We interrupt our regular programming...

Oh boy...

This week, I want to try something a bit different.

This post will be a bit...different. This change in content doesn't reflect the direction the blog is taking: I have many more adventures to discuss. Just yesterday I spent all day at Washington Park researching for at least two stories, and then experienced the peculiar insanity that is Salt and Straw. Believe me, I have far more traditional content coming down the pipeline in June. 

However, for many months now, I have felt a need to discuss matters more personal and serious to me. Allow me to step away, just for a moment, and discuss something that I am often hesitant to discuss. This one may not be your cup of tea. That's fine: if you chose not to read it, I will not be hurt. Next week, I will resume my normal subject matter and, God willing, a regular schedule. But I can't refrain from discussing this any longer.

So I decided to do something a bit different this week. I have done a number of editorials before, whether blatantly or otherwise, from a Christian perspective. I am a Christian myself, I profess to be one anyway, only God knows how successful I am at it. However I believe that is what draws me to Nature, and why most of the Kramer Paper's articles focus on the natural world: we can influence it, but it isn't our creation. It's God's. 

Still with me? Ok...

I guess in a way, I hope to bring glory to God, through discussing and sharing his creation, like its sheer existence does by itself. If I am called to glorify God in everything I do, then this blog should be no exception. It's clear that it doesn't have to involve blatant evangelism (which isn't the usual content of the Kramer Paper) but to things as mundane as eating and drinking. If eating a salad can glorify God, then surely writing about His creation can too. However, recently I have felt convicted: all this is good and fine, but not quite enough.

As I mentioned in the Tale of a Plum Tree, everything is temporary: everything. Our lives are short, and the life of the planet is limited as well. Perhaps it will all be here for another million years, perhaps not. But in a moment, it could all be destroyed. That plum tree, to me, was a symbol of this. It is a small example of something ending. God is mightier than the Colorado, and the Grand Canyon could crumble to sand at a moments notice with less effort than us chopping down a plum tree in full blossom. This whole planet, that we know and love, this whole universe, is finite and fragile from God's perspective. (There I go about scale again)

So what is my point?

We have a tendency, in this day and age, to worry about only what we can see, and we grow attached to it. We see the world around us, and we appreciate it, as we should. Or perhaps, we don't explore our surroundings. My passion for writing and sharing the world around me as I see it is one of the reason that I have continued the Kramer Paper far beyond the average lifespan of a normal childhood writing project. However, everything outside: the stars, the trees, the Grand Canyon, all of this is temporary.

Do we appreciate the creation, and neglect the creator? I feel that in a way, prior to writing this editorial, that is what the blog was doing. We are all guilty of this. Creation is beautiful, but it serves a finite purpose: to point to the creator. To help us appreciate God, and build and polish a relationship with him. In the end, that is what matters. I am normally very private about my faith, and struggle with it at times: we all do. However, I have to keep everything: even creation itself in perspective. And I would feel like I was letting Him down if I didn't say this at least once. -KP

One Particular Greenway

Crocuses blooming on the banks
of the Creek -S.K. Photo

Twins: a creek and a trail

     I call it "Church Creek," because of the church located nearby. The actual name of the creek remains a mystery despite a fair amount of digging on my part, but one map of the Fanno Creek Watershed describes a brook in the area named "Hiteon Creek." The small greenway that follows it cuts a diagonal across South Beaverton following the creek for just shy of a mile through a series of nicely wooded neighborhoods. What strikes me as odd, is that so few people seem to know about it. I mean, it's obvious that people do know it exists: I always meet locals on the path whenever I visit, but while at church one Sunday less than a mile away, I suggested we take a walk on the path, and no one know which path I was referring to.

The creek passes under city streets
in vintage-looking stone culverts
like this one. -S.K., Photo

     The path starts in a quiet neighborhood, near the underground spring where USGS maps claim the creek begins, somewhere under 135th Ave. The path and creek emerge next to each other in a small, ivy-covered ravine, and both begin to drift downgrade. As the progresses, the tree cover gets thicker, until the trail and its travelers are engulfed an a shady glen with branches overhanging the trail entirely. The black asphalt stretches out like a ribbon, and the creek burbles on to the side, visible in places through the tall grass that lines its banks, filled in places with water plants, and water striders navigate its surface.The pathway follows the creek to a T, cutting like a knife through neighborhoods, intersecting with streets, and cutting across cul-de-sacs when needed, forming trailheads at the larger intersections. Midway along its route, the maples and oaks shading the trail give way to towering cottonwoods, then conifers, and then, just as quickly as it began, the trail dead ends ten blocks west of where it began. The creek flows onward toward its mouth in Greenway Park, like the winner in some endless race. It's possible to follow the creek to the end, but it requires leaving the creek and pathway behind.

The path backs up to private yards
resulting in a fence lining the path
for much of its length. Note the
various fence styles. -S.K., Photo

So of all the greenways in Southwest Portland...

     ...what makes this one stand out? Everyone looks for something different when they leave the house for a walk. I have walked this trail so many times since I discovered it, that I consider it a sort of friend. It changes with the seasons. Winter brings heavy rain, the creek swells, culverts backup and the creek forms ponds. The leaves disappear and the creek is clearly visible from most parts of the trail. Spring brings new life, buds on every tree, mallards and wood ducks scoot along the small ponds formed by seasonal debris dams. Summer brings the tree cover, the creek disappears behind a wall of buttercups, grasses and blackberries. Neighborhoods and parklands become shady glens.Then autumn comes along, the leaves fall and form mats of color on what was crisp green grass. The rain begins to fall and soon we begin again.

The Creek flows past stands of alder
and throguh thick stands of tall grass.
The tree cover completely shades the
trail in places, resulting in a cool and
quiet walk. -S.K. Photo

     It's these scenes that make the trail stand out, despite its short length, and this is how to appreciate this small greenway's largely unknown beauty. Sit on a rock beside the creek, and watch as the creek flows out of vintage stone culverts and into its tiny canyon to continue its endless downhill run. Stop for a moment, and see bluebells or tulips bloom on muddy banks. Gaze across the creek at the shady parklands, abandoned flowerbeds and squirrels going about their day to day lives, oblivious of you. Stop, close your eyes, and listen to the quiet: the creek, wind in the trees, distant white noise that comes from city life. 

But that's just me.

     I think this tranquility is what draws me to it, and keeps me coming back. Church Creek is tranquil, but not lonely. If you have walked this path, perhaps you know what I mean. Or perhaps you feel I am overreacting? To each their own. Like I said, no two people see the same place the same way. However, if you haven't been there, don't take my word for it. Take a trip out to where Singletree meets New Forest, and crosses 135th. Walk the path all the way to the end, keep your eyes and ears open, and enjoy! Perhaps you will see nothing but an asphalt path, a few plants and a creek, and then depart having visited once. Or perhaps, like me, you will keep coming back to see what tomorrow brings. -KP

The S-curve near 130th Ave. -S.K., Photo

Recollections: The Fire Tower over Flagstaff

Mt. Elden as seen from the streets of Flagstaff. 
The mountain's two peaks are more obvious 

from this perspective. From the summit, they 

are linked by a saddle of sorts, and travel 

betweenthem is easy. -S. Kramer, Photo

Mysterious Mt. Elden

During my first trip to Flagstaff, I was feeling a bit under the weather, lonely and nervous. I had travelled into town with some coworkers who, it turned out, had used me for a ride to the nearest major city so that they could spend their paycheck. While waiting in the car, I noticed a prominent peak outside of town, with radio towers, and what I thought was a fire tower as well. I envisioned a story, in which a young person, weak and sickly, stumbled into town, and climbed the mountain so that she could spend her last days among the trees. Instead the ranger in the fire tower took her in, and she went on to save the city. This was just a story—one I never finished—and at the time I had never seen the top of the mountain. However, looking back, I think this fictional young person made a chose a good place to settle down.

Leaving the Desert Behind...

Looking across the summit to the lower ridge.
Flagstaff, and the forests surrounding it spread
out beneath the ridges like a shaggy green carpet

-S. Kramer, Photo

...and traveling south on US 89, the desert of the four corners gives way to Juniper scrubland, then towering forests of Ponderosa as the highway enters Flagstaff. Mt Elden towers 2,300 feet above the city, and so its forests are richer still, with aspens, Douglas Fir, and meadows of grass and wildflowers. One of the San Francisco Peaks, Mt. Eldon has a volcanic history, and at over 10,000 feet, its summit could scrape the clouds. 

For anyone who grows to love the forests of the Pacific Northwest, Page, Arizona is a lonely place: the desert had a charm of its own, but after a few months it dried out my soul, like the sun-bleached sticks on the shores of Lake Powell. The forests I found on top of the mountain were like a drink of fresh water, quenching the thirst of a lonely soul. And then there’s the intrigue of an unexplored mountaintop. I couldn’t stay away for long. My first stop on my next trip to Flagstaff, or “Flag” as some call it, was at the Visitor’s Center to get directions to the summit. I got these with little difficulty from a kind elderly gentleman, and after watching a few Chicago-bound freight trains charge through Flagstaff

The afternoon sun seen from within a grove
of aspens growing near the summit.

-S. Kramer, Photo

Access to the mountain is easy...

...along the aptly named “Elden Lookout Road” but finding this road is not easy: ending up on a private drive in a small country neighborhood is far easier. The road to the top—once it is found—offers a challenge in itself: a steep gravel forest service road, which twists and winds around ridges and ravines at grades exceeding 4%. Even driving an automatic, I had the truck in low gear in places. But those who reach the summit are rewarded. (The road is so narrow that the only option is to reach the summit, but the sentiment remains.)

The fire tower, and its garden of radio towers.
The fire tower can be accessed during some times
of the year, when rangers are stationed there.

-S. Kramer, Photo

         The forests on the summit of Mt. Elden, are quiet and largely empty. Stands of radio towers scatter the summit like gardens of steel, and a network of dirt roads wind to and fro along the mountainside, but aside from this, there are few disturbances, and you will encounter few people here. Those who you do meet go about their own business: empty pickups, footprints, and ruts of well-used roads are the only clues that you aren’t alone. On the side of the mountain facing Flagstaff, trees stand barren and silver, stripped of bark and life, after a wildfire in 1977, and leaving the meadow beneath them slowly recovering. The fire tower is accessible by another road, snaking up to the ridge to the summit, dividing groves of Aspen, from the dead and dried forest. The fire tower is accessible if it is occupied as well. Even without those extra hundred feet provided by the fire tower, between the lack of trees and the summit elevation, the view of Flagstaff is breathtaking, with the highway, railroad and shops forming a scar through the forest, with houses peppering the woodland surrounding it. Facing away from town, the San Francisco Peaks, higher still, tower, dark and imposing on the horizon. 

The dirt road and pine needles shine
 in the last sunlight of an early 
summer evening. -S. Kramer, Photo

An Alpine Refuge

           Mt. Elden is only one of the San Francisco Peaks, the most accessible, and lowest, and even such, it was inspiring for me. Of all my memories of my trip to the southwest, my first visit to Mt. Elden is definitely one of those I will hold on to. Exploring every dirt-road spur, climbing to the fire tower on foot, watching as the sun turned from silver to gold as it descended to the horizon. The wind, and distant road noise from US 89, mixed with the wind from the aspens and pines make a symphony of sorts. I suppose in a way, I based that sickly young person from my unfinished tale on myself. And like her, I sought refuge on the mountaintop: not on my last legs like she was (though sunburned shins made it feel that way), but nervous and homesick none the less, running from the desert, and taking refuge among the pines, firs and wildflowers of the Coconino National Forest. -KP

Source, and further information:
https://www.fs.usda.gov/recarea/coconino/recarea/?recid=55140