A Time To Notice

I think when the wild sees you pick up a shovel or a rake it relaxes a little bit, lets the hair down. I was raking leaves a couple days ago and looked up. It was a rare pale blue November day. Drifting on the thermals right overhead were two bald eagles. I have not seen a single eagle from our property since moving there almost two and a half years ago. And here were two, not flying over but tacking back and forth across the sky. A herd of crows hung with them, not even really badgering them, just monitoring their activity. They stayed for a few minutes before allowing the current to pull them over the valley. For a split second I wondered if they would take an interest in the goats. Mostly because I think it's ridiculous how small those goats are. But the goats didn't seem to think there was a threat. They continued pillaging the previously landscaped section of yard by the garage. When I first moved in the "dentist shrubs", as Jackie calls them, all found themselves chainsawed up and on fire. But, since, I have done nothing to the area they previously inhabited. Which makes it perfect goat grazing. Those goats are quite the trio. We had an episode that will probably come back to haunt me here shortly but seems worth the irony. We have had a mild dispute with our neighbor regarding our dogs barking. I pride myself on being a thoughtful and courteous and respectful person but the way it all went down left me feeling pretty frustrated. Regardless of how I felt about the way the situation was handled I did want to do my duty as a neighbor and make sure our dogs are not allowed out when we are away from the house. Unfortunately, the main form of communication with my neighbor is via text. A few months ago I downgraded my phone plan to no longer receive picture messages. Every once in a while I receive a text from a generic number telling me someone tried to send me multimedia mail and it was rejected. I assume if it's important they will call. Thus far no one has called. Anyway, I got one of those yesterday. Jackie was also home and had a failed text delivery as well (her phone does not work at our house due to ATT taking some towers down a couple months ago). So neither of us can read the text but from her phone we know our neighbor send us something. We figure if it's important she'll give us a call. Later that afternoon we go down the driveway to get the mail. It's not raining. It's almost sunny out even. So we decide to bring the dogs. And the goats. We head out for the shy mile walk with one dog leashed since she likes to run off through the Christmas trees and three dogs and three goats on their own. Everyone is very into it. The goats sort of move like those carnival horse racing games you need to move by rolling that cue ball into the correct hole, hurky jerky. Katie is three months pregnant and waddles very fast for a critter that is as wide as she is tall. Sass likes to erupt forward and upward and work on her lateral game. Calli is new to the group and unsure about much except not wanting to be left. Oddly, the walk was going well considering the situation we had set up for ourselves. This very clean red Toyota Yaris started heading down the driveway. It's always exciting to see a new car on the driveway so we hustle our herd off the road and politely stand aside for this visitor. It's a long-haired thin man driving and gal in the passenger seat. They look early thirties, very Portland. He smiles like a lemon slice and tells us, "Nice flock!" and keeps on driving. Jackie and I look at each other, chuckle and keep on down the road. Except another car comes, this time a white SUV, so we pull off again (which is a little bit of a process with 28 furry legs to divert) but the SUV turns around early and the Yaris turns around at the T where our driveway begins. They pass us again, still grinning, windows rolled down. And it dawns on me that they are looking at our neighbor's property. The SUV must be the realtor. Our last conversation with the neighbors went something like it was our fault their house didn't sell last time because our dogs were barking and they wanted peace and quite out in the country like we all do. (regardless of the fact that I have never heard our dogs bark wildly when I have been home and our house is almost a half mile (as the crow flies) from our neighbor's house). So, she blamed us for her house not selling. It's been listed since before I moved in. Anyway, so here's another interested buyer. And here we are walking half a barnyard down the driveway. This is the first ever goat-to-the-mailbox walk but Portlandia must think this is the 3pm drill out in this part of these thar hills. They get back to the road, presumeably to check out the house, and we continue. About 100' from the road I stop, hoping the goats will stay with me while Jackie keeps going to the mailbox. Two do. Calli, ever confused about the notion of this whole walk thing, trots toward Jackie, stops, looks back, bleats like I have never head a goat bleat, takes a couple steps towards me, Bleats, looks back to Jackie, BLeats, to me, BLEats, Jackie, BLEAts, me, BLEATs, Jackie, BLEATS, me, BLEATS! All this and now we are no half mile from their house but a mere hundred yards. It takes Jackie about a minute to check the mail and get back but it is the loudest minute of the day. When she gets back, it quiets down, we continue back towards home. I tell her I think I know what that text said.

The Holidays

Halloween rolled on through last week. The wicked pace of the summer has not quite let up so Halloween's sudden appearance served as a reminder that these mellow fall days are fleeting and the darkness is just around the bend. It actually looks like it's already on us. Daylight savings fell back yesterday and it is a dreary dusk here by Forest Park at 4:30pm. It was one of the wettest Septembers and driest Octobers on record but, of course, those dry piles of leaves had to get soggy on Halloween. It didn't make the kids any less cute though. A bunch of little costumed nuggets darting around lamplit streets is one of the more warming fall sights. A fellow from work hit up one of the wealthier local neighborhoods and said the parents would offer full-size candy bars to the kids and beers to the adults (noted). The holidays are supposed to be that time machine that transports us all to a gentler, more innocent time. Back before you had to worry about razors in candy apples or gunmen in shopping malls. On Halloween Jackie and I went to see Carrie at the Clackamas Town Center. We were in the food court and I realized we were going the long way. Rather than walking through the wide open center we were hugging the sides like rats in a barn. Just last December a young man opened fire in that same food court, killing two strangers. Newtown followed three days later. It was four years ago that an Arkansas parolee shot pointblank four Lakewood police officers enjoying each others' company and a cup of coffee. That Halloween a Seattle police officer had been shot and killed in his parked police car. Two years ago, a house in Washougal burned and erupted in sprays of gunfire during a police shootout. Almost every corner of the country can claim in their history one of these mass shootings or a similar violent outburst.

Yesterday, an 88 year old man in Oregon City ran around his property with a gun as his house burned. He shot a local police officer who was transported to the hospital. It has just been released that he died of his wounds. The shooter was shot by the police.

Our times are still those times of old where the holidays are a time for family, warmth, hunkering down and slowing down. But, it's also a time of madness and violence. The headlines rage, fear and sorrow swallow communities, and then it is old news. We talk about the national debt, about our level of commitment to fights overseas, wether or not affordable health care should be mandated. But, we ignore these violent holidays. We skirt around the topic like so many rats in a barn.