I was surprised to find myself whistling Credence Clearwater Revival’s Rollin’ On the River while walking to the bathroom when I first woke up this morning. I know, I know - it’s surprising to be whistling anything at a time like this, but here we are. At least I’d closed the bedroom door behind me and was keeping the volume down. Now where did that come from out of the blue, I wondered? It all came clear through when I opened up the iPad and checked the calendar for the day. The mind works in mysterious ways.
Two hours later Rachael and I park the Raven outside of Proud Mary’s Cafe on Alberta Street, and a few minutes after that a familiar figure walks our direction, looks up, and flashes a smile. It’s Steve, a good friend from our past we first met when we all worked at Saif Corporation down in Salem. Over breakfast we reminisced and tried to to remember when exactly we first met, but it must have been sometime around 2005 because we were still playing duplicate bridge over at the West Salem Bridge Club even though we had already sold our home in Salem and moved to Portland.
Oh, wait! That’s not right. We hadn’t moved yet when we first moved north because Steve bailed us out by helping us close the our sale of our house on Luther Street. It was on the market and I think had an offer but wouldn’t close until after the inspection, which wouldn’t occur until after we had already left for Europe on the annual bike tour - from Innsbruck to Geneva in 2002, I think. We had known Steve well enough by that time to entrust him to act as our power of attorney to make closing decisions and sign documents on our behalf - in that time long ago before cellphones, Docusign apps and email would have made transoceanic communications much simpler. I think we just left him with our bottom line figure and hoped for the best, but I don’t remember for sure now. And I can’t remember who minded Sabaki our cat and Shasta our dog either. Maybe that was the year Shawn moved back in and he pet-sat? Or maybe it was the time Frank took refuge under our roof? Unfortunately that was in one of those memory holes when I wasn’t keeping a journal.
And I don’t remember for sure how we even got to know Steve but it must have been through Rachael’s position as the team lead for the data warehouse and communications working with Steve, who was the director of the corporate research department. In any case, we became good friends and quickly found a lot in common. We were politically on the same part of the spectrum (one of his earlier stints was working for Ramparts magazine) and we played duplicate bridge together, often with his friend Skip as his partner. And although he wasn’t as fanatical about it as some we biked together from time to time; and if I remember right I think he would sometimes bike with me to the standing lunchtime bridge game back at the Public Service Building that I helped establish years earlier - the same game where Rachael and I first met.
In any case, it was wonderful to get together and catch up again. Thanks for driving up from Eugene to meet us, Steve! Let’s do it again next winter if we make it back into the country.
So that’s the interesting of part of the day, really. The rest is just the same old same old, the usual routine when Team Anderson is lucky enough to find a break in the weather during these rainy times. She’s taking a walk, he’s going birding; and since they’re in the neighborhood and still have the car for a few weeks yet they head to Mount Tabor, park by rhe visitor center, and as she walks off east to circle the park he heads west with his hiking pole, hoping to have more success than the last time he was here and found himself once more up a mountain without a camera battery. Very frustrating, but things went much better this time. Let’s just look.
My walk begins by walking through the middle of what appears to be a school outing, with kids running up and down the trails excitedly pulling long strands of English ivy behind them. It appears to be a contest, with the winning team being the first to haul in a hundred yards of vine.
I’m not far into my walk when we cross paths. I’ve barely gone a quarter mile but she’s already rounded the mountain and is dropping west toward home. Meet me at the corner, she directs.
I pick up the pace as best as I can, and we do meet at the corner. We touch base quickly and then she speeds off heading west for the Steel Bridge and home while I continue dropping down to the reservoir to see what’s afloat this morning.
It’s a cold morning but she’s come prepared for it.
After checking out the reservoir I turn back west and head up to the top again by angling up the southern face. I’ve still got the same half dozen birds I’m hoping to add to this year’s list: Stellar’s Jay, chestnut-backed chickadees and red-breasted nuthatch in particular. None of those good things happens today unfortunately, but what does is even better and unexpected.
It helps that I remembered to bring the hiking pole this time. I’m finding that it is more helpful than that brace I’ve tried a few times with limited success.
Now this great-horned owl wasn’t in my dreams at all. What a hoot! I’m lucky he’s here today, and I’m lucky to see him - a thing that only occurs due to the kindness of strangers, as with the screech owl at oaks bottom, I only see it after being coached by a local expert.
It’s a toss up whether I leave the mountain happier by the owl sighting or the varied thrush repeatedly burying itself into the oak leaves, one of a pair.
Scott AndersonTo Steve Miller/GrampiesReally. Make a point when you get home or maybe if someone’s in your home that could peek into an issue it would be nice to have a cover shot to post here and a list of the organization members on the inside. I haven’t forwarded this to Steve yet, but I’ll bet he’d appreciate the reminder himself. Reply to this comment 1 week ago
