Spring Conundrum

If you asked me at different points in my life to name my favorite season,  I would have given different answers.

• As a child: Summer. No school, near-total freedom, and shorts and no shirts every day. I'll ignore the fact that I had to spend what seemed like an eternity weeding our huge garden on Saturdays.
• As a teen-ager: Autumn. Working nearly 60 hours a week on the iris farm, exposed continually to the sun and who knows what kinds of chemicals, was hard. Going back to school proved to be such a relief, and running on the Cross Country team was the frosting on the cake.
• As an adult: Spring. Death has begun creeping into my life, and I don't like its finality, so the concept of a rebirth soothes my soul. The subtle smell of the cherry blossoms, the days stretching ever-so-slightly longer, and the splashes of color returning to Western Eden fill my soul with hope and optimism that have become something of a rarity for this normally pessimistic and sarcastic fellow.
• As a zombie: Winter. I'll be dead and miserable anyway, so who cares that it is raining and 33 degrees outside?

My first Spring-of-Death

My current fancy of Spring poses one serious issue, however: I'm allergic to it. This is a relatively new condition for me, and I always considered myself lucky not to have the same fate as my dad and older brother, who also struggle with pollen-related allergies (and maybe others; I apologize if you feel slighted at my not knowing your medical history). I wasn't allergic to Spring until 2009. Sitting on our back porch, on a sunny and warm Sunday in April--literally the day before Ian escaped from Meg's womb--I started sneezing uncontrollably. My eyes began to itch, and I couldn't control the urge to scratch, and they soon turned red with irritation. My throat complained of the same scratchiness as my eyes. Life became miserable. I have learned to control these symptoms with timely ingestion of antihistamines, but the lure of Spring overpowers me on its most beautiful days, and spending too much time outside places me in peril, despite my precautionary ways.

Waterfront Park, PDX

We've had little rain and mild temperatures for most of the winter, but that hasn't stopped me from enjoying the changing of the seasons to my favorite. Couple this with Meg and the boys leaving for who-knows-how-long to Beverly Beach for spring break, who knows the adventuring I could have? First stop: Washington Park.

Meg bought a family membership to the World Forestry Center for half-price, and I volunteered to set up the membership in person. I rode my bike there, of course, not that I had access to a car anyway. I stopped along Waterfront Park to capture some images of the cherry trees in full blossom. My brother still has better images than me (not that I'm trying to compete with him or anything), but I was somewhat happy with what I was able to create. The city planted 100 cherry trees here to memorialize the horrific crime the US committed against the Japanese-American community during World War II (I don't know why, but this is a tender, sore spot for me).

Forestry Skylight

I've ridden lots of hills in my time, so I thought nothing of pedaling my way into Washington Park to the Forestry Center. I could have ridden MAX to the zoo exit, and then used the elevator to shoot up through the mountain where it spits you out right on the Forestry Center's doorstep, but the weather was decent and I like a challenge. I guess the trek wasn't too bad, but it was steeper and longer than I had thought (and I am getting older, but I don't like to make excuses). I spent an hour or so wandering the museum and taking pictures and recovering from my ride.

The descent back into town took like three minutes, which proved timely as my stomach began complaining about wanting some food. I parked my bike near the foodcart pod on SW 3rd and Stark and took a step back in time 15 years at Okinoshima, a relatively new cart in Portland that specializes in Okonomiyaki, one of my favorite dishes served in Japan. I talked with the owner at length, as I make instant friends with anyone of Japanese origins. The okonomiyaki tasted great, but I wonder if my cheap ways will ever make it back before he moves on to something else?

I love me some good graffiti

The sun was shining fully in the valley, so I meandered through the inner city looking for other curious things to photograph. Some of my favorite photos I see "friends" publish on Google + are of abandoned buildings and urban decay. Trespassing such places during the light of day doesn't fit my personality very well, so I opted to shoot behind the barbed wire fence surrounding this property.

After riding home and taking a quick break, I hopped back on my bike and rode the opposite direction through Milwaukie to SE 82nd-ish to visit Deseret Industries, hoping to find some cast-off books too liberal for most mormon households. Though a bit foggier than some of my memories, I recall visiting this part of town as a child at what was a mormon-themed bookstore. I failed to find anything exciting except a pristine copy of Tennis Shoes Among the Nephites, which I admit to loving as a teen-ager. Maybe my kids will enjoy it as a future selection for our nightly reading sessions.

Steel Bridge

I ended up riding about 30 miles for the day, and my body felt spent and ready for bed. All of the time outside in the pollen-infested city didn't help. Dickens was really onto something when he wrote "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. . . ." I totally understand what he was saying.