Going Coastal!

We spent last night in North Bend falling asleep to the sound of fishing boats docking and the salt-talk of the local fishermen. The coast is beautiful, but both and Liz and I are soaked to the bone - one thing I've learned growing up in the Northwest is that there is no such thing as bad weather, only bad rain gear. Yesterday, we stopped to play in the sand at the dunes just south of Florence, Or. where we were given a guided tour by our new friend, hippy-guitarist-extraordinaire, Adam.


We made a stop in Reedsport for some fun. We were cooking up some lunch when a very kind woman named Xoa stopped by on her bike and loaded us up with some food. Xoa volunteers for Meals on Wheels and hooked us up with all the leftovers! Mmmm... Peach Cobbler!




Next Stop: South!

Food Not Bombs: Portland

I really hate to post about things that are miles behind us, but I just got done uploading some long-overdue photographs from Portland.

We ate dinner for free every night in Portland thanks to the wonderful Food Not Bombs people. Most people are familiar with Food Not Bombs because of participating with finding food, cooking food, or eating food. But if you're not familiar with the idea, Food Not Bombs is a revolutionary, grassroots movement that shares free vegetarian or vegan food with hungry people while protesting food and poverty. Each group recovers food that would otherwise be thrown out and makes fresh hot vegan and vegetarian meals that are served outside in public spaces to anyone without restriction. Each chapter is autonomous, as it is a non-hierarchical dis-organization. There are no leaders, just people working together to feed whoever needs to be fed! There are chapters everywhere, active in the Americas, Europe, Africa, the Middle East, Asia and Australia. Look up your closest Food Not Bombs group and participate!

In Portland, we hung out with a group of travel kids, local anarchists and musicians in Colonel Summers Park, waiting for the Food Not Bombs bikes to arrive with the grub around 5:30. Our tummies were super grateful for those who looked for and cooked the food! Thanks FNB!

Eugene!

We spent some time on the OSU campus in the Folklore Archives. Liz researched traditional quilting and some Oregonian personalities - while my research was concentrated on tales of the Wild-Man of the Cascades, better known as Sasquatch. We're looking to do some more Squatch hunting in the near future.

This is our new friend Frog. If you're interested in expanding your joke vocabulary, Frog has some literature well worth adding to your library. Mail him three dollars and a self-addressed envelope - P.O. Box 10162, Eugene OR 97440


...We're off to the coast!

Stumptown, Oregon: A Brief HIstory of A Name

Portland, Oregon is located in Multnomah County along the Willamette River. Portland was once called Stumptown, a reference to the pillage of the many trees by Oregon Trail emigrants when they started to build houses in the area. In 1845, Francis Pettygrove and A.L. Lovejoy (both East Coast emigrants, one from Boston and one from Portland, ME) decided that Stumptown, or "The Clearing," needed a new name. They decided to flip a penny to determine what Stumptown's new name would be: Portland or Boston (they both must have been a little homesick.) During that time, Portland's many stumps were not usually a problem. I imagine a lot of them made for very nice outdoor seating. However, when the Willamette River flooded in the early 1860's and the people of Portland had to row across town to get to work, the submerged stumps became annoying obstacles. After the flood, the city merchants decided to clear away all the stumps... and Stumptown was history.

CONTEST! 

Portland has been called many names: Stumptown, P-town, The Rose City, PDX, Bridgetown, Rip City, Little Beirut.. etc. We've got a little Jam-Hunt package to send to the first commenter with another nickname for Portland, Oregon. But you've gotta tell us the origin of the nickname! Good luck!

Tomorrow.. on to Eugene! 

We've made it to PORTLAND

My favorite thing about any city is its graffiti. I love the systems that move graffiti artists across the globe - I love finding the same writers in different cities, it's like I can follow their story as I make my own. I love the illegality of graffiti, I'm always perplexed at how any form of creativity could be illegal - and thrive while so viciously hounded by authorities and condemned by the majority of society.

The graffiti in Portland is sick.


Here's a photo I shot on the way out of Olympia at the Free Wall. Every wall should be a "free wall".

Surf Seattle

We are way over 150 miles away from Seattle now, but I thought I'd share this poster off the wall at Old School Pizzeria in Olympia.


The weather is changing and it's starting to feel like the northwest again.

ART YARD

Yesterday, Liz and I were given a most wonderful tour of Richart’s “Art Yard” in the modest town of Centralia, WA. We stopped not knowing what to expect – what we found was absolutely rad.

Signs in the front yard invited us in – we helped ourselves to the marvels of his outdoor sculpture creations. My imagination whirled, I saw space-robots, great knight’s graveyards, and was swimming a thousand miles under the ocean. Richart’s sculptures thrust me into the creative mindset I remember having when I was 9 – I was having the daydreams that only a child could have.

Around the corner came Richart, a 76 year-old former high school art teacher, more than happy to show us his creations. He and his small pudgy dog gave us a tour of his yard. We followed him as he brought us to a cathedral, into a coliseum (explaining that no town could be on a map without one), and introduced us to a sculpture of a hairy-chested woman. How did this all start, we asked, where did this come from? “I was 50 years old, I had all these degrees, but they didn’t mean anything until I told myself I would be an artist. So the next day I woke up, and I was an artist.” It’s as easy as that, he explained, you just say it and its there if you want it – “you give it a word, and that gives it meaning.”

This stop on our trip, has for me, been the most personally inspiring thing encountered so far. Who knew 2x4’s, Styrofoam, twisted rebar, and whatever else Richart gets his hands on, could provoke such wonder! Wake up tomorrow and be what you want to be.