Of horticultural miracles and physical ones, too

First, let me say that we had a wonderful time in Oregon punctuated with laughter and wine and gorgeous scenery. But I do have to tell you that Lori Froese DID try to kill me by having us hike up what she (and the world) calls a Butte, but my thighs call a mountain. 

Indiana's elevation is about 760 feet above sea level, which makes me a native flatlander. Oregon's elevation ranges from 0 (the Pacific Ocean) to 11,249. The summit of Spencer Butte aka Mountain is 2,058 feet. It is the highest point along Eugene’s 2,100-acre Ridgeline Park system, and there are two pathways up. Lori grew up as a flatlander in Colorado's non-mountainous region but has became an Oregonian many years ago. As a Goshen University grad, she is also an honorary Hoosier.

Lori DID describe both access  points, and I DID agree that we should take the challenging one up the 755 winding feet to the summit. I've been taking pilates and yoga. I have good hiking shoes. I felt ready. Plus, my scout said, "It's not that hard. "The hardest part is the stairs, but I do 10 and take a rest, then 10 more."

She DID NOT say there were 12,000 of those damn stone steps. I might have lost count of them and over counted, but there were more than I was expecting. I really thought I was in better shape than that path proved. 

About midway through, I started channeling Uma Thurman in Kill Bill and the Little Engine Who Thought it Could. I was not so optimistic as the train, but my huffing and puffing was likely more like it than the (rightfully) vengeful assassin, who was in better shape than me both while in her coma and while buried alive. 

That hike engaged every muscle in my lower body, including some that I'd forgotten were there, buried so well as they are in flab. Had I had energy to spare, I would have spent more time taking in the incredible vista. I did get a good, long look after collapsing at the top on a rock that cradled my aching backside like the softest down mattress. 

Not content with simply getting to the top, Lori and the Captain were scampering around the mostly flat top of the summit. It was bookended with a few large rocks, and they had to get to very pinnacles. Sami I and were fine where we were. 

I don't think I verbalized the extent of my exertion, but it was apparently obvious that I was kind of tired when Lori suggested she run - and yes, she ran part of the way - back down the challenging path we took up while I took the fork in the road that led to the easier entrance. Gentleman that he is, the Captain refused to abandon me and also took the easy path out, too.  I want to think he was also tired, but that would be dreaming. 

In any case, our easier path down led to a parking lot where I found a log to be just as comfortable as that rock I'd been sitting on at the top. I had a nice little rest before our rescuers came with the car.   

Despite my complaints, I DO very much recommend this hike, and Eguene, Oregon, as a great place to spend time. You might not be as lucky as we were to have ambassadors like Lori and Sami, but you should go. We would eagerly go back to do more stuff. I WILL be working out harder in advance, though. 

Among our other activities, that we also recommend you try, included a lovely dinner at Cafe Soriah, which is nationally famous. Sami's sister, Maha and brother-in-law own the place and are wonderful humans, and we were greatly entertained by kitties, Nina Simone and Miles Davis, and Jordie, a Portuguese Water Dog who is aging quite gracefully.

We did a little wine tasting as we were in the Willamette Valley, but had great food, wine and drinks everywhere we went, including a little brunch place where Jeff ordered a drink that came with a flame. 

We packed a lot in a short trip, and were happily surprised to find friends Lesley and Jeff Weidenbener on our flight home. We'd known that we were both going to the Pacific Northwest, but hadn't thought our paths would merge. They'd started in California. Turns out, we'd been to some of the same places and were equally delighted with be beaches in and around Florence. 

They're the second couple friends of ours that we've run into at airports. I recommend doing that, too.

Once home, yardwork called, and I was delighted to see blooms from a hibiscus the Captain had bought me a few years ago. It's in a bed where a Sweet Gum tree once lorded over the yard and dropped bushels of sticky balls that are no friend to bare feet. That area continues to evolve as the subterranean region deals with the demise of what must be a vast root bed. I believe a scurry of chipmunks spent most of 2023 and 2024 building an extensive condominium under there, using the roots of my hibiscus to fuel their digging. I flooded their holes, stuck rocks in their way and tried various ways to keep them from getting in there, but when the hibiscus didn't bloom last year, I was sure it had been sacrificed to the furry little gnawers.

Then came the pair of Cooper's hawks that took up residence in the Oak tree. I do see an occasional chipmunk but they are few and far between of late. When a tiny hibiscus sprout poked through this year, I thanked the raptors and held out hope. 

It's pretty late in the season, but we're getting these beauties, along with more buds from the dahlias and canna lilies. 

I've given the pollinators a good long feast of summer flowers that are largely "gone by" as my mother-in-law would say, so I've cut back most of the Black-Eyed Susans, Daisies and Cone flowers.

It's a little odd to have falling leaves, Autumnal decor and lovely summer colors like this at the same time, but I'm here for it.