Spring is a lovely season, full of flowers and briskness and things growing. My only beef with spring is that it goes by way too fast. Nascar has nothing on spring. I’ve scarcely had a chance to see that the plum tree in my backyard is budding:
When WHAM!! It is in full flower and starting to drop petals like faux snow.
1 Comment Portland, Oregon, is a place of moderate weather. The sun shines, the rain falls*, the mercury does a comfortable balancing act. Sweaters? Sure. Full-on snowsuits? Nah! If “A Christmas Story” had been set in Portland, Flick would have been able to lick all the flagpoles he wanted with no ill effects**.
The past few days, however, have been very very cold for Portland. Beautifully sunny, but cold cold cold.
I tried to dig up a carrot, to no avail. The ground was frozen solid. But the frost outlined the carrot leaves in a very attractive way.
Dec 1, 2009 
I’ve bought a house. A small bungalow built in 1926 that is the perfect size for me, my husband, and our future English Bulldog, Rondo (who does not yet exist, but is to be named after the point guard of the Celtics). And now that I am an official homeowner, I no longer have any reason not to garden. Especially considering the yard I’ve inherited.
One or both of the prior owners clearly enjoyed a little digging in soil. The front yard is a great mix of a tiny patch of grass, a few tufts of native ornamental grasses, several colorful perennials (roses, bleeding hearts, dahlias, and stuff I don’t know the name of), succulents, and herbs. 
I think I’m going to maintain much of what is already there, through I’d like to pull up a few of the grasses to make room for more succulents and I’d like to replace one side of the grass with a raised bed.
The backyard is where I plan to change the most. Though it is beautiful, I think it’s a little overplanted.
I’d like to remove several things to make room for a new raised bed. I’m also planning on taking out the water feature—I am never relaxed or peaceful enough to appreciate a calming flow of water. And, I think the rain in Portland is more than enough. There is already a wonderful area full of peppers, tomatoes, beans, corn, and more veggies that I am going to leave alone (and hopefully not kill). 
We also have a cold box that is currently occupied by weeds. I don’t know what we’ll put in it yet, but I was thinking lettuces or maybe a few herbs.
I’m going to do my best to document the trials of my first garden. I promise to share the good and the bad and everything that happens in between. Lucky for me, I have access to the full Timber Press library to gather information from along the way…
P.S. These pictures were obviously not taken this month. If they were taken this month they would much more barren, much less green, and — thanks to a little Holiday weekend yard work — much more cut back.
It’s moss season in the Pacific Northwest. Moss grows on roofs, in parks, on streets, in pavement cracks, on my lawn. Moss gets greener and greener the grayer the day, the harder the rain. Moss makes my backyard springy and cushy, as if I’m walking on an outdoor mattress.
And, if I am very, very lucky, moss will grow in the shape of a frog.
Fall is a contradictory season. On the one hand, leaves are dying off and falling, the summer sunshine and warmth are retreating, daylight hours are dwindling. My neighbors’ yards do not look particularly handsome these days; rather, they have a droopy and soggy quality about them, and most of the colorful blooms have gone away. But on the other hand, it seems that the world has never felt so beautiful. The air is sharp and fresh, and the rain has rarely smelled so comforting.
I’m realizing that autumn brings with it a paradigm shift from “individual” to “corporate” beauty. Color is found not in what we tend delicately with our hands, but in larger, wilder things: trees, wind, furious flurries of dead leaves, sunsets, and paint-by-number hillsides rising behind the city. My neighborhood as a whole screams, “Fall is here,” as it is collectively covered in a frosting of orange and yellow and red. The season is like a Monet painting: we have to let go and step back to see how all the small pieces of apparent chaos are actually vibrant paint smears on the glorious canvas of fall.
On a personal level, this season seems to be mirroring my life in a state of transition. I’ve just completed the process of moving from one side of the Willamette River to the other. Last week, boxes were scattered across the house, countless amounts of telephone calls were made to utility companies, maintenance people, rental agents, and house painters. But in spite of all the bedlam, that transition carried with it a wonderful promise of things to come. Now, as my life is settling down slightly, nothing seems more perfect than curling up in our rocking chair on our new front porch with a mug of hot apple cider, watching the season complete its own untidy shift into a new phase of life.
And who doesn’t love hot choco
late or spiced apple cider? Finding an orange leaf that somehow managed to sneak into the hood of my coat? Or the sight of cats lounging on top of cars, absorbing the last remnants of engine heat.
The transition from one way of life to another, however fleeting it might be, deserves a round of applause. Congratulations, world! You’ve done it again! And this time, more beautifully than ever.
Timber Press attended the FarWest show in Portland, August 20-22. It’s amazing how convention centers are transformed during nursery trade shows. The floors are covered with carpeting, and there are plants everywhere. The florescent lighting helps you remember that you are indoors, but beyond that, there are trees and grasses and flowers, oh my!
We spent most of our time at our booth, ringing up purchases and testing our knowledge of our books.
(In real life, our sign did not reflect that much glare. Yet another example of life not imitating art.)
During a slow period Saturday afternoon, Kathryn and I went into the show to check it out.
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Aug 20, 2009 
The Pacific Golden Chanterelle, or Cantharellus formosus if you’d prefer, is one of the most commonly foraged mushrooms. They are easy to find in the moister parts of Pacific Northwest and in season from early summer until late fall. If you are planning a weekend foraging trip, find a few to make this recipe.
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Jul 17, 2009 
I was reading through Mushrooms of the Pacific Northwest today while working on a review copy mailing. I don’t really know a lot about mushrooms — I have never been foraging and I don’t like them in my food — but I do know that it is an immensely popular activity in the Pacific Northwest. After reading through the introduction, I had a general sense of what mushrooms are, where you can find them, general guidelines for collecting, and how to avoid getting poisoned. I actually feel like I could do this (with some guidance)!
So, with safety in mind, a few tips on how not to get poisoned while out foraging for mushrooms.
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Though most of our titles sit on the gardening shelf, we also publish books about the Pacific Northwest. How could we not? We’re surrounded by such natural beauty and history it would be a waste not to celebrate it. Most of our regional titles are based around outdoor activities: hiking, city walks, mushroom foraging, and month-by-month adventures. In a city where the weather is fantastically sunny for only four months, every extra bit of summer needs to be taken advantage of. Off early on Friday? Take a walk around the waterfront. Up early Saturday morning? Pick a new hike in Forest Park.
Unfortunately, the weather today is grey and overcast. But the weekend forecast shows lots of sun. Here’s one way to enjoy it, from The Willamette River Field Guide, by Travis Williams:
Oaks Bottom Wildlife Refuge via the Springwater Corridor
The Springwater Corridor is a wonderful bike and pedestrian path that runs along the Willamette River from the Sellwood Bridge to OMSI, just north of the Ross Island Bridge. The wide paved trail is designed to accommodate walkers, joggers, hikers, bicycles, wheelchairs, and strollers. The path follows parts of the Springwater Railroad Line, which ran between downtown Portland and Estacada from 1903 to 1958. North of Sellwood Park, the trail winds past the 163-acre Oaks Bottom Wildlife Refuge, a wetland habitat and a great place for birding.
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