Garden and Gun Meet Lewis and Clark

Shortly before I moved to the Pacific Northwest, I became acquainted with Garden & Gun magazine when I read its first issue from the Spring of 2007. Like many people, I scratched my head at the title but succumbed to the literary writing and compelling photos. When I relocated to Portland, Oregon, I took my subscription with me, which allowed me to stay connected to a much beloved South. Like James Joyce, sometimes you have to leave to get proper perspective on your home.

This past week, I received one missive each from my mother and father that happily married the best things about the South and the Pacific Northwest. Perfect for this blog.

The first was an article from Charleston's Post and Courier that reported on Garden & Gun's comeback from the brink of the recession and butchery that  many print institutions are taking. Back in 2009 I started the magazine's fan club page on Facebook to create support for this kind of journal. I have, what I've some times referred to as "the opposite of ADD," because I enjoy reading and telling long stories. I prefer Faulkner sentences to tweets. Please join our almost 500 members if you're so inclined!

It also reminded me of the origins of the magazine's title. Taken from the name of a former gay bar in Charleston, Garden and Gun is a "metaphor for the sporting life" and "a love song to the south." The magazine refused to take "gun" out of the title, losing monetary support in the process.

I've never had any fascination with guns, and I may or may not have been hunting at some time in my life. If I did, the memory serves little importance on my being. I do remember trying to shoot cans off of an old, rusting tractor in my grandfather's pecan orchard. I think I bruised my shoulder and lost interest. However, the writers create such captivating stories, that I forget I'm reading about the gun or the fishing rod, in lieu of the protagonists' narrative.

This brings me to the video my father shared with me about the Girandoni air rifle used by Lewis and Clark during their epic expedition of the west. I'm a sucker for all things L&C. One ride through the Columbia River Gorge and reading of Undaunted Courage and I have a new obsession.

All along the Washington and Oregon sides of the Columbia River stand sign posts marking Lewis and Clark's journey in 1803-1806. The present day landscape never ceases to amaze me, and imagining what it looked like unadulterated and unsculpted by men fascinates me.

I've stood at Celilo Falls, the start of a 12-mile stretch of the Columbia River where it drops some 80 feet in a series of cascades, whirlpools and dangerous eddies. Of course it's covered now by the blanket of water created by the dams. The navigation of this gorge and transversing the Continental Divide through the Bitteroot Mountains hold the most allure for me. How did Lewis and Clark do it? St. Louis to the Pacific and back? There were only 36-38 people with them; they could have been easily overwhelmed.

Watch this video about Lewis' gun. Even if you abhor guns. Incidentally, the gun he's holding in the video is on loan to the National Firearms Museum in Fairfax, VA, from, you guessed it, OREGON.




Ah, Lewis and Clark. You're always bridging the divide. I'd like to see an article about this gun in Garden and Gun. Thanks for sharing Mom and Dad!

Fall, Equinox and College Football

If you think Packers, you don't know what I"m talking about.

It's that time of year again. Fall. Autumn. The Equinox. Here in the Pacific Northwest, the seasons change demonstratively. On Midsummer's Night, the sun rises before 5:30 AM and sets slightly after 9 PM. Just a few days ago, on the day of equal day and night, it rose at 7:00 AM and set at 7:00 PM. The angle of the sun changes, and the sun is already halfway to its southernmost arc. As a southerner, I find this transition particularly challenging. I find myself introspective, nostalgic and, at times, morose.

There's a certain slant of light, 

On winter afternoons, 

That oppresses, like the weight 

Of cathedral tunes.

There's a decay in the air and Indian summer days only serve to mock the dirges of dying bees, and the leaves on the trees are just—just—on the cusp. What can we do to shake ourselves from this melancholic reverie? College Football. And I'm not talking about it all, specifically, SEC and ACC. It's different out here, and I can't say that I altogether like it.

The University of Oregon dominates and they have this thing they call the "Civil War," when U of O plays Oregon State. The four years I've been here, the Ducks have beat the Beavers every time. UGA U. of Florida bar fights are more entertaining and vigorous than this rivalry.

If Oregon is on TV in a bar or pub, all 50 TV's must be tuned to that channel. But every cloud has its silver lining. Because the big, local bar refused to turn even one little monitor to the UGA game, we discovered our most beloved Portland gem, The Brooklyn Pub. There are 3 main TV's, and 3 more spread throughout this little space. The proprietor, Nate, is ready for we east coasters who watch early morning games.

Initially, we had to call and ask if he would turn on the UGA game. He was always accommodating. Sometimes we'd find ourselves in another part of town, unable to get a monitor changed because the Oregon game was on, and we'd call down.

Brooklyn Park Pub: How can we help you?
Me: Um, would it be possible to turn a TV to the UGA game?
BPP: We're so sick and tired of you Georgia people calling to ask, Dammit.
Me: Oh, geez, sorry...
BPP: Where ya been? It's already on...

Ah Southern hospitality can be found in the least likely of places. A northwest bar named after a yankee borough. I ask you!

We watch out games with Michigan and Penn State fans who have also found the Brooklyn. Nate makes us individualized breakfast plans and we refill our own coffee. Bloody Mary's frequently appear. Sometimes my friends and I are the only ones in the bar, and during half time Nate regales us with rants about how women used to rule the universe but then demanded "equality" and lost it all. History lessons often involve "taking it to the map."

All in all, I've enjoyed the different way I watch my college football. Of course, there's no more tailgating, and as the season wears on, I grow increasingly jealous of the beautiful southeastern skies broadcasted on the TV's. The slate gray skies and blanket of wet cloud envelops Portland, and we can only look on in envy as we see sunlight streaming through the Athens hedges. I can't even mention those Chick-fil-A commercials. Absolute torture.

My UGA sticker has faded such that people out here think I'm a Packer fan. Nobody recognizes the Wake Forest Seal on my car. Still, entering a bar at 9:00 AM here, looking around at other stool perchers: our eyes meet, we nod, and we know without saying a word. Go Dawgs! Go Deacs!

East, West Boating's the Best

Map of My First West Coast Boating Experience

I've done my fair share of boating on the east coast, especially since my entire family lives on a tidal river, and everyone has a boat. From putzing around the Toogoodoo River, heading out to Botany Bay or Rockville and Bohicket Creek, to various lakes in Georgia and North Carolina, boating is second nature. However, one must never take the boating experience for granted. It's not my boat, after all. It never fails to feel like a serendipitous gift to go out on the water.

Not my first Rodeo

But how to get here?

Part of my draw to Portland, Oregon, was its water life. There are some big rivers and plenty of marinas. I just didn't really have any connections, so I was often looking longingly on those lucky boaters enjoying a summer or Indian summer day. Heck, I'd even go out there in drizzily winter!

Recently, due to an unmentionable employment status, I've been shaking it up and meeting a whole bunch of people outside my inner circle of friends. I've been "networking," if you will. It's not what you think, however. If you're interested in my networking philosophy, please see my guest blog at Alison Wiley's Diamond-Cut Life. Long story short, I've made friends with boats.

On a recent wilting Wednesday afternoon, my friend AJ sent me a text asking if I wanted to go boating. Yes, AJ, yes I do want to go boating. He didn't prepare me for what was to be expected for boating on the west coast, and so I naturally brought my Whaley's Koozie in anticipation that there would be drinking and boating the way I'm accustomed to on the east coast. I don't know where my manners were, and I should have picked up a six pack to share. I just had no idea.

We're off!

I didn't have long to wait to find out that I was in good company. My friend Ali and her friend arrived shortly with some coldies (the mountains were, in fact, blue), but we still awaited our host. Ali had a bit more experience than I, but she didn't exactly know what to expect.

How did I get on this boat?

In short order, AJ and Christy arrived and we were introduced to the boat. Lots of rearranging, throwing brewskies on ice, lamenting the dearth of vodka (but there was rum) and generally tidying up. As we headed out, Christy filled the uninitiated on their form of boating protocol. Skiing and wake boarding were not unusual activities, but heading up to the Ross Island "C" was the extent of the exertions. Nice.

Ross Island Sand and Gravel

We motored south on the eastern side of Ross Island, slowing through the construction of the Street Card bridge at OMSI. We picked up speed and headed toward the Oaks Bottom Wildlife Refuge and hung a right (off the starboard?) into a bay formed by Ross Island. The "C" is actually a manmade occurrence by joining four islands together to create a lagoon. Ross Island Sand and Gravel own most of it, and their operations provided the backdrop to our 3 hour stage.

We parked in the northern part of the lagoon, and unanchored, we very slowly eddied toward the entrance. Very slowly. Toward the west, we could see the towers of the Southwest Waterfront condominiums peaking above the trees. To the southeast side of the lagoon was the mammoth and industrious RISG company. It lent a surreal atmosphere to the day, but it was some how appropriate, too.

We swam some, sunned some, drank some. Throughout it all, we had an iPod shuffling in the background. Because it was a Wednesday, we only had one or two other boats to share the scene with. Apparently on a weekend or holiday, it can get pretty crowded out there. Luckily everyone on board was affiliated with wine or beer and had unregimented schedules, allowing us to beat the heat and the crowds at the same time. I was taking notes for my next career move and discovering potential lucrative opportunities. 

Ali showing me how it's done

AJ showing me how it's done.

Christy showing me how it's done.

What could I do but take notes?

Beer Fest(s)

Charlotte Octoberfest Volunteer

In my four years of living in Charlotte, North Carolina, I attended exactly 4 beerfests. Oktoberfest came but once a year, and it was always looked forward to with much anticipation. My last year, I had made connections on the inside and got to volunteer. This was fun, but a seemingly isolated event. It was rare to see the beers sampled at the fest in local bars or shops.

In my two years of living in Athens, Georgia, I attended exactly 2 beerfests: Oktoberfest. I was also a nominal member of the Brew 52's home brewing society. I did not home brew myself, but I was an excellent taster and commenter on the hoppy fruits of my friends' labors.

"There Will Be Beer" International Beerfest

Long lines under the big tent at Holiday Ale Fest

In my four years of living in Portland, I've probably attended at least 4 per year.  I think I went to three my first arrival month: Portland International Beerfest, Oregon Brewers Festival, and North American Organic Brewers Festival. Subsequently, I've attended Dogtober Fest, Hopwork's Biketobeerfest, and the Holiday Ale Festival. According to PortlandBeer.org, there are over 30 festivals a year and growing. This doesn't even mention the number of craft breweries and beer stores opening up around town. In fact, I just visited The Commons Brewery, which is a stone's throw from my house, and Josh Grgas informed me that 4 other breweries had opened up since their December 3, 2011, grand opening.
When it comes to beer in Portland I am a neophyte. The amount of varieties, information, and celebrations out there surrounding beer is, quite frankly, a little overwhelming. Even with all of those beerfests, the crowds are still pretty large and lines are long for just a taste of beer. Usually we end up just getting a taste and getting back into line, because by the time you reach the counter, your little taste is empty.

Maybe I got a little humbug as I exited my 20s or maybe I'm just maturing, but I no longer find the drunkenness or debauchery tolerable. I actually do want to experience and taste the beer. I like taking notes and reading the descriptors. OR maybe I'm just too hip for the mainstream. Right, too hip. In any event, I was going to stop at The Commons Brewery on my way down to the Oregon Brewers Festival this weekend. I ended up staying and enjoying the intimacy and "Gathering around beer" instead. I think it was a wise choice.

After sampling 3 Farmhouse Ales for Uptown Market, I wanted a closer glimpse of the goings on of Commons. I went for a sampler that included 4 tastes for $8.

Pale Evening, Fleur de Ferme, Flemish Kiss, Pils

When I arrived, there were just a handful of people drinking beer and talking with Josh, who works in sales and distribution for Commons. The space was airy and inviting, yet it had a feeling of minimalism.  Beer glasses, tasting trays, bar, beer barrel tables, chalk board information, ipod playing music and and ipad for credit cards. The backdrop was the warehouse with all the brewing equipment. As I made my way through the tray, many more people showed up, and I had the feeling that I made it to the best, and most comfortable, beerfest in town.

Menu

Josh tending bar

Gathering around Beer

Road Trip: Ode to Summer Part II

Before I moved out west, summer used to mean international travel. Now that I am in Oregon, it means ROAD TRIP! That's not to say that I didn't dabble in some southeast road trips back in Georgia, North Carolina, and South Carolina; it's just that it might be comparing apples and oranges. Northwest is epic, grand, saga, awesome; Southeast is an intriguing short story, quaint, rock-n-roll rift, mysterious.

I recently read the article "Southern Roads: The Art of the Road Trip" from Garden and Gun magazine just before embarking on a trip from Portland, Oregon, to Montpelier, Idaho—some 800 miles of dynamic landscapes. While I knew the discrepancies in the two trips would be vast, Daniel Wallace did provide me with some pearls of wisdom that could be applied.

Southeast: You could discover a road like this.

1. Road trips are not vacations.

2. Get Lost

3. Get off the highway

4. Play Games

5. Go along for the ride 

Southeast: Highway traffic

Southeast: Cityscapes 

This is some excellent advice, especially for southern roads, because there really is nothing pretty about I-85, I-75, or I-95. Coming from someone who has driven up and down the eastern seaboard, I know. You do get to see some city profiles, but you're also just as likely to get stuck in snarling traffic with nothing to look at except rude bumper stickers or get woozy from idling fumes. 

Southeast: Pump your gas here.

While the west's byways are preferable, highways like I-84 through the Columbia River Gorge and eastern Oregon are amazing. I-90 through South Dakota, Montana, and Idaho are also awe inspiring. I like to turn on U2's Joshua Tree, The Garden State Soundtrack, or Ryan Bingham's Mescalito in these spaces.

Columbia River Gorge—Wet Side

Columbia River Gorge—Dry Side

1. Our road trip to Montpelier was not a vacation. I offered to accompany my friend on a road trip so that she could visit a dying friend, and she wouldn't have to drive. Contrary to what you might think, it was a life-affirming journey, and the thrum of the motor, the vast and infinite landscape lent to a meditative mindset. We did stop at less-than stellar Motel 6 in Twin Falls, where upon arrival we learned the pool was closed because a kid was sick in it. It had been 100 degrees out there, but the AC was pumping and we weren't there for the decor.

2. We did get lost trying to find Los Pinos in Mountain Home, Idaho. But I think it was because we were cranky and ready for some eats. I'm going to go ahead and give a shout out to this little restaurant. It's worth getting off the highway a little bit and way better than anything fast food can dish up.  

3. We got off of I-84 three times. At the start of our trip we decided on OR 26 East through Mt. Hood, down toward Madras, Prineville, and Prairie City toward Ontario, OR. On this route we were able to see the Painted Hills, John Day Fossil Beds National Monument, Ochoco and Strawberry Mountains. 

Pickle's Place, Arco, Idaho

Serendipity Atomic Days

On the return trip we took ID 26 west through Atomic City, Arco, and Craters of the Moon National Monument. Atomic City was going to be the pinnacle city of the nuclear age, with a reactor destined to be located here. Alas, that didn't happen, and now it only has a population of about 25. Down the road is the Idaho National Laboratory, kind of creepy. We decided on Arco for lunch, and it was crazy busy in Pickle's Place. When we asked, the waitress resignedly informed us that it was Atomic Days Weekend. Boy weren't we lucky! Fifty-seven years ago, Arco was the first city EVER to be lit by nuclear energy. And we made it for the celebration weekend. How perfect is that? 

Columbia River Gorge from WA 14 

Sunset on I-84

The final off-highway action was WA 14, which is on the north side of the Columbia River Gorge. The views are so spectacular that I almost always am unable to take any photos. It's just too much, really. We also let the gas dip below a quarter tank, and we had to coast into the Dalles on fumes. We had .46 gallons left. That's the risk you take when you're on scenic byways. 

4. Play games we did. We started off the trip taking the temperature, time, and location of our vehicle. It ranged between 7:00 AM and 11:00 PM, 57 and 106 degrees. We ended up adding elevation as well. If I get really dorky, I'll put some statistics together for you. We also played the license plate game, finding 26 states. That's more than half! Finally, and I owe this one to Mr. Wallace, we played his simple Roadkill Game. Oh man, this cracked me up:

Count the dead possums, armadillos, deer, raccoons, birds, snakes, and frogs, whether they're smashed flat on the faded white lane-dividing line or unceremoniously shoved to the shoulder. The first to a hundred wins.

We only made it 27, but it's not Mississippi.

5. "The road she ends up taking is as much a surprise to her as it is to us." We took some great chances on our route; it was hilarious, tragic, contemplative and harrowing. What a ride. This post is dedicated to Michael Felcher and his marvelous life and stories.

The road to Montpelier, Idaho