I am happy to
say that summer is finally in full gear here in Portland. To be sure, it's
not the 115 degree "I could bake cookies in my car" summer that greeted
me in Redding a couple weeks ago when I went home for my mom's birthday,
but Portland's version of the season has definitely arrived. Not like
people here were waiting for consistent sunshine to start crossing
things off their summer to-do lists. Before I left for
California, right around the time my mother posted the little gem below
on my Facebook wall, I actually saw someone barbecuing outside
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| But really. |
of their house in full rain gear...right after I had watched one
far-too-considerate driver lean out of his car and angrily yell and flip
off another for not stopping to let me jaywalk across a busy
intersection by my house. Really, this city sometimes.
Since
my trip down to California, I've actually been considering moving back to
the Golden State. Not because I refuse to barbecue in the rain
(although I do), or because I would rather wait a few extra minutes to
cross the street than have someone get the finger on my behalf (but
really, over-courteous Portland driver, I would), but because there's
just something about Northern California that feels like home. It has
everything I love about Portland -- the good food, the farmers' markets,
the big trees -- just with nicer weather and more family. While I was
home, I celebrated my mom's 30th birthday (you're welcome, reading
mother) by going to see Monsters University, followed by a nice dinner
at a restaurant overlooking the Sacramento River. I was so happy to
be home I even went to Zumba with her and danced around waving a towel
above my head to Robin Thicke's "Blurred Lines" in a room full of
moms. While I was home, I was also able to drive down and see James in the Bay Area,
and it was sometime driving around out there in the rolling
foothills and cow pastures that populate Northern California that I
started thinking about calling those foothills Home. Also, this
happened:
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| Dinner! |
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| Taken
post-scream, after I discovered that fish do not die as soon as they
are caught, and if you hold them up for a photo-op, they will make a scene. |
James took me fishing and helped me catch my first fish
- yay! He was nice enough to give me complete credit, even though
all I did was point to a rod we had set up on the shore and say, "Hey, that
thing is moving. What does that mean?" and, when and how he told me to, I
reeled in the fish I would name James, in my fishing guru's honor. Not
thinking that, a few hours later, Fish James would be brutally beheaded and gutted by
Person James in front of my eyes.
After over a week of
backyard camp-outs, kayaking, home-cooked meals, and what might as well
be called an all-I-can-eat fruit buffet in my parents' kitchen, it's needless
to say that I had a hard time coming back to Portland. But come back I
did, and so far, the city has done a pretty decent job of reminding me
how awesome it can be (ask me again come winter). Things like last
weekend's trip to Sauvie Island, a lovely little retreat twenty or so
minutes outside of the city and home to several U-Pick farms, have helped to
shake off the post-California blues. My housemate and I came back with
blueberries, strawberries, and the perfect amount of blackberries for a
blackberry pie.
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| Makin' the crust. |
It's not the best pie, but it's pie nonetheless. And it's my first pie, so there's that.
And, it's significantly better than I remember it being it last night, so either my expectations were lower and probably more realistic today than they were last night, or the flavors have just had some time to mingle and flirt. I'll go with the latter.
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