Thankful for mushrooming, Part II

First, let me wish everyone who celebrates it a very Happy Thanksgiving today. Of course, each of us can find some one thing, or hopefully many things, to be thankful for every single day.

This is the next mushroom that I found right after the boys got me atop that steep, soft bank--Leland behind, giving me a boost, Lamont ahead, holding onto my hands and pulling. Too bad we didn't have one more person along to take that photo! Two chanterelles glow among the duff, which is the partly decayed organic matter on the forest floor, according to Merriam-Webster OnLine. Those are my fingers and the Gerber knife that Leland let me use for our mushroom hunt.


Isn't it amazing that such golden-sunshine-color could appear deep in the forest floor, at a spot where the rays touch only softly?

The guys found a few, too, and stopped to pose for me with the woods in the background. You can get an idea of one kind of terrain we covered in this photo. And when you see subsequent photos of the baskets, you'll get an idea of the bounty we harvested. Oh, by the way, I imagine that right after I took this photo, I asked Lamont once again, "Are you sure you know where the car is?" Every time his answer was the same, "Yes, Mom, I know where the car is." I promised I only asked about four times in three hours.

A critter Lamont saw.

Lamont's explaining where he's found mushrooms before, processing that information and deciding which way we should go next.

The guys never got too far in front of me. Even if it looks like they're not paying attention in this photo, they constantly turned to check on me or stopped when I said, "I see one!" just to make sure I was OK.

We saw other mushrooms, inedible ones, like this coral one.

And this black one.

While this shot is blurry, I wanted to include it so that you could see what I meant about chanterelles among the knee-high-evergreen-thickets. How Lamont found these amazes me. He's holding back the greenery so you can see where the chanterells grow. I'm standing on duff which often shifted with my weight and made me move just as I snap the photo.

One of the neat things about chanterelles is that when you find one, you just might find more. I know, the mushrooms don't show up very well here--too much light reflected off them, but you can see what I mean about finding more than you originally expected. And you can tell through all of these photos that we were not being rained on--hooray! Just a mist every once in a while, or lots of big drops if the wind blew through the woods.

Yes, I managed to make my way over fallen, moss-covered logs, sometimes all on my own, sometimes with the aid of one or both sons. Like the song says, "I had the time of my life!"

Lamont demonstrated how you can tell a real chanterelle from a fake one. When you peel about the top layer and you see white, you've got a real one; if you see the golden color, you've got a fake one.

Look at the size of these, in relation to Leland's hand!

Leland gently harvests these really big ones.

See what I mean?


I have to stop now to get dressed to go to the guys' house for Thanksgiving lunch. I'll finish the thankful-for-mushrooming soon!

Thankful for mushrooming, Part I

I set my alarm, got up real early, ate my oatmeal and looked out the windows for rain. I even watched the early Saturday morning weather on KGW, Channel 8, the NBC affiliate. The more I looked and watched and pondered, the better I felt our chances were of not getting drenched like the forecast on Monday night had made it sound.

Nevertheless, I decided to err on the side of preparation, as in that saying, Success is 90% preparation and 10% perspiration. At least I think that's a saying? Y'all help me out if I'm way off base, please. And I decided to document my preparation.

First, here's a close-up of my positive attitude, something I strive to take with me everywhere, every day.

In this photo you see my Los Lonely Boys hat, the short-sleeved black Dale Earnhardt memorial T-shirt, my Nikon D50, plus my pine green Helly Hansen raincoat underneath my navy blue Marmot raincoat. I'm sitting on the side of our bathtub; we're lucky to have a full-length mirror on the door, on the side that faces the dressing room attached to the bathroom.

I'm so glad I could show you the black rubber boots! Those gray pants, tucked into my boots, are some old knit ones that I wouldn't be concerned with in the brambles Lamont had mentioned to me. Underneath them I'm wearing a pair of lightweight cotton knit full-length pants. My extra clothes are in that white plastic bag. My extra camera battery, wallet and coin purse rested in one pocket, my cell phone, keys, and bus pass in the other--I hardly ever leave home without my bus pass, more of that 90% preparation.

About 45 minutes after I got all my layers on, the guys drove up in Lamont's car. Leland's riding shotgun. And I just noticed something as I looked at this photo in its largest size at Flickr--he's seen me waiting on the steps and has a great big ol' grin on his face! By the time I walked down the steps, he'd moved from the front seat into the back, leaving the front seat for me. I had my motion-sickness-bracelets on already--they'd help me if we ended up anywhere steep or high or cliff-edge-like.

Lamont gave me a grin, too, as I struggled with my seat belt, just like Mama and Lucy had done on the Monday he'd driven us through the Columbia Gorge. "It begins," he said with mock solemnity before breaking out in this grin that I captured with my camera.

Then I held the camera up to my shoulder, pointed it at Leland and snapped.

As we headed out of the city, we met a MAX as we approached the Vista Bridge.

I couldn't get my camera on and focused quick enough to get any of the gliders, but I did get the sign and the tip of a wing, on the right side of the photo. For reasons I cannot explain nor do I understand, the thought of riding in a glider appeals to me. And Lamont said the same thing, almost in the same words, as we went by on the highway. Not too long after taking this photo, I asked, "Am I going to get to go to the bathroom one more time before we go into the woods?" Thank goodness, the answer was yes. We stopped at a Dairy Queen where Leland grabbed some breakfast--he's notorious for not eating breakfast, so I was thrilled to see this development.

We rolled off the highway onto this wooded dirt road. As we drove along for a few minutes, going around a curved incline, I looked around and commented, "This isn't flat, Lamont." His reply, "I never said it was, Mom." He's right. I'd been fooled by some documentary about hunting mushrooms in Europe into thinking we'd be in a wooded area which gently sloped from point to point.

The guys changed shoes, part of their preparation.


Our three mushrooming baskets, all purchased at the local Goodwill--we support Goodwill and its service to our community.

Leland's putting on his gaiters which ought to keep his lower legs somewhat dry as well as protect them from brambles and briars.

Lamont's explaining where and how wet he's been at the end of other mushroom hunts because he didn't take his gaiters.

While the guys finished getting ready, I noticed this tree trunk. It's like an abandoned old building that's been remodeled, don't you think? I mean, look at all of the little trees growing out of it!

His entire life, Leland hasn't been able to resist a puddle--he stomped through three in no time!

Just before we set out, the guys posed for me, holding their empty baskets. I stood there, looking at them through the camera, thinking, "I'm the luckiest woman in the world" and "Their Daddy would be so proud!"

We began our search by turning left at the end of the long on the left.

As we walked along, Lamont began to explain to the two of us where to look for the chanterelles, near tree trunks, fallen logs, among knee-high-evergreen-thickets and huge, robust ferns. I walked along, watching first the ground where we walked, then the steep earthen bank we walked beside, on the right. In a split second, I saw a flash of gold and interrupted my darlin' firstborn son, pointing: "Is that one right there?" He looked where I pointed and said, "It sure is!" Chuckling in awed disbelief, Lamont sort of crowed, "Mom found the first one! Nobody's gonna believe this! Mom found the first one." What a moment! What a memory!

See the beauty hiding in the ferns? Being only around 5'4" I couldn't hold the camera high enough to get a better shot, but I sort of like how this looks, cropped to find the mushroom in the fronds, just about dead center in the photo.

Leland scurried up the bank, quickly joined by his brother. The chanterelle is straight down from Leland's right elbow in this shot.

The two of them inspected the mushroom, Lamont pointing out how to cut it from the earth, at the stem, leaving its roots in place. Leland's reaching for his knife.

Leland cut his first chanterelle under the watchful eyes of his older brother. Once again, what a moment, what a memory, for all three of us.

Lamont's grin is in response to my, "Can I make it up there?" The both answered, "Yes," with no hesitation. And between the three of us, we got me atop that bank and our trek in the real woods began.

Before I stop for this post, the initial chanterelles of many, many more to come.

More tomorrow--I'm watching the Barbara Walters' interview of the Obamas.

Thankful for the memories

Two weeks ago last evening, I called Lamont from the bus stop and asked what he was going to do the next day. Specifically, "Are you going mushrooming?" He said he might be, that Leland would be off from school due to Veterans Day, and they had talked about going hiking or mushrooming.

"Why?" he asked. "If you go mushrooming, I want to go," I replied. Incredulous, he started to chuckle. "You do?" he asked. Yes, I told him, and went on to say that I'd wanted to go ever since the first time he went, years ago with Andy who used to be sous chef at the restaurant--I was still in Mississippi then, but I found the idea of hunting and finding mushrooms intriguing. "So," I said, "y'all decide what you're gonna do and let me know." Still chuckling, Lamont said, "OK. We'll call you later." I had to know why he kept laughing, of course, so before we said good-bye, I asked. He explained, "Mom, it's the mental image of you in the woods." He couldn't help himself, and I knew without a doubt that he wasn't laughing at me.

A couple of hours later he called and said they'd pick me up the next morning around 9:30 a.m., that he'd made tuna salad and would make us each a roll-up with a flour tortilla, and that Leland had made Chex party mix, so we could have a picnic, too. Neat. "I'll make chocolate chip cookies; I've got that Tollhouse break-a-part cookie package in the frig." He thought that sounded like a good idea and said they'd call me the next morning to let me know when they were getting close to the apartment. Then he said, "You're gonna get wet, Mom, so bring some extra clothes, OK?" I told him I'd wear my black rubber boots with my pants tucked into them, a hat, my raincoat, and I'd bring some dry clothes, too.

Thrilled but a bit apprehensive at the thought of my old self in the woods, likely to be slippery what with rain forecast, but certain that my two sons wouldn't let anything bad happen to me, I told Mama what the three of us had planned. "Oh, I'm afraid the weather will keep you from going," she said, looking up from her crossword puzzle book, "but I hope it doesn't." "Me, too," I said. Then I headed for the kitchen. Imagine my joy when I read the sentence below! Naturally, I had to grab the camera to document it and the baking of cookies.

I have wonderful memories of Toll House cookies I first ate in the summer of 1972, in Kansas City, Missouri. My then-boy-friend LeRoy often made them, from scratch of course, just like he did with tacos, burritos, biscuits, omelettes, potato soup, pizza, sangria--you get the idea. I know I ought to be ashamed, baking these store-bought cookies, and if I'd thought of this sooner, I would have bought the ingredients and made my two sons scratch Toll House cookies. At this point, expediency ruled.




Mama and I ate a few cookies while they were still warm, with some of our lactose-free Breyers vanilla ice cream--what a treat!

Tomorrow, we go mushrooming!

A gal's gotta have some nourishment ...

...so why not mix it with a libation?

Last Thursday evening, Marsha, my friend from work, and I made plans to attend a 7:30 p.m. book event at Powells Books. After a full day's work, the two of us knew we had best eat something before going to Powells. I suggested the Doug Fir, the same place I'd been two weeks earlier with Mama and Lucy. Those yummy fish and chips were calling to me, loud and clear.

We left work at 5 p.m., and after a slightly rainy, short, with only one transfer, bus ride, we walked into the glass door on the side of the Doug Fir only to find out that my Mississippi buddy Chris Cooley came to work the restaurant-side bar at 6 p.m.

What to do? What to do?

Then I noticed Joey Lawrence at the bar-side bar. He grinned at me as I said, "Hi, Joey. Do you know who I am?" "Yes," he said slowly, "I thought I knew that face, but I couldn't say for sure. The hat threw me off. And haven't you changed the color of your hair?" Observant young man, my buddy Joey Lawrence--he noticed my Los Lonely Boys hat and the leftover color from my last highlighting at Bella Tocca. OK. I'll quit stringing you along. This Joey Lawrence is a Portland bartender, not the child TV actor who grew up to do pretty well on "Dancing With the Stars." When I first met him at the Doug Fir, with Lamont in March, 2006, on the last visit Mama and I made to Portland before moving here that June, I discovered that he makes a mighty fine rum and cherry Coke.

We decided to be seated by the windows that overlook E. Burnside so that we could order our food; I knew that before we left we could join Chris at the bar for a visit, too. So, I ordered a rum and cherry Coke, telling our waitress to say, "It's for Lamont's mother," to Joey. I figured it would go very well with our appetizer, a plate of giant onion rings, as well as the fish and chips.

I love that photo, but it just didn't do justice to the onion rings, so I took one more. Joey came by for a moment to check on the drink. "Divine," I cried.


You'd think with those crunchy, sweet onion rings and that ice cold libation, I'd have tempered my hunger somewhat. Maybe remember to take a photo of the fish and chips I've been going on and on about? Nope. Marsha and I dove right in, dividing the single dish between the two of us--three flaky halibut fillets and a mound of crispy fries. Nary a thought of camera or photograph passed through my mind as each morsel of fried food passed through my lips! Marsha and I finished eating and visited with Chris at the bar and had one more libation before leaving for Powells.

Now, a bit about the book event. Local author Laura O. Foster entertained us, reading from her new book "Portland City Walks" and showing intriguing slides, too. I found this at Powells' Web site:

Publisher Comments:
From the inspired creator of the beloved "Portland Hill Walks," comes a rich collection of twenty eye-opening walks exploring the backstreets and back stories of the neighborhoods of Portland and five nearby towns. Laura Foster's new walking routes are easy-to-follow, self-guided, accessible by public transportation, and include plenty of snacks and offbeat treasures along the way. From Goose Hollow to Garden Home, Laurelhurst to Lake Oswego, Forest Grove to Vancouver, walks range in length from 2 to 6 miles, with alternate loops for flexibility. Want to explore architecture and engineering? Walks include a centuries-old farmhouse nestled in a city neighborhood and a track made from 20,000 Nike athletic shoes. Interested in the stories of historic Portland businesses? Walks include fun facts about Captain John Couch, William Lair Hill, Fred Meyer, Guy Carr, and Michael Powell. Portland City Walkslets readers peel back the layers of history as they walk the stories of a city's neighborhoods and experience its joys as never before.

And here's what I found about her other book that I bought and got signed that evening:

Publisher Comments:
"Portland Hill Walks" is no ordinary guidebook. No restaurant ratings, no rehashed explanations of how the city got its name. Instead, in twenty meandering, view-studded strolls from forested canyons to cityscape peaks, this lively travelogue answers questions you may never have thought to ask, such as:

* What street used to be a row of floating homes?
* What eastside peak, with its "healthful air," was home to tuberculosis sanatoriums?
* What happened to the lake in Guilds Lake?
* What Portlander modeled swimwear in the U.S. Senate?

Explore the city's streets, stairs, trails, and hidden passageways to discover the stories and spirit of a town rated among the country's most livable places.

My plan is to go on these walks and take photos so that I can share all of what I see and learn with y'all. I don't have a timetable, but I will begin in 2008 and finish in 2009--I've made that promise to myself.

Getting ready for Christmas in Portland's living room

As the MAX train I was on pulled to a stop on Nov. 15, I got this shot of Portland's Christmas Tree. Workers had it upright and ready for plumping and shaping. Trimmed branches encircled the tree's base. I wonder if the man in the bucket is trimming or attaching?

After the free "tour" of the Central Library's new eco-roof (more about that on another post), I walked back to Pioneer Square to take more photos of the process.


This fellow explained and demonstrated how to make the branch into an attachment.

You can tell from this direction just how much plumping and shaping will make a beautiful sight for everyone to enjoy once the light switch is thrown Friday night after Thanksgiving.

Here's a close-up of the trunk. I cannot remember for sure, but it seems to me that the trunk is surrounded by a base that doesn't allow the public to get to the branches. By "get to the branches," I mean touch them and/or mess with the lights. I'll have to look at last year's photos to know for sure.

This shot was taken from almost the same spot as the first one, but I was standing in the square instead of on the MAX.


I looked back to Nov. 24, 2007, and found out that my memory still works! You can see the base in this photo of the unlit tree.

And a bit of it at the bottom of this photo of the lit tree.


Good Lord willin' and the creek don't rise, I plan to attend the lighting again this year, for my third time which is all of my Thanksgivings in Portland.