Paradiddles

Rain does Gene Krupa paradiddles on the roof deck, waking me up at 2:45 a.m. Passing rain belts get louder and change from discrete patterns to one whoosh of sound like a freight train through a rusty silo town.

The power went out in the morning. The outage map says the cause was “bird/animal contact.”

Bird poop and nests can damage electrical structures causing outages. When birds fly away, their excrement can sometimes be a conductor between transmitters and the bird. Dead birds are found near the damaged structures.

We drive to a bagel store in Wallingford, where there is power. Residents continue their Sunday morning routines, unaware of the city's outages. Our lives are so fragile when our modern conveniences are interrupted.

Streetlights go out, food spoils, businesses close, the internet is disrupted, and anything on the grid stops. We fumble for flashlights and batteries in junk drawers. The power comes back within two hours, and there is palpable relief.

A 6.1 earthquake hit off the Oregon Coast. It was far enough in the Pacific not to trigger the tsunami alert system. One summer, we vacationed in Manzanita, and tsunami signs directed residents to higher ground if evacuation was necessary. The problem is that, depending on the proximity and strength of the earthquake, you may only have minutes to get to safety.

I imagined an escape route in case a tsunami hit at 3 a.m. Kiteboards float in the surf like dead pterodactyl.

***

A PNW terrorist is setting fire to ballot boxes in Portland, Oregon, and Vancouver, Washington. Someone with soldering skills made the explosive devices. When caught, they can teach Metal Shop from prison.

Happy Halloween!

Bigfoot TikTok

Indian Head Test Pattern

The rain darkens dirt and asphalt. The petrichor triggers the eternal rain of all my memories into a singular manifestation. It is a subtle and fleeting comfort I don't get with any other experience.

The storm's pattering rush comes and goes quickly, leaving curb rivers and trickling water of different timbres from different surfaces. The air is fresh, the birds cacophonous.

The call of blue herons near the Locks sounds prehistoric—cinematic velociraptors. The screeching sound is disconcerting, but it reminds me of a Bigfoot TikTok in which a man hears a similar animal sound and suggests it's the hairy myth. I know it's not Bigfoot because there is a busy 7-11 near the herons. Bigfoots hate 24-hour security cameras.

I work at the end of the 44 Metro Line, where bus drivers eat 10-minute lunches and then use the 7-11 restroom before releasing the pneumatic brakes to start another run - it's behind-the-scenes, a thumbed Dean Koontz paperback, a TV test pattern, taped breasts, the glitch in the matrix.

Beyond Wonderland

On our second trip to Pullman, I continued on I-90 instead of State Route 26 as we crossed the Columbia River. I wanted to try another route and have options for future trips to visit my eldest at Wazzu.

Route 26 is a one-lane driving experience, whereas the I-90 always has one or two passing lanes. It’s a more leisurely drive.

We climb the eastern side of the Columbia’s canyon walls towards George, home to The Gorge Amphitheater. Last summer, two women were shot and killed during the Beyond Wonderland music festival at a nearby campground. A 26-year-old man said he had taken psychedelics that made him feel like he was going to die. Without a gun, he would have just had a bad trip.

We took a lunch break at Schree’s Truck Stop. Since Fat Burger was closed, we ate at Subway. The George Sandoval Market and a food truck outside looked delicious but crowded. Many Spanish-speaking men and women were sitting out front and socializing. Some were drinking, others were bloodshot and wobbly.

I’ve noticed agricultural workers in cornfields as pickup trucks haul water and Porta Potties along the edges of the corn rows. I learned that the number of domestic workers in Washington State has decreased due to the H-2A Temporary Agricultural Workers Program. Temp workers generally have fewer attachments than domestic workers, so they are preferred for economic reasons. Domestic workers have roots and rights.

Although the law now requires hourly wages, many workers prefer piecemeal work because it incentivizes them to work faster and make more money. Hourly wages can be a pay cut.

Inadequate housing, racism, mental health issues like anxiety and depression, limited healthcare, and addiction are common concerns for workers.

The Subway is inside the truck stop, a standard convenience store with restrooms. Some foods cater to agricultural workers. The restroom is disgusting, with puddles around urinals, wet toilet paper mixed in, and missing tiles with rust-colored drips. Traffic is busy with a mix of travelers passing through, sun-leathered locals, the Latino worker community, and, on occasion, Gorge concertgoers from cities and suburbs grabbing munchies, alcohol, and smokes. I fall in the city folk passing-through bucket.

Mulleted young men in work gear buy giant energy drinks and jump in their trucks. A glassy-eyed man holds a 12-pack of Coors Light by the cardboard handle and walks furtively around the building, out of sight. At Subway, though, we all know the rules.

Near Sprague, we head south on State Route 23. It's a winding single-lane road through miles of remote dry farmland. Harvester tracks leave attractive designs in the waves. No one is driving south with me for 70 miles until I get closer to Colfax. Sometimes, a vehicle passes going North. Otherwise, humanity is absent.

I drive through a quaint Main Street with old buildings and storefronts in St. John, but many look closed, and I don't see a single person. It looked like a Hollywood set and felt unsettling. Growing up in a populated New York suburb, I can easily be terrified by folk horror. Fed a steady diet of seventies and eighties horror, I know a flat tire could reveal a town's secret.

I'm relieved when I see a sign for Pullman 🪧.

Stop And Smell The Artichokes

A man sleeps on a mattress on the median of 14th Ave NW between parked cars. Later that day, he is seen bottomless, unaware that he is in his birthday suit. “Happy Birthday.”

The little library constantly gets refilled with books. These little wooden boxes are places for people to downsize their belongings, sometimes with books that should have been recycled.

I always peruse, but it's not often that the stars align. A few weeks ago, Swimming to Antarctica by Lynne Cox intrigued me. The book is stacked on top of a Jenga-like pile on my nightstand.

The impulse to read the book fulfilled a mood and an aspirational journey at the time I am not committed to just yet. Perhaps the impulse knows more than I do about my future self. There will come a time when I will pick up that book to read because it's simply time.

I have a new interest in watching bees pollinate. The neighborhood has plenty of wildflowers, so I stop. The longer I stay, the more bees I notice moving from flower to flower.

Growing up, I was allergic to bee stings, and my parents had EpiPens when medical access was limited, like vacations to cabins and country inns. We often vacationed in New England - Cape Cod, Vermont, and Maine. Whenever I saw a Yellowjacket, I would panic like Jerry Lewis.

Several crows caw as I walk by, then fly from wire to roof to tree branch along my path. They lose interest and fly away after seeing that I am not a threat. I enjoy this daily interaction as long as they don't dive-bomb me, which they occasionally do during mating season when I get too close to a nest.

An artist is installing a new exhibit in the Das Shaufenster gallery window. There is no inside gallery, just the window, which is always on view -24/7. It is a unique neighborhood feature, but I wonder if residents appreciate the art.

A young man with AirPods on seem to ignore everything and everyone around him. It's a nuisance for him to remove his AirPods when someone talks to him. “What was that?” he say, pulling one AirPod out.

“Good morning.”

“Oh, good morning,” slightly perturbed that his podcast was interrupted.

Stop and smell the artichokes.

GO COUGS

The drive from Seattle to Pullman looks like a straight run on the map, but it doesn't feel like it. At Enterprise, I talked with a woman who grew up in Spokane and told me the drive is long. She likes the views on the Western side of the Cascades, but Route 26 southeast towards Pullman is a single-lane road through vast empty farmland. The Palouse is a dry farming area encompassing parts of Idaho, Washington, and Oregon.

Near Cle Elum, we pass majestic wind turbines slowly turning in non-synchronized patterns. Watching the Kittitas Valley Wind Farm as I try to focus on driving is mesmerizing.

When we cross the Columbia River on Vantage Bridge, traffic slows to a stop for construction. The bridge is light yellow and blends into the river's topography. We take Route 26 south. I-90 turns Northeast towards Moses Lake, Ritzville, and Spokane.

Route 26 is miles of sleepy crossroads and amber farmland with specks of farmhouses and silos in the hazy unforgiving sun. One of my kids says, “This looks like the Lorax.”

The Columbia Plateau's topography near Royal City, Othello, and Washtucna consists of basalt lava flows and semi-arid vegetation. The complexity of the environment is visually engaging.

The land turns arid through Hooper, La Crosse, and Dusty, and silhouetted industrial tillers create grain gossamers on undulating slopes. Thin green lines cut the endless amber fields where water sources trickle and snake. On steel storage structures, “GO COUGS,” but we are two hours from Pullman.

Along a flat open stretch, we drive through a surprisingly strong wind formation, like a mini tornado. The wind shakes the car and briefly makes me maneuver the rental car. Bug juices splat against the windshield, and several wiper fluid rounds are used to clean the window. I think I wouldn't want to drive this byway in the winter.

In Colfax, we sense a college town is close, but we drive for another fifteen miles before we reach the WSU campus. I noticed signs on the shoulder saying, “No Wind Turbines.” In Western Washington, tribes are trying to halt wind development on the coast.

A Coug eating at Porchlight Pizza.

🌻⛴️🔫

We attended the annual Edible Garden Tour in Loyal Heights, where residents open their yards for a day. We sign in at the Loyal Heights Community Center and receive a map. My favorite garden was not lush or well-tended but an overgrown patch planted in a defunct driveway.

On Sunday, we go to a wedding near Kingston, WA. We take the ferry from Edmonds. I sit and watch the dark green water, jade in the crest, and nebulous islands in the offing. The slate-colored horizontal slivers of land remind me of Clyfford Still paintings.

PH-128, 1948

In Kingston, we kill time walking on NE State Highway 104, where tourists buy ice cream, coffee, and seaside bric-a-brac. A property management company caters to seasonal homeowners. Idle traffic waits for the next ferry off the island. A ferry worker brusquely directs confused but frustrated drivers to the back of the line.

Once outside the shopping district, we pass wavy open fields, sylvan patches, and clustered split levels with Home Depot deck furniture and aluminum siding.

The wedding is on a dirt road, and we park in a grass field. A lavender field is meticulously manicured, leading to a gazebo for wedding photos that are already dated. The grounds have a ranch-style house and event area. Guests arrive and are directed to a pond and the bottom of a hill where the ceremony will occur. Staff tests music, mics, and speakers and chills the whites and cucumber water.

The wedding is interfaith with a mix of Jewish and Christian traditions. When we talk to a Jewish attendee, sadly, she poses the question, “Jewish star in or out?”

***

Weed Woman was hacking away in the herbaceous borders of a Ballard Craftsmen when she heard the clang of metal. She picked up a gold-colored object that turned out to be an unused bullet. The headstamp of the bullet said S & B, 23, 9 x 19. “S & B” stands for Sellier & Bellot, a firearms manufacturer in the Czech Republic. “23” could reference the year it was produced or the production factory location. On a list of headstamp codes, 23 is listed as:

Unknown Factory, Hungary, Probably now associated with Magyar Löszergyártó Kft., Mátravidéki Fémmüvek, H-332 Sirok, Hungary

“9 x 19” is a 9mm bullet for Glock-style pistols.

∩

Someone unscrewed our neighbor's ∩ bike rack and stole their electric bike. The rack was found a few houses down. Ring cams are everywhere, but thieves know nothing will happen like coddled college protestors. The revolution will not be televised, but criminal activity will.

My ring cam mostly captures circadian domesticity, which is not engaging content for the app. 👍💬 Viewing shared footage of trespassing, vandalism, and theft might make us believe the community lacks civility.

Negative filtering is not only a cognitive distortion but a media distortion.

Some of the best moments of my day are the serendipitous greetings and short conversations with strangers I encounter. I learn so much about the community from these brief interactions. Conversations are often less defended, less performative, and more honest.

***

The fledgling Japanese Maple has grown. It started as a small rooted twig near the next-door plot where a house and trees once stood. Maple tree samaras travel by wind and propagate in other locations. Ellie pulled the twig and transplanted it to an area where it could thrive best.

The lot is fenced with discarded cinder blocks from an old foundation. When it rains, a declination and hollow collects water and looks like a tiny pond. Crows drink and forage during the day, then leave for the night to wooded areas to roost.

Sometimes, we find tin foil pieces in the same area outside our front door. According to the Audubon Society, “Curious crows will often fly off with an object, then lose interest and leave it behind. If the crow happened to leave an object where humans put out food, those humans might get excited and lay out even more food”.

Crows are food-motivated and intelligent, so the “gifts” are learned behavior that helps them obtain more food.

***

UPDATE: A Seattle Police officer knocked on my door; he found the neighbor's bike. Our neighbor was unavailable, so they told the police to drop it with me if the bike was found. While the culprit dropped the bike and ran, justice was served.. A big “thank you” to the Seattle Police Officer.

A Succession of Weeds

The Safeway vestibule that is no longer accessed accumulates human filth. An armed security guard walks the perimeter, moving people: two men dissectings a bike, sleepy people slumped in a car, and a tweaker performing a monologue - Shakespeare in the parking lot.

The planting strips are bare. Plants that once filled a corporate landscape plan have since died because no one has been paying attention. The green scheme is just an ornament to drive profits without integration into the community. It’s a one-off project that can be ignored. I don’t see a gardening crew on retainer.

The strips are dumping areas for SDOT construction signs, dog pee, packaging and wrappers blown by cars, and discarded memoirs of unwell minds.

And yet, I see this bare patch -in contrast to cement and asphalt- as ugly when it should be the other way around. I’ve taken the well-manicured position instead of nature’s fighting against the death blanket of cement and asphalt. So let ugly dirt be and let nature have its course without human intervention - a succession of weeds.