The Painted Hills

Today's mini-roadtrip photos are from Eastern Oregon's Painted Hills, about 50 miles east of Prineville. You've seen photos of the place before, no doubt, and no doubt those photos were better than mine. But that's never stopped me before.

The Painted Hills are part of the John Day Fossil Beds National Monument, which is part of the national park system. Technically there are some fossils here, but the hills are the main event, with those weird multicolored bands.

The Wikipedia article on the hills describes them thusly:

Painted Hills is one of the three units of the John Day Fossil Beds National Monument, located in Wheeler County, Oregon It totals 3,132 acres (12.7 km²) and is located 9 miles (14 km) northwest of Mitchell, Oregon and 75 miles east of Bend. Painted Hills is named after the colorful layers of its hills corresponding to various geological eras, formed when the area was an ancient river floodplain. The black soil is lignite that was vegetative matter that grew along the floodplain. The grey coloring is mudstone, siltstone, and shale. The red coloring is laterite soil that formed by floodplain deposits when the area was warm and humid.

Lignite is very low-grade, low-value coal, and laterite is basically what's left after rainfall leaches all the soluble minerals out of soil. As you can see, not much grows on the hills. They're surrounded by forests and farms, so it's not for lack of water. It's just the soil, three kinds of bad so far as plant life goes. Here and there you see a spot where there's a layer of different soil above the Painted Hills material:

The photo above also shows footprints from where some idiot decided to climb the hill. It should be clear why you're not supposed to do that.

If you look closely, you'll notice the surface of the hills is dry, cracked mud. That sort of dents the mystique of the place a little, but it's kind of fascinating in its own way:

A nearby farm, with the hills in the background. Makes for an interesting contrast.

Naturally I had to bring my alter ego along for the ride:

I don't know why it is that barren, badland-like places like this capture the human imagination. Not to get all touchy-feely about it, but you get the feeling you're in a very simple place, with the bones of the earth laid bare, and only the essentials remaining. I don't know if it resonates with some sort of deep-seated desert nomadic impulse, or what. It feels compelling, but I can't put my finger on exactly why.

If you want to see more of the place, or, hypothetically speaking, you found my photos unsatisfying, here are a few other sites with photos:

• Ragged Cloth Cafe, with paintings as well as photos. Very cool.
• Golden Gate Photo
• Enigmaterial
• Two pages at Webshots.com
• A photo on Flickr
• Panoramio
• Northwest Pages
• GalleryPlayer
• Oregon Icons
• Max Lyons Forums
• Southeast Main

And if you just can't get enough of the hills themselves, the Nature Conservancy owns a chunk of similar terrain at their Juniper Hills preserve. FWIW.

Saddle Mountain

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More pics from the recent mini-roadtrip, this time from Saddle Mountain State Park, out in the Coast Range. Saddle Mountain is north of US 26, a few miles east of where 26 joins with US 101.

There's a narrow side road that meanders up to the park, where there's a small parking lot, a few campsites, and the trailhead for the trail to the top. The trail's only a bit over 2.5 miles, but it's steep and treacherous in parts. Here's a good page about the trail if you're interested, and there's even a site offering VR panoramas of the place.

The top photo, for a little perspective, is Saddle Mountain from the Astoria Column, which is about 15 miles or so north of the mountain. (Some similar shots from various locations can be found here.)

Below is a shot looking up the mountain from the parking lot. Yes, it's up there somewhere. As you can probably tell, these were taken on different days.

I saw this and decided to hike up into the mist anyway. I'm not sure what that says about me.

The views start pretty early on the trail, and get better as you go up. You probably don't think of the Coast Range as a place where there's much of a view, but check this out:

(Oh, and the place is packed with wildflowers too. But I'm saving most of those for another post.)

I'm a little embarrassed to report that I didn't go quite all the way to the top. This is pretty close, but not quite all the way there. See the tree in the mist, off in the distance? That's the point where I turned around. The trail is hacked into open, rocky slopes at this point, and they lay down a wire mesh over the rock to keep the trail in place. This gets slippery when wet, and it was quite wet, and I decided I just hadn't brought enough traction to proceed with confidence. Which means I'll have to go back some other time, I guess. I did notice the clouds and fog seemed to start clearing out as I headed back, per my usual luck. I thought about turning around and heading back up, but I was getting hungry and trail nibbles just weren't cutting it, plus I was running low on camera batteries. But next time I'll go to the top for sure, definitely, probably.

On the way down, I encountered a number of people heading up the trail with large dogs on leashes. Some of them were wearing flip-flops. I didn't stick around to see how that turned out.

If you're like me, you're used to thinking of the Coast Range as an obstacle, not a destination. The roads are narrow and windy, and you inevitably get stuck behind a Winnebago with Ohio plates doing twenty mph under the speed limit. You probably spend most of your time in the Coast Range swearing under your breath and looking for a spot where it's safe to pass the damn geezers, already. And you've seen the constant news stories about gruesome head-on crashes through here, vehicles crossing the center line and wandering into oncoming traffic at least once every weekend, or so it seems. So chances are you drive with your fingers crossed, and you don't spend a lot of time just enjoying the scenery. There aren't a lot of places to stop and have a look around, either. This one, at least, is worth the trip.

Crater Lake

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I always felt a little embarrassed when Crater Lake came up in conversation. I've lived here basically my entire life, and until last week I'd never been there. It felt like I'd shirked one of every Oregonian's sacred duties. If you're among this blog's elite (i.e. few) Gentle Reader(s), you know I'm not real big on observing sacred duties, generally speaking, but this seemed like one I ought to take care of sooner or later.

These are just six of several hundred photos I took there. I might post more later, although they're all sort of variations on the same theme. You go to Crater Lake, you take photos of the lake. If the Rim Drive is open (it wasn't), you drive all the way around the lake, and take more photos. If the trail down to the lake is open (it wasn't), maybe you hike down to the lake and back, taking photos. Possibly you visit the gift shop before you leave.

It's a cliche that people tend to make whirlwind visits to national parks, staying just a few hours, maybe even driving through without stopping. Crater Lake is a place where you can do that reasonably and not feel guilty about it. I'm not trying to be snarky or disagreeable here, I'm just laying the facts out as they are. The lake is the main event. Once you've had your fill of looking at it, or taking pictures, there's not all that much else to do. You can stick around and take more pictures when the light changes, if you have the time. I'm told the hotel is really nice if you want to stay a few days and just relax and look at the lake. But I had other plans, and hours more to drive that day. So maybe next time. And there will absolutely, positively be a next time.

About that blue color. Going on about the blueness of the lake is another cliche, and everyone says that cameras don't adequately capture the color. I thought that sounded really dumb, and I'm still not ready to buy into the general statement. But I will say that my camera didn't do it justice. You can see from the photos here that it's not precisely the same blue in each photo. That part at least is accurate. Probably it's the position of the sun and the direction I was facing each time, something like that.

If you want to see the really interesting parts of the lake, you'll need a submarine. The lake supports unique, ancient colonies of deep moss, and a variety of simple organisms that live on the moss. The water's so clear that photosynthesis can apparently still occur 759 feet below the lake's surface. Try doing that in the ocean, or anywhere else. The USGS has more info here and here.

There's probably no realistic way they'd ever offer submarine rides in the lake for paying customers, as fun as that would be. I realize it wouldn't be cost-effective, and there'd be all sorts of environmental impact stuff to worry about, and concerns about commercializing the park and whatnot. Usually I line up squarely on the side of zero commercialism, zero development, zero impact on the park's environment. But I'd be willing to make a rare exception if it meant I could ride a submarine in the heart of a volcano high up in the Cascades, to visit an ancient moss colony that shouldn't exist. Sign me up, already.

Hole-in-the-Ground

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Here are a few photos of "Hole-in-the-Ground" (yes, that's its real name). It's a maar -- a relic of a volcanic explosion -- out in Eastern Oregon, about an hour southeast of Bend off Highway 31.

The name is accurate: It's a very large, and very beige, hole in the ground. It looks a bit like a meteor crater, but it isn't, sadly. It's pretty damn big, no matter what created it.

The USGS quotes a couple of sources about the place:

From: Wood and Kienle, 1990, Volcanoes of North America: United States and Canada: Cambridge University Press, 354p., Contribution by Lawrence A. Chitwood

Hole-in-the-Ground is a nearly circular maar with a floor 150 meters below and a rim 35 to 65 meters above original ground level. Its diameter from rim to rim is 1,600 meters. The volume of the crater below the original surface is only 60 percent of the volume of ejecta. Only 10 percent of the ejecta is juvenile basaltic material. Most of the ejected material is fine grained, but some of the blocks of older rocks reached dimensions of 8 meters. The largest blocks were hurled distances of up to 3.7 kilometers from the center of the crater. Accretionary lapilli, impact sags, and vesiculated tuffs are well developed.

From: Heiken, et.al., 1981, A Field Trip to the Maar Volcanoes of the Fort Rock-Christmas Valley Basin, Oregon:
IN: Johnson and Donnelly-Nolan, (eds.), 1981, Guides to Some Volcanic Terranes in Washington, Idaho, Oregon, and Northern California: USGS Circular 838.

According to Lorenz (1971):

Hole-in-the-Ground is a volcanic explosion crater or maar located in Central Oregon on the edge of Fort Rock basin. At the time the crater was formed between 13,500 and 18,000 years ago a lake occupied most of the basin and the site of the eruption was close to the water level near the shore. The create is now 112 to 156 meters below the original ground level and is surrounded by a rim that rises another 35 to 65 meters higher. ...

The crater was formed in a few days or weeks by a series of explosions that were triggered when basaltic magma rose along a north-west-trending fissure and came into contact with abudnant ground water at a depth of 300 to 500 meters below the surface. After the initial explosion, repeated slumping and subsidence along a ring-fault let to intermittent closures of the vent, changes in the supply of ground water, and repeated accumulations of pressure in the pipe.

The Forest Service also describes the place, with nearly (but not entirely) identical words:

Hole-in-the-Ground is a volcanic explosion crater or maar located on the west edge of the Fort Rock basin. The floor of the crater is at an elevation of 4340 feet and the surrounding area has an elevation of about 4650 feet. The crater is approximately 1370 m (4500 ft) east-west by 1675 m (5500 ft) north-south. The crater was probably formed in a few days or weeks by a series of explosions due to rising basaltic magma coming into contact with abundant ground water at depth. The magma may have been rising along the fault that is exposed in the crater walls. After the initial explosion, repeated slumping and subsidence along a ring fault led to intermittent closures of the vent, changes is the supply of ground water, and repeated pressure buildup. The layering visible in the rim records the pulsing of the eruption.

The surrounding area is full of volcanic oddities. Nearby there's another maar called "Big Hole", and a bit to the east you'll find "Crack in the Ground" and "Fort Rock" (more about the latter in a future post). Further north you'll find Newberry Caldera, the Lava River Cave, and much more. If you're spending a day or two, doing a volcano-themed tour or something, you might as well stop by and check this one off the list. The WP article linked to above has an aerial photo, and the USFS page links to a couple more. It does look a lot more interesting from the air, but since neither I nor my car can fly, that information isn't terribly useful. Waymarking also offers a few photos of the place.

The gravel side road off Highway 31 is pretty washboardy in parts, so if you're afraid to, uh, "mar" your vehicle or your busy travel schedule, you could also skip this one and you'd be fine, probably. There's a trail down into the hole, but I figured I'd seen enough and headed off to Bend after this to find a hotel and a bite to eat (more about which here).

If you search for info on the place, like I'm doing, you'll actually encounter quite a few academic papers mentioning it. Apparently it's a well-studied example of a maar, probably due to its relatively convenient location. Here's an interesting recent paper mentioning it: UNDERSTANDING MARS AT THE MICROSCALE BY IMAGING TERRESTRIAL ANALOGS: THE HANDLENS ATLAS. The researchers visited a few volcanic sites in Eastern Oregon and took microscopic photos, attempting to better understand what the microscopic imagers on the Mars rovers are observing. Kewl. This was mentioned on a recent episode of Oregon Field Guide, but I always prefer the original source materials when they're available.

Oh, and for your further entertainment here's a rather odd page arguing Hole-in-the-Ground is somehow electrical in origin, just like the Grand Canyon. Oh, and the events of ancient mythology. And gravitational lensing. And sand dunes on Mars. And the Big Bang. WTF!? Who knew? Color me skeptical, as you always can, but the whole site really sets off my crank alarm bells.

DeGarmo Canyon

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Some pics from DeGarmo Canyon [map], wayyy out in SE Oregon, in the Hart Mountain National Antelope Refuge. I've decided to bail on covering my mini-roadtrip in chronological order. Instead I'll start with places with the most manageable number of pics to choose from. Otherwise it'll take freakin' forever to get any posts at all out the door.

Eastern Oregon is basin and range country, full of steep fault block mountains and low, often marshy valleys in between. Hart Mountain is one of the more impressive of these mountains, rising sharply above the adjacent Warner Valley. At first glance it looks like a solid, impenetrable wall of rock, 2000 feet high and many miles long. A closer look shows a few narrow canyons cutting into the mountain. DeGarmo Canyon is one of these, with a small stream flowing through it, and even a couple of hidden waterfalls, which is what prompted me to visit.

I'm not the most rugged, outdoorsy type in the world, so if you'd like to read more "professional" accounts about the place, try here or here. On the other hand, this post has better photos, or at least more photos. You can find someone else's DeGarmo Canyon photos here

Here's the canyon from the main road, with a tiny sign, and a road leading to a small parking area at the trailhead. This road can be charitably described as "unimproved". If you aren't driving a 4WD, high clearance vehicle, you might prefer to park on the main road and walk the extra 0.5 mile. I'm one of the few remaining Portlanders who doesn't own a gigantic SUV, so the road was, um, an interesting challenge.

The first waterfall is right near the trailhead. It isn't the main event, only about 10ft tall, and you don't get that good of a view of it anyway. This is the best pic I've got, and I'm sure you'll agree it isn't very good:

It was at about this point where I realized I'd brought the wrong sunblock along, i.e. the one without DEET. As a hardcore urbanite, one forgets that where there's water, there are often mosquitoes, even in the middle of the desert. And yet I continued along the trail. It probably wasn't the smartest choice, but I can be pretty stubborn when I need to be. I came here to see the waterfall, dammit.

A couple of shots from in the canyon, looking west/downstream and out toward the Warner Wetlands:

Looking east/upstream. You can sort of make out the main waterfall in the distance, although it's a bit lost in the glare:

More pics of canyon walls:

After a short hike, you'll get to the waterfall. It's just a couple of miles roundtrip, but it's a bit steep in parts, there isn't much shade, and you're at nearly a mile altitude even at the base of the thing. Oh, and since you're east of the Cascades, watch for rattlesnakes. I think I saw one in the canyon, although it slithered away before I could get a good look at it.

The trail continues up the canyon for quite a few miles past this point, but I came here for the waterfall, and it was just the first item on a long TODO list for the day, so I turned around here. Also, I was still getting eaten alive by extremely large mosquitoes. And yet I still had the presence of mind to shoot the waterfall from a couple of different angles and tinker with the exposure settings. I'd just like to point out --yet again -- that I really go to the mat for you guys, o Gentle Reader(s). If I come down with West Nile out of this, you'll owe me big time. Ok, I'd probably get an interesting post or two out of it if I caught West Nile, so I guess it wouldn't be all bad, I suppose...

seaweed + thistle

Hey, I'm back. I've got about 1300 mini-roadtrip photos to sort through, so it'll take a while to wade through them and figure out what's worth posting. I'm going to lead off with some small stuff that doesn't require a lot of explanation. First photo is seaweed at Cannon Beach, second photo is from Vancouver Lake, up near the 'Couve.

So I semi-promised I'd post while I'm on this mini-roadtrip. And I haven't until just now, but I have a good excuse. Seems that mobile phone service in the remote desert is um, incomplete. I knew that already, of course, but each time I got the notion to post there was no service to be had. The only really useful thing about moblogging is to describe what you're doing right this minute. Moblogging from the hotel to say what you did earlier in the day would be pointless. You can do that just as easily when you get home, and then you'll have a proper keyboard and you can post photos (you in the back with the camera phone, stop snickering. Thanks.)



So as for what I'm doing now: I'm enjoying a steak and a nice cabernet. After that, it's the Jacuzzi. There's actually a mildly funny story about how I ended up with a Jacuzzi, but my thumbs are tired, and it would mess up the shallow, materialistic vibe I'm attempting to exude. Hey, I'm in Bend. I'm just trying to fit in.



Sent from my BlackBerry® wireless handheld

on the road again

I'll be on a roadtrip for a few days, and my camera and Blackberry aren't on speaking terms, so this blog's going 100% old-sk00l ASCII text for a few days. Well, old-sk00l if you consider being able to post to the interwebs from a phone, but not being able to post photos, to be old-sk00l. I dunno. The standards keep changing all the time, and it's tough to keep up.

And then again, where I'm going I might not be able to post at all. There are still vast regions of the Western US that lie entirely outside the Series Of Tubes, or at least the Series Of Wireless Tubes, and I'll be there for at least part of the trip. It's also possible I'll be too busy to post anything, or I just won't get around to it or something. In any case, with any luck I'll register visitor number 30,000 while I'm away. If that's you, congrats. You win something, probably.

Until I get back, here are a couple of pics of Saddle Mountain State Park, the highest point in Oregon's Coast Range. There's more where these came from, and I swear only some of them will be flowers. Honest. I mean it.

Oceanic mobloggage

I'm standing in the ocean right now, writing a blog post on the ol' Blackberry. Ok, I'm a dork. The things I'll do for the sheer novelty value...



If this turns out to be the last ever post here, you can probably blame the sneaker wave that I'm ignoring as I type this...



Sent from my BlackBerry® wireless handheld

infrared magic

The second thing I learned today: Digital cameras can see infrared light, invisible to the naked eye. Or at least mine can. A simple test: Put your camera in b+w mode. Point a TV remote at it, and press one of the buttons that keeps signalling as it's held down, like channel+ or volume- . Hold the camera so that you can see both the remote and the camera's LCD screen. You ought to see the infrared LEDs flickering on the camera's screen, and nothing at all happening in real life. It's more than a little spooky.

Block 47

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I learned exactly two things today, and this is one of them. Right across the street from the convention center, at MLK and Holladay, there's a weird little half-block, landscaped as if it was a park, but unmarked, so you can't be sure whether you're visiting a city park, or trespassing.

I took these photos way back in December, but I've only just now figured out what the deal is with the place. So here's the dirt. It's owned by the PDC, and although it sure looks like a regular park, it's (supposedly) only temporary. As soon as the PDC finds a sufficiently well-heeled crony who wants to build here, poof, no more "park". That's the plan, at least.

Updated 9/8/2022: If you look at the map above, and try as you might you don't see anything resembling the park in the photos, I'm afraid things eventually played out as planned, and a gigantic Hyatt Regency now sits where Block 47 used to be. It opened in December 2019 just as the COVID-19 pandemic was ramping up. The opening was also right in the middle of a wave of local hotel openings and rebrandings, and even before the pandemic I was convinced we were seeing a bubble in hotel construction, too many beds chasing not enough tourist dollars, since tourism was bound to fade as people forgot about Portlandia and we stopped being the hot, trendy-yet-undiscovered capitol of hip quirkiness and quirky hipsterdom and everything you probably haven't heard if. And sure enough, a few days ago it was reported that three of the older-but-renovated hotels are on the brink of foreclosure. The article quotes various angry industry people who want the city to do something about it. Where the only thing that would actually help would be to travel back in time a short distance, not even a decade, grab their previous selves by the lapel (or hoodie ties, or whatever), and somehow convince them not to approve quite so many new hotels. At least I get to say "I told you so" now, for all the good that ever does anyone.

Until the PDC took an interest in the place a few years back, this plot was just another ugly parking lot, a blight on the landscape and (more importantly) a drag on local property values.

The PDC put out a pair of press releases about the project, and the Daily Journal of Commerce also ran an article about it. From the first release:

"The challenge for us was to think about making an immediate impact on the site that will last for five to ten years," said Kurt Lango, principal of Lango Hansen. "As landscape architects, we tend to envision landscapes in terms of how they'll mature in 20 years or more."

Lango Hansen explored historical information on the site and collapsed the patterns of plat maps and building footprints since 1889 into one frame as the geometry for their site design. Different materials will recall site uses over time. For example, brick will be used in the corner where a barbershop and restaurant used to be. A stone mound with grasses growing out of it will signify debris mounds that once collected on the vacant lot.

While the initial design formalizes past site uses, it will evolve over time. The varieties of plant materials will be allowed to overgrow their boundaries and form new patterns.

Given the temporary nature of the project, the landscape will incorporate recycled materials into the design wherever possible. PDC is currently reviewing their other properties for materials and pieces that can be used on Block 47.

As the recycled materials are temporary and not meant to endure decades of weather, the open space will highlight a unique approach to detailing. Timber for benches will be sanded down to reveal historic patina, and concrete for the seat wall is being sheared to show aggregate patterns. Places for art are also an integral part of the design.

So it's intended to be temporary, and it's supposed to "evolve" over time. In other words, they didn't spend a lot to build it, and they aren't going to spend much to maintain it, either, and the hope is that it'll at least decay gracefully over its lifespan. The basalt mound you see here actually evoke the piles of garbage that used to accumulate here back in the day, except that the new mound is much more sophisticated & artistic than the original, plus it stays put when the wind blows. It's kind of remarkable having art inspired by heaps of trash, but hey. I actually kind of like the thing. Even if you don't happen to agree, you still have to admit it's a step up from the genuine article. You're all with me on that part, right?

There's an old DJC profile of the designers here. The Hansen half of the firm describes the project thusly:

Block 47 (an urban garden on Northeast Martin Luther King Jr. Boulevard and Holladay Street) is a good example of that, where we were looking at actual maps of what had happened at that site over its history and expressed them through the landscape. We also built in a way of allowing everything to outgrow its boundaries over time so the pattern does break down over time, knowing that eventually a hotel is going to go there. That whole evolution is built into the project.

So if you can think of a way to really enjoy the place, you ought to hurry up and do it now, before the threatened hotel goes in. Although at last word (September '09) the hotel's on indefinite hold due to the bad economy. So you do still have time to visit, if you're so inclined.

The designers can talk all they like about historical plats, and rubble mounds and whatnot, but when I see the place I always think of my mom's chocolate crinkle cookies. If I ever manage to drop by on a light snow day, the analogy will be perfect.

And yes, I do realize Mom knows how to access the interwebs (sort of), and might be offended if she knew I was comparing her cookies to chunks of basalt. That's one of the great things about using a pseudonym. Sure, she might still be offended, but she'll probably assume I'm a total stranger. Or at least she can't prove it was me. Which is the key thing, you know.

Prescott Biozone

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If you've ridden the MAX Yellow Line very often, you might have noticed the big rusty propeller in a small vacant lot next to the Prescott MAX station. You might've wondered if it was left over from our city's seafaring heyday, or you might've just wondered what it was doing there now, or what it was supposed to be advertising. Wonder no longer (assuming you were wondering), for the answers you seek are here. If you weren't wondering, um, hello and welcome anyway, however you ended up at this obscure corner of the interwebs...

Anyway, it turns out this is not a historical artifact at all. It's Art, and the spot where it sits isn't a vacant lot at all, it's Nature. TriMet's guide to the Yellow Line's artworks calls this place "Prescott Biozone", which is quite the grand and optimistic title if you ask me.

Prescott Biozone

• A rusted steel propeller
  sculpture flowers amidst a
  swirling pattern of grasses.
• Three basalt basins
  collect water for birds.

As you can see in the photos, that's pretty much the whole story of the place: Propeller, grass, basins.

If you check this map for the overhead view, it sure looks like the Biozone is actually one of those traffic-calming sidewalk extension things, except with a propeller, grass, and some basins. That's what happens when you've got a nice pot of urban renewal cash to play with when you're building a MAX line, I guess. ART on FILE has a page about the place, although they don't mention anything about it being a Biozone. Unlike TriMet's brief blurb, they credit the designers, Brian Borello (who also did the blue ox hooves up at the Kenton MAX station) along with Valerie Otani. The page also offers a clearer description of the place:

In recognition of the shipbuilding industry the artists designed stainless steel “ship’s prow” forms that collect rainwater and then funnel it into a green space. A large rusted steel propeller sits near the station in a swirling pattern of grasses. The water running off of the blades of the propeller is captured in three basalt basins and used as water for birds.

So I suppose you'd really need to see the piece in action during a rainstorm to get the full effect. Fair enough. We've got no shortage of rainstorms much of the year, so I guess it's reasonable to put in art that relies on the rain. I started out thinking the place was dumb, and I didn't see the connection between the propeller (a reference to Swan Island, just down the hill to the west) and the whole ecology thing. Now it all makes a wee bit more sense, although I admit I'm taking their word for it. The basins might fill up just as well just letting them sit out in the rain, for all I know. PDX Magazine also mentions the place briefly, calling it "Brian Borello’s visual meditations on rain filtration at the N Prescott St Station".

As an aside, I would like to register my continued displeasure at a current fashion, where people will think something's "green" because it's covered in unmowed, tassely grass. The semi-accursed Tanner Springs Park is full of the stuff. Which to my mind constitutes active governmental persecution of those of us with grass allergies. And what's with all that stagnant basin water? West Nile, anyone? Anyone...?

a cute squirrel

Finally, a squirrel that knows how to hold still for the camera. It's quite a rare talent among squirrels.