the magnificence of it all, but that I have started to make friends, and hopefully my social life will start to settle in. 

Maybe as a little birthday present.

The City of Airplanes

Running around in Vancouver, and subsequently taking the bus many places, leads me to always notice the impact of Portland International Airport. I have come to the conclusion that these planes are not really an annoyance, but rather a very nice background noise to the area. It symbolizes the coming and going the area has had for many a year now. Everything from the early fur traders, the Columbia River barge and trading network, to the modern day interstates and airports. It seems like it is a highly mobile city.

I find it funny how Portland formed south of the Columbia, on the Willamette River. You would think the port town would form closer to the Columbia, where there was a larger river for barges. But now it serves as the cosmopolitan urban center in Northwestern Oregon. It is amazing that every day I take the bus and see planes taking off from Portland International Airport. I've gotten use to the noise, and I kind of realized this must have been the fate of Vancouver ever since Portland began to excel the small fort/port town in growth.

But that is okay. I am proud to be in an offshoot suburb of Portland. I was never one for being directly in the middle of the action and the dense urban culture. I have always had a fascination on how the core affects the periphery, and Vancouver & Portland are no exception. This side of the river is a little less weird. A little more unique. And will have the legal marijuana shops. Ha! Take that Portland.

-Nick

Plus. Our river is so much cooler than yours. Just sayin.

Seaside, Astoria, and the Magical Fairyland of the Pacific Northwest

So this past weekend I traveled to Seaside Oregon. The Coastal Range of mountains leading to the Pacific Ocean was completely marvelous, rarely a deciduous tree in sight. The hills reminded me of the foothills of the Appalachians, except without the same species of trees and without the constant "ELK" signs. The coastal range is one helluva mountain range, never getting too elevated, but always yielding a surprise around each corner.

I drove into Seaside, and saw a glimpse of my ultimate destination. The Pacific Ocean. Mountains surrounded the tiny hamlet. "You are now entering a tsunami danger zone. If you feel rumbling or shaking, please seek higher ground immediately." That sounded grave. But I enjoyed the ocean none the less. Even if the water temperature was freezing cold.

The town of seaside was a nice surfing tourist destination. One seemed out by urbanites to the east. There was no exception for the labor day weekend. I battled through the throngs of cars, and finally found parking directly beside the dunes.

After wading in a bit, and watching the crowds, I headed onto the Lewis & Clark National Historical Park. The visitors center was a great place to see, and I watched the film on the entire journey of the Corps of Discovery. I then saw a replica of Fort Clatsop (believed to be on the original site off by a couple hundred of yards), and heard many a tale of the days of the explorers from a park reenacting guide. The winter sounded miserable, but being on the spot where the journey met the Pacific was very sounding and empowering.

Here I also had reached the end of a long journey out west to the Columbia. I drove onward to Astoria, and cresting over the hill, I saw the huge and magnificent Astoria Bridge.

Here was a bridge that spanned the Columbia River at the mouth of the Pacific Ocean. It was so huge, it required a spiral ramp to reach the top from the town. Such a feat of engineering and design. A huge truss and a remaining span that stretched over 4 miles of water. And then the massive Columbia flowing from the distance, a huge waterway that sliced through the Pacific Northwest.

I found myself once again as I had been on much of my journey thus far: Gawking and awestruck by the landscape. The sun began to set and reflect off the Columbia, and illuminated the Cascades in front of me. It was as though I was headed back from the western edge of our continental nation, only if it was for 50 miles.

My journey began to close, as the sun set, and I drew ever closer to Vancouver. I did manage to snap this shot though before it became dark. That large mountain off in the distance is Mt. Saint Helens, over 80 miles away.

What a magnificent and wonderful place this is. Massiveness abounds in scales I have never even imagined.

Feeling of Place

It's wierd, the feeling of place here.

What brings this up is that I was watching some of Macklemore's videos on youtube. I noticed how much of affinity he has for the northwest, and specifically Seattle.

As I explore this area, I am really quite confused. The lifestyles (or what I have seen so far) do not come from the dichotomy I have seen up to this point in my life, and the dichotomy I studied in college.

When I was at Wilson I studied manufactured identity versus placelesness. It was either: people manufactured their place and their identity with that place (or a few of places), or they saw themselves as being with no place, therefore having no affinity with one (or a couple of) particular place(s).

Yet here, it seems like Vancouver does not inherit either of those sides. Don't get me wrong. I am not talking about Portland here. Too many people seem to lump that in with Vancouver. What I am saying is that what I have seen from Vancouver is a strange third way of creating an identity.

I have always been a fan of the multiple dynamic idea of things. My very thesis was rooted in proving through historical evidence that culture is ever changing, and is never standing still. So there is always another way to think about these things.

I went to a free (yet sadly short)  concert yesterday in the city center portion of Vancouver. As I sat there listening, I observed the people around me. There was about equal parts young, middle aged, and old, a dynamic that I had never really been in. Their clothes and conversation seemed to be revolving around their lives and the band. There were no essentric outfits, rarely any plaid (contrary to stereotypes) and the conversations seemed to revolve around the labor day weekend, their upcoming school projects, and the many different outings coming up for fun before autumn and winter settle in. The people did not seem like they were hiding in the shadows lightly mingling with others, placeless in a space full of well identified people. Nor were they pushing thier identities on each others trying to win a "my identity is better than yours" contest. They just seemed to be relaxing vancouverites, enjoying their city.

This is in comparison to the well manufactured and defendent southern identity I have lived with in the North Carolina mountains, nor was it the free roaming spirits I have seen from the heartland identity, who just want to get the hell out of dodge and pick up what ever identity they can along the way. This was a different type of identity, one well rooted in city and neighborhood, not regionalism or nationalism.

Maybe it is because of their young history and their hodgepodge of migrants. One thing we in the east tend to forget is that a lot of towns out west were established after the Civil War, and many not even incorporated until the early 20th century! This collection of differences has maybe not given the region time to settle and establish an idenity, and the cities and towns were not laid out in such a fashion to create drifters and brain drain.

Or maybe it is just people being themselves and being, dare I say it, authentic? (If that can even hold ground because of its subjectivity.)

The River Road of the Gods

The rolling massive hills make way to a huge valley, flat as the eye can see. The flat dusty desert boils in the car, and the windshield dusts up unknowingly. I wonder when this heat will end, and much to my disappointment it will not for a long while.

The road after leaving from Logan, Utah.

I have never been in a desert before. I would consider this a desert?

The plain seemed to extend forever, through wetlands, over shrub laden slopes. All of a sudden, I am in Idaho, the air hazy from the smoke from the Beaver Creek fire, and then I drive beside a huge canyon/gorge. I have read about it in books before, but it simply blows me a way. It is the Snake River, and it cuts a sheer wall from the plain above:

The Snake River gorge. I tried to take more pictures, but I couldn't get my phone to work very well.

The most impressive point of the Snake River is the fact the river has cut such a deep gorge across such a flat landscape. It is so stunning when it is flat across the horizon with this huge gash in the earth.






After visiting the Snake River and Shoshone Falls, I continued across the landscape, determined to reach Western Washington by the end of the day. The Western Idaho and Eastern Oregon desert were relentless, and so... empty. Except for the occasional irrigation of the land and small town, the landscape seemed so lifeless:

Lots of shots of the desert.

One of the more awe inspiring mountains was a relatively low range that I wound through, and climbed up. After stopping at the top for a rest area, I began to descend, and had a huge panorama of the valley below.

It just seemed that it went on forever and a half.

I really liked this shot of the clouds.







And then the Columbia River finally made its appearance. At first I thought it was a lake, another cool work of hydroelectricity from the 1940s. Was I ever wrong.

Now keep in mind, the Columbia River makes up most of the border between Washington and Oregon, so once I was on the river, I stayed on the river.

And then the sides began to become narrower, and steeper. One of the best sights I saw was windmills that lined the gorge.






Then I saw Mt. Hood. It was a massive peak, poking its head above the clouds... Until I saw those were not clouds, but were actually a wildfire burning on the bottom section of the mountain. I have never seen a wildfire this large before.

The smoke was streaming to the south, and it drifted into the distance. It seemed not too far away, but for the scale of these things, the mountain was a good 30 miles away.

Now I am in Vancouver, after running around and finding my apartment, I have finally unpacked, and working on getting ready for my first day of work tomorrow. I need to do more errands today and run around, but hopefully I can see some of the community today. More later, once my assignment starts.