As for my trip, well, my birthday was awesome, but if I'm being honest the rest of the trip didn't really go like I'd anticipated. Not that it wasn't fun. I enjoyed myself immensely, but didn't get the business I had planned taken care I had really wanted to find some work to do after my internship ends, and had planned on going to as many bakeries as it took to find one that would say yes...only I found one that I really, and I do mean REALLY, want to work at, and they're fully staffed.
I'm not going to let that discourage me, however. I'm in the process of writing a letter to the baker that will, if nothing else make him keep me in mind if a position opens. The bread is really good, y'all. It's the bread I've always aspired to bake, and if I manage to get a job there, I will be most pleased. I don't want you to think that this means I've given up on finding other work, but I'm going to do everything I can think of to try and convince them that I'd be a valuable asset.
As for the rest of my weekend, it was a lot of fun. I got into town late on Friday night, after a full day of harvesting produce for Saturday market. I loaded up the van, burned a bunch of new music and episodes of This American Life, and hit the road. The drive along the 101 to tacoma is really incredible, it makes me smile just thinking about it, but the rest of the ride is a little on the boring side. I got into Portland, found the hostel where I'd be staying, and ditched the van in a pay parking lot, which was the cheapest and least stressful option; parking the great green behemoth isn't easy under the best of circumstances, and parallel parking on the narrow streets of Portland hardly qualifies as such.
I hit up Powell's for the first of many times, that night; I'm literally incapable of walking past that place without ducking inside for at least a couple of minutes. It may sound silly, but it's like a sacred place for me, and I always feel better whenever I walk through the doors. I went to bed pretty early that first night, knowing that I wanted to get up early the next morning to hit up VooDoo Donuts before I went to the farmer's market. The market was awesome. I literally walked around for three hours, trying things, and having a great time. I bought bread from every bakery, cheese from Rogue creamery, some saucisson sec from Chop, and the first peaches I've had all year.
Oddly enough I didn't take any pictures while in Portland...well that's not exactly true. I took one. This, from the holocaust memorial at Washington park.
Not sure why I felt compelled to snap a pic of the creepy bronze doll, or why I chose, and it was a willful choice, to not take any other pictures. I think, if you'll allow me a moment of self analysis, that I don't want to approach Portland like a tourist, but wanted to see it as a potential place to live.Aren't we self-aware?
I spent the rest of the afternoon hiking around town, through the northern edge of Washington Park, through the Rose Test garden, and along the streets in the Nob Hill/Alphabet district. I decided pretty early that I was going to go to diner at Castagna, which the Oregonian named the restaurant of the year. I got all decked out in the one nice outfit I brought with me, which, if you've ever seen me dressed up, you can imagine pretty readily. I hung out in Powell's until it was time to catch a cab across the river to the restaurant.
I ate my meal, and drank my snooty Belgian beer, and had a wonderful time. The food was delicious, and beautifully presented, and quite clever in the way that the best food often is. I was seated near enough to the kitchen, that I could peer, and watch as the cooks went about their business, which always satisfies that voyeuristic urge I feel in restaurants. It was the first meal I've eaten out since I left La Jolla for Washington, which is sort of setting the bar pretty high. If you're ever in Portland I highly recommend it, order the price fixe, and if you're feeling obnoxious, like I was, just let the chef choose what to feed you.
I spent the rest of my weekend visiting bakeries, and breweries, but had ruined myself for the job search by going to Ken's Artisan Bakery, first thing in the morning. It was just down the street from the hostel, and I can say beyond doubt that this is my new dream gig. They aren't hiring, and they don't do internships or apprenticeships, but I'm going to do whatever I can to convince them that giving me a chance would be a very good thing indeed. After my early morning epiphany, accompanied by a cup of Stumptown coffee(which is sold every-damn-where in Portland) a croissant and a country style demi baguette, I was ruined for my job-search. It was impossible to get excited about applying for a position at any other bakery after Ken's.
Monday morning I woke up early, got the van packed, and hit the road pretty early. Why? You may ask. Given that Portland is only four hours from the farm, I could have had a full day of hanging out in the city, but, if I'm being honest, and why wouldn't I; I really wanted to get back to the peninsula. It was pull that I felt, that I couldn't resist. I drove around Portland equivocating about doing something, but in the end the farm won out, and I started my journey back to the place, which has so quickly, and oddly, become the place I return to.
Once again I remembered that the trip up 5 to the 101 is quite boring, but once you hit that exchange just outside Tacoma, and head up the coast of the hood canal the scene transforms, the Olympic national forest signs begin to appear, and then pass with greater and greater frequency, and with each one, my uncontrollable grin widens. I got back to the farm, and felt an odd desire to grab a stirrup hoe, and kill some weeds. I'm not even kidding. Instead I went and picked blueberries with Maggie, took a short hike, and cooked dinner. It was a good way to end my vacation, and in it's way, as fun as what I did in Portland.
Some pics from the farm.
The poppyseed harvest:
Some plums, Methley(I know I'm going to sound like a broken record here, but these things are ridiculously good, and I've never eaten a plum so juicy and delicious{yes they are on a straw hat, no, you may not have pictures of me wearing said hat}):
Melons!!!! Watermelons, and Musk melons, of some sort:
Winter Squash, wheat, garbanzo beans:
The greenhouse, planted with tomatoes, peppers, cucumbers, eggplants, sweet potatoes, and jicama:
Who wants bread?:
My hand, at the end of a hard day of farmering:
And finally, the answer to last week's trivia question. If you recall the question was, what the heck is this thing?:
In a startling coincidence, while pondering what to blog about the other night, I thought about having posed this query, and not a minute later I received the following(edited to post the correct picture from last week):
The answer? Indian pipe, corpse plant, ghost flower, Monotropa uniflora.So thank you Maggie, for illuminating us all.
I don't know what the future holds. At some times this bothers me more than I'd like to admit, but at others I find it wildly exciting. I'm still having fun, even on the most stressful of days, and I can't deny that this experience has changed me in profound and undeniable ways. Evidence? I spent most of my time in Powell's in the gardening section, and only ventured into the cookbooks once or twice, okay maybe four or five times, but still...
I love y'all. Thanks again for the birthday wishes and the much appreciated gifts. Each package and phone call brightened my days, and never forget that I'm thinking of you all, and hoping you're well.
And as a little postscript, in case you're worrying that I take myself too seriously, here is a camera-phone pic of myself with a patch of clover on my head:
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