Civilization and Beer

If I wasn't teetering on the edge of having a migraine and not having one right now, I'd post in some detail about the great weekend I had and how I befriended some lost tourists "hiking" in the wilds of the Tualatin Mountains* and led them back (about a half mile or so) to civilization and beer. To thank me, they insisted on buying me a beer at the New Old Lompoc,** which I gladly accepted. After they got a little bit squiffy (it didn't take much), they even invited me to dinner at their hostel, which I sadly had to decline owing to the fact that B was stuck at home with a wretched cold and was in need of a fresh box of tissues. I'd been dispatched to get those tissues, and I'd been gone several hours beyond my ETA at home. Oops.



I might also write about the glorious solo hike I took on Sunday, and how many times*** I found myself giving thanks for whatever turns and twists of fate have made it possible for me to live in Portland, Oregon, but instead, I'll just take the easy way out. Look at the slideshow.
*Otherwise known as the West Hills near the Pittock Mansion.
**They had a seasonal fresh hop ale on tap, so I had that (if you must know)--crisp, refreshing, and delicious.
***At least a hundred.

Hens and Cocks?

So a couple of evenings ago I was taking a walk, and stopped to admire and photograph a patch of hens and chicks, or as I think they should more properly be called at this time of year, hens and cocks.



Fah-reaky.

I pulled out my camera to take a couple of photos and the homeowner appeared out of nowhere and made a beeline toward me. She told me I could come by anytime and help myself. "Just dig 'em up," she said. Now, I do LOVE hens and chicks/cocks, but I had no grand plan for where they might fit in my garden, so I demurred and told her that maybe some time once I figured all that out I'd come knock on her door and see if the offer was still open. "Don't knock," she said "Just take them!!!!" Then, leaving nothing to chance, she proceeded to pull some up right then and there and handed them over to me.



"It's cheaper than buying them at Freddie's," was her parting remark. That's Portland for you. You can always depend on the kindness of strangers here.

So now there are some hens in my garden. After giving it some thought, I planted them at the base of one of the Douglas firs in my garden, a site that gets a decent amount of sun but in which the growing medium consists largely of rocks and raccoon poop. From what I understand, these things will grow just about anywhere and actually prefer rocky soil, so they may in fact be the ideal plant for the site. We shall see.