My Garden

The bags arrived a day later to many high fives and squeals of delight. With them, came my stash of herb seeds. I did not waste any time cultivating my garden. Happiness with dreams of basil pesto in the near future. 

Bizarre Travels

Addysen laughed.

 

After eating breakfast, taking final photos, relishing the final moments of enjoying each others company knowing that tearful farewells were at hand, Mike prayed that connections would be made, bags would arrive and safe travels would be had. 

 Addysen laughed.

Our San Francisco connection was tight due to a delayed departure from Portland, yet our planes were four parking spaces apart at the terminal. Sighing with relief, we made last minute phone calls and exchanged boarding passes. Our time stateside had come to a close. It was the end of a whirlwind yet refreshing summer, and our excitement and anticipation to return to China was building. 

"There aren't many people getting on the plane," I remarked to Zach as we walked through the holding area to board the plane. 

Upon entering the plane, we quickly learned why that was the case. It was the oldest (and smallest international) plane either one of us had ever been on for any trip. We have flown a lot and it was shocking. There were ashtrays everywhere and it was projector style TVs. It kept getting better as the intercoms did not work, we do not recall a safety video being shown pre-take off and I really think we had the newest batch of flight crew graduates. They reminded me of four year olds running around on a soccer field--clumpy and disorganized. Plus, they giggled like high school girls. We considered it a success that meals were actually served. It was a bare bones experience, such a contrast from our incoming stateside flight with top notch technology and a stellar flight crew. As for the actual plane, we never worry about actually crashing but on this flight, the groans and creaks during take off made us glance at each other and say farewells.  

Our arrival in Beijing was highly anticipated as we were going to spend the night with a great friend, Christy, during our thirteen hour layover. Baggage claim had a fantastic welcome-to-China planned--no bags. Zach's initial response shall stay untyped. The battle of the unknown began. We about fainted when the attendant asked us to write down the contents of our bags. He nearly spazzed as the list kept growing, eventually telling us that it was OK and taking the paper. With all paperwork completed, two hours after landing, we headed to Christy. The upside to the situation was that we did not have bags to lug around Beijing. 

Time with Christy was worth all the heartache. She is a great friend and we loved our time with her. Sadly, we just could not stay up as long as we wanted for our bodies were exhausted. 

Four o'clock in the morning came early. On the uncommonly quiet streets of Beijing, we hailed a taxi, bound once again for the airport. Still, no bags. 

Zhanjiang greeted us with her oppressive heat, soaring palm trees and miles of rice paddies. It was good to be back, sans bags. I am sure Addysen is still laughing.

Little Timbers

Besides some quirky habits and a few catchphrases, we love that our lasting legacy with Kaden has been the love of soccer. He is a fanatic and during our time stateside we have spent a lot of time fostering and nurturing that love. As our last adventure with the half pint, we took him to a Little Timbers party and the following Timbers Reserve game.

As much as Kaden enjoyed meeting some of the players, as well as Timber Joey, his excitement and delight of being on the pitch was the highlight. Side by side, the boys walked barefoot across the revered ground, commentating as to how it felt, why it felt such a way, would the Timbers win that night, etc. Their conversation turned into an impromptu match upon nearing the kid-size goal. After a significant warm up time, they maneuvered to the big goal. 

We had to vacate the stadium in order for it to be prepped for the game, so we took the time to grab some Hot Lips pizza and meet up with the Labrums.

Kaden was enthralled, Landin was bored. It was so funny to see the difference and even to have Kaden tell Landin to sit still during the game (to which Mike probably agreed.) The game ended with the Timbers losing, but it was a great last Portland hurray with friends. Plus, Kaden told us we had to go back to China in order to buy more soccer jerseys for him. I like his priorities.  
 

Third Time is a Charm

The sounds of the night rustled around me. A croak of a frog. The whispers of an unknown creature in the underbrush. The rippling brook a constant escort. The millions of stars above, a majestic canopy. It was a solitude that to some would be unnerving; to me, comforting. Somewhere deep within the Cascadia mountains, on a night where the ethereal beauty of my surroundings is beyond description, I plodded mile after mile as part of the annual Portland to Coast (PTC).

As I trudged alongside the elk reserve, alit with faint moonlight and shrouded with mist, I could not help but faintly chuckle as I remembered my quick inclusion into one of the greatest events held in Oregon.

It began with an email labeled “we need you.” My former team, Josie and the Pussycats, was unexpectedly down a walker and needed someone. After trading emails to and fro to hammer out logistics, I agreed to join the mayhem once again. There is nothing quite like agreeing to a gigantic feat, knowing that no training will be a hindrance and a catalyst for pain compounded with the fact that 48 hours later I would be on a plane bound for the other side of the world. Sometimes seizing the moment borders insanity.

Though team members have come and gone through the years, there was enough of a core group that past sagas and comedic hilarities could be rehashed and retold, all while new mishaps and one-liners could be concocted. Some stand the test of time, while others are bantered throughout the event as to their importance or context.

This year I was in van one, which meant we stood beneath the Hawthorne Bridge at 2:45am, awaiting a 3:15am start. During my first leg, I watched the sunrise as I passed the Saint Johns Bridge, followed by a piece of encouragement from a local business.

By eleven, van one had completed our section. The entire morning, Josie and Lindsey, had been raving about a café in Vernonia that they had stumbled upon years ago, which had won their stomach and PTC pit stop loyalty. Within the blue walls, I agreed with their assessment as I gobbled a vegetarian gyro.

Looking back, our bane for the event was sleeping. During our first extended break, we had misread the handbook and ended up at the wrong rest exchange. After a shift of location, we settled for a bit of down time to the symphonic snoring of one of our teammates. Hours later, after our second leg was completed around 2am, we would spend two and a half hours seeking sleep. Initially a hotel room was sought (which I have no idea why some in the van thought that was a plausible option on such a weekend and had voiced that thought), then we settled at a middle school in Seaside, where we had been told to sleep until it opened at 6:30am for showers. Alongside six or seven other vehicles, we settled, only to be disrupted by a policeman enforcing the no public sleeping mandate. Harsh words were spoken by all parties involved, and the cop genuinely felt sorry that the organizers and city had not cooperated in the matter. The team had rented a condo in Rockaway Beach, but initially had not wanted to drive all the way there only to turn around and return for the 8am finish by van two. As all options vanished, at 3:45am we made our way south on 101. We arrived and promptly fell asleep at 4:30am with alarms set for 6am.

Awoken by a shrouded sunrise to a beach view was worth the lack the sleep. We arrived in Seaside in time for our team’s finish and celebrated together over breakfast. It was a picturesque day on the coast; a true gem.

By event’s end, I had walked seventeen miles, laughed until my sides hurt, been surprised and awed of walking alongside a fawn in the dead of night, acquired three new blisters and was extremely excited that for the third time, I had survived Portland to Coast. 

Portland Tram

The typical Portlandesque repulsion to change was tangled within its planning and implementation. Oregonians love to tote their sustainable practices, but getting past the stifling attitude that such things should not be in “my” neighborhood is abhorred. Nonetheless, the tram was built to give a means of transportation between the waterfront and OHSU, aka Pill Hill. For employees, it is an easily accessible means to descend the hill without the windy, trafficky roads. For everyone else, it is futuristic capsule that provides amazing views of the Portland area. Neither of us had been on it, and (for the fun of it) became a Portland to-do item.

Joined by two amazing friends, TD and April, we took an afternoon to enjoy food carts, sightseeing and acting very Chinese (meaning peace signs abounded.) There are no grand tales to tell for it was just a charming afternoon with friends doing something weird and fun.