Wy'east With A Light Coat

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Just as Luuit was dusted with the white stuff over the last weekend, so was mighty Wy'east (Mt Hood), as my 122nd and NE Shaver St/Rossi Farms POV will show.

I know things can't last forever, but I adore Rossi Farms just for being there and providing this sensational window to the east, and I hope they're gonna be there for many a year more. 

And Wy'east looks good with a even just a little snow on 'im, especially after our extra-torrid summer.

A Long Look Down 122nd

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I enjoy taking long looks like this with tight, small angles on long lines of power poles and such. My Canon PowerShot is a very capable point-n-shoot, but it lacks an obvious way to take anything like a telephoto shot. So I choose angles and use the perspective I have at hand.

Sort if 'in-camera', as filmmakers might say.

NE 122nd by Rossi's has this nice long stretch of straight sidewalk going uphill, so it also offers just plain eye-catching changes in surface and angle. 

Also, there's a bus stop sign there. Which is nice.

The 73 is the 122nd Ave bus, which I got to know intimately when I was Olivia-less for a while. 

Wy'east, Blanket of Cloud

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There hasn't been a 'strictly-Wy'east' post here for a while and the cloud-cover today rather demanded that I rise to meet this challenge. 

The result.

The sky rather like nacre, the summit of the volcano draped in cloud, the clounds in front of that throwing dramatic shadows on the lower slopes of the peak they shaded. 

Flawless, as usual. Is it ever anything else?

The Old Rossi Place

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I've taken so many pictures of Wy'east from the corner of NE 122nd and Shaver and have name-checked Rossi Farms more times than I can count and even featured it in a picture or two but I've never really taken a picture that makes the main buildings the star of the show. Well, for that, this:

This is one of the houses, presumably an office of some sort, and the barn of the small, actual-working spread known as Rossi Farms (Since 1880, boasts the sign). It's adjacent to Parkrose High School,and generally speaking clings to the south side of NE Shaver Street between the Parkrose Middle School campus and part the way into the 12600 block, its 24.5 acres (approximately my estimate) riven into asymmetrical halves by the superduperblacktop of NE 122nd Avenue. 

The bigger half, that east of 122nd, is where all the growing occurs. I've seen a variety of things grown there in my going to and fro over the years. The smaller part, west of 122nd, holds the farm's offices and barn and various venues for holding events (there was at one time a small line of Western-style storefronts). Today I saw grape vines and a goat meandering amongst them.

It's always in immaculate shape. And it seems out of place now, but there was a time, about a century ago, and less than that, when the entire landscape between what was then the eastern edge of the city of Portland and whatever there was at the time of Gresham, Fairview, and Troutdale was a patchwork quilt of similar farms.

Rossi Farms. The last farm standing, and an echo of a time when Multnomah County was rife with farmers, just like the rest of the Willamette Valley. 

So it goes.

Wy'east With A Fire In The Sky

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This was Wy'east from the Rossi place at NE 122nd and Shaver today. There was a lot of red and gold in the sky so you know I couldn't pass that up.

A lot of fire in the sky. The sun rising cast a golden haze around the shoulder of the volcano. 

I've begun to become just perhaps a little enamored of this tall, portrait-y format because you get enough of a ground to anchor the idea and this tall towering column of sky to create the majestic backdrop. 

The skies over Wy'east have been most dramatic of late, and today was no exception.

The Smoke From A Distant Fire, Summer 2020 Edition

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This is a thing that seems to be more and more usual as we head deeper into the 21st Century.

A number of wildfires make the news each and every fire season now, and they've become so massive that smoke floats in from nearby states. Not so much today's, though. Here, at the height of the hot, we have two over on the eastern slopes, Lionshead and White River, near Madras and Bend, in that area. There's also one in far eastern Washington that may be contributing.

I was wanting of a picture of Wy'east as a salute to my departed friend Brenda, and I was able to get it, after a fashion. But the sky on the way to 122nd and NE Shaver was remarkable:

 

This is looking east down NE Prescott Street just east of NE 102nd Avenue, in the Parkrose neighborhood. Prescott Elementary school is immediately to my right. And just look at that demarcation in the sky there. As sharp as one can expect. 

Wildfire smoke, making its way into the Willamette Valley. Again, in 2020.

The view of the mountain was ... well, just look:

The corn on the Rossi farm was looking good, however. So there was that.

Farms Preserved In Amber On Shaver Street

3712I go on about Rossi Farms a lot, but it's really a nifty place. I've never been to an event there, but I know it's a true working farm, now deep in the middle of a major American metropolitan area.

Portland is a city of size, sprawling in its compact, Oregon way, with a population which may well close on 700,000 in the next few years (and close on one million within the city limits by the time I meet my own demise). But here, along 122nd Avenue, is a snippet of the way it was at one time; small farms from 82nd Avenue all the way out past Gresham, instead of unrelenting miles of housing tracts and traffic speedways. Driving the bit of 122nd that passes through the property is always a treat, for more reasons than one.

This last weekend, the Brown Eyed Girl and myself enjoyed a bit of Burgerville while parked on NE Shaver St, the road that bounds the Rossi place on the north, taking in the view of our favorite volcanic mountain. We hadn't been down it very far for a while and, after our mobile meal was finished, she took us farther east down Shaver, interested in the houses down that way, and we were treated to these little bits of time warp.

Because who would ever think to find this sort of thing in the middle of a city like Portland in the year 2020 ...

A working barn, paint peeling but sill in use ...

... and ancient, rusting farm implements of astoundingly, delightfully antique vintage.

They called back, as things do to men my age, a time of youth. I was born and spent my early life, up until just about puberty, in Silverton. I wouldn't call myself a farm boy, not quite, but my early homes were decidedly rural and featured at least one barn. Grandparents on my Mom's side? They were hard-core farm life until my Grandfather passed and Grandma Bitterman had to move to a modest place. Driving down a road and past rusting, parked farm equipment resonates hard.

And not any less so when you drive past the same thing on a suburban street.

Wy'east March Cloudcap

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From snow a day ago to balmy weather now. The end of the world's at least got sunny weather and good views?

Today, Wy'east put on his cap.

Another Olivia-enabled picture. The field in foreground, as usual, thoughtfully provided by Rossi Farms. Long may they grow.

Wy'east In Nacre

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It's been a bit of time. Time for another view of the mountain.

It's time for a weeding at the Rossi place: I had to walk about a block and a half down Shaver to 122nd. But this was, I think, worth it:

The lovely mother-of-pearl sky, Wy'east hidden by mist.

Wy'east: The Sun Rising From Behind Larch Mountain

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Now, on Friday morning, we return to this blog's national pastime: photographing Wy'east from the Rossi Farms, now having moved our POV to NE Shaver Street east of 122nd. A massive rethink of the bike lane situation on 122nd between Fremont and Shaver has eliminated all parking in that segment, including the spot where I parked Olivia, just by the entry to the Rossi driveway.

But it's still a good view.

The most entrancing feature of an atmosphere like this is the way the clouds form such a solid ceiling, seeming both to absorb the light streaming in from the east and to defliect it down. Also, the sunrise brings unexpected features out; note that some of the foothills are dark and seem to screen the sunrise light back toward the volcano itself, like a sort of divider.

This gives the vista. The bright flare behind the rise on the left - Larch Mountain - heralds the rising sun. The way the foothills screen out the sunlight and redirect it to a glow that subsumes Wy'east is quite clear, as is the delightful low clouds in front of all the foot hills, which is visible in front of Larch Mountain.

The mountain sits bathed in dawn sunlight that the foothills in front are going to get, just not yet.

Wy'east: Dark Sunshine

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Another day of working overtime. Clouds moving in, there's a dusky darkness to the midmorning sky. I didn't think The Mountain would be out, but she was, and the dark cast to the light ... probably the same quality that the Grimm crew loved ... could not be ignored.

The iciness of the peak communicated very well this day. Behind me, a storm approached from the west.

The wind is always brisker Out 122nd Way, and it was hard keeping Olivia's door open without snapping shut on a leg or some other extremity.

But this was done.

Ice On The Mountain, Ice On 122nd, and Calendar news (at last!)

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What a heavy last few days, 'ey, Oregonians? I grew up liking snow and ice, and you didn't see that so often, and a white Christmas was something you saw on the TV here in the Willamette Valley, not the typical Oregon winter which was wet, gray, damp, and chill.

It it just me, or has there been more of this the last few years or so? Two white Christmases out of four? It used to be one white Christmas out of ten, at the upper end.

Climate change much?

Anyway.

The sun behind the high, thin currus and further muted by the cirrostratus brought a calm blue to the face of Wy'east.

The world is a glacier and the blue of the mountain makes valley and volcano of a piece almost.

A very cold piece.

The Rossi's field sparkled with glittering ice. Ice also fell from overhead wires on 122nd as I was about to drive under them.

If 122nd looked like some Alaskan Way, as in the above, then it was even worse two nights ago, when someone caused a multi-car slideout and decapitated a fireplug just a little north of this at the I-84 exit.

Now, for some calendar news.

One of the reasons I don't plan hard is that things come out of the woodwork to thwart all but the most basic of my plans. I have come very near to a state of completion of my 2018 photo calendar, and plan on putting it on sale via Lulu.com, starting this coming weekend.

Stay tuned. Watch this space.

Wy'east: The Spear of Light

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I try to tell myself I'll be happy with just a longing glance as I drive uphill on Big 122.

I try. Truly I do.

But I'm smitten. Nay, addicted. Whatever. There's no treatment for this, and that's fine, just fine. It's put the mark on me. I'll take it.

Wy'east on the horizon and the sky over Rossi Farms this morning. Yes, I know I'm starting to fall a little too in love with bumping the color, but I can't stop myself. I mean, it looks delicious, don't it?

Of particular interest today, other than the contrails, is the spike of light that's visible just there, on the right side of the scene. Do you see it? It looks like a ghostly streak, going straight up, perpendicular to the horizon, kind of like "zodiacal light", except this isn't at night, and I don't think it's along the line of the ecliptic. At least, I don't think so.

It's just right of the farthest right tall tree there. Looks like a vertical smear.

Here's a closeup, which is a noble and beautiful sky-and-cloud picture unto itself.

I imagine it has something to do with ice crystals in the air and the sunrise, because right at the base of that spike, as we arrive in the general vicinity of the Winter Solstice, is where the sun itself came up not too much later.

[Out122ndWay] Morning on Big 122

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Another photo taken today when I was lensing Wy'east. A look up slope, south on Big 122, from the SE corner of NE 122nd and Shaver. This is the stretch of major arterial road that crosses the Rossi property.

We welcome you to rush hour, Outer East Portlandia, which is already in progress.

[Out122ndWay] Fall In The Rossi Farms Flower Bed

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In the big field east of NE 122nd, across from the Rossi Farms barn, they grow veggies usually. I've seen corn, cabbages, kale, things of that nature.

The patch of ground going east from Big 122 on Skidmore, south side of the street, just before you get to Parkrose High, is given over to flowers.

The following pictures are big'uns.

Still a small spot of country in the city. Can anyone from these parts anymore imagine what it must have looked like when all of Portland east of Mount Tabor, all the way to Gresham, was like this? Swathed in farms?

It does give one excuse to go wild with saturating them colors, though. That ain't no bad thing.

[WyEast] In Which We Again Stare At The Sun, But Are Careful About It, Seriously.

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Another crisp, clear morning, another chance to see The Mountain.

Over in front of Rossi Farms, the City has done one of those traffic-pattern remodels that they are of late so very fond. All parking along 122nd south of Skidmore and going all the way up to the hill to Fremont is gone, replaced by bicycle space. Which means I have to, to stay legal, park Olivia the Little Yellow Beetle down Skidmore about a hundred-fifty feet or so, right about across from the front of Parkrose High School.

It's not a welcome thing to do but I find the bright side. Not only is a little more walking required (and I need all of that I can get), as I left the scene, a passing high-school student told me she thought I had a cool car. And a cool car it is. And a little friendly complimenting of what style I have from anyone of any age always makes my day just a little.

It's just past the beginning of fall, as everyone knows, and the air is crisp in that way, and the sun is rising a little farther to the south each day. That means here, not long after sunrise, it's right in the picture. I used the camera judiciously, not lingering on the scene. So far, my caution has paid off, there's been no apparent damage to the camera, and I get shots like these:

Now, normally, I'm across the street there on the same size as the big Rossi field, because that gets the cars and people out of the shot. I squoze off a few snaps as I approached the Big 122 from the west on Skidmore, leaving some of the traffic and people in the frame, and it really speaks to and resonates with the emotion I have in looking at the mountain and the impression of its size I get.

This is an experiential issue because, as many who've pointed a camera for fun have found out, you point it as this beautiful view and close the shutter and bam it's yours, but when you look at it on a light table or in a print or even on the screen, the frame and everything else in it make it look like it's just this little point on the horizon with absolutely none of the experiential and emotional weight you felt when you were looking at it in the real

This teaches you an essential thing that all artists, self-made, aspiring, or what-have-you, learn about framing. Composition is paramount. It's the first thing, or you have nothing ... at the very least, you don't have the punch that the sense memory of the way you felt when you looked at it. I have never witnessed it in action, except in the rearview - it's like the eye trying to look at itself without a mirror - but your mind and your vision, always on the lookout for beauty, frame and compose your vision for you. It's only clear after you take that picture of the mountain on the horizon without framing it to include some things in and other things out and you see how small it seems in the full frame that judicious looking and inclusion, like setting a stage for effect, tell the story you want to tell. Most specifically, the phalanxes of trees in the mid-distance have always helped me in this regard. But the cars on the street and the person I happened to capture walking through really ground the subjective perspective in a way that begins to most truly tell the story of how big this mountain feels and how majestic it seems when I look at it with only my eyes.

As I said, the Sun has moved back toward the mountain. Here was it today:

I didn't linger on it too long; eyes can recover, at least to a large degree; camera parts, not so much

The clouds and mist were a welcome thing, contributing their own stories of scale and size.

[WyEast] On A (Finally) Clear Day ... Mountains

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We haven't had a view this crystal for months. And the sun was a little blind-y. But it was worth it.

From NE 89th and Killingsworth ... Loo-Wit. St. Helens.

A train passing by on the lower part of the frame there kind of gives the scene a forlorn quality ... but still, not sad.

And we know what majestic massif this is.

The sun at close quarters giving a strange light to the scene; it's fall, but it feels like the heat summer (of which we've seen enough, thank you). There's early fall snow on all the peaks, but the flood of sunshine makes it impossible to see.

But still, it's good.

[WyEast] The First View Of Mount Hood We've Had For Quite A While

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It's nice to have an old friend back, even if she's hard to see because of the morning air. But here she is.

The mist in the far distance may or may not be influenced by the Eagle Creek fire - which we must remind, is still burning as of this time - or the cooler morning. Possibly both.

The bright sun diffusing into all that mist made the peak visible but not stand-out-visible. Running this above though the auto-equalize filter in the GIMP made it stand out but made the  buildings and landscape in the foreground as though it were a photographic negative, somewhat surreal. No matter. The profile of my favorite mountain is as beautiful as ever.

Welcome back to 122nd, Wy'east.

[Wy'East] Mount Hood, Overwhemed In Snow

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Under a low ceiling of clouds, hiding the peak, is Mount Hood still in winter garb:



The weather forecasters on the PDX stations, notably Matt Zaffino (who is one of the weathercasters I'd most want to be caught in a crisis with) tell us that Wy'east now us covered in a base that measures 180 inches or more. This last week it was also revealed that we've had forty inches of rain this year thus far. That means if the rainy season stopped now, we'd not be in a deficit the rest of the year, so, though the year holds much to be apprehensive about, at least a drought, for the time being, isn't one of them.

[Wy'East] Mt Hood On A Very Cold Morning

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The weather forecasters say we are between snowstorms, which is a strange thing to say in Oregon but that's the new normal, we suppose, but this morning was crystal clear as the sun was coming up on my way home from The Job™.

Here's what the mighty warrior looked like:

What I particularly liked in the above shot was the way the foothills of the mountains were swathed in torn clouds, with Larch Mountain almost obscured.

The weather's supposed to get rough again starting tomorrow, and sometimes you have to pull over and take the picture.

The old warrior is swathed in snow, as well, but it's hard to see all backlit like that. But it's one of the benefits of the winter storms: of all the things we have to worry about in the coming year, it would appear that drought, at least, isn't one of them.

So it goes.