Blue moon bunny
Finding wild animals in urban Portland
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Blue moon and a bunny
I bravely ventured out in my wheelchair at 3 am on June 1 to capture the blue moon, the second full moon of May, which shone in the southern sky on May 31 and June 1.
I got many shots of the moon, but I also captured this little rabbit, sitting on the sidewalk about a block from my home and waiting patiently for me to take its picture before hopping off. It’s lit by the headlights of my wheelchair.
Urban wildlife
Rabbits
I’ve started seeing rabbits near my house in the past few weeks. I’m used to seeing squirrels, but bunnies are new. I saw another outside Westminster Presbyterian on Northeast Hancock a few weeks ago. And there’s a lot of chatter on Nextdoor about rabbits in many eastside neighborhoods.
Should I worry about their survival? They seem so tiny and vulnerable. But rabbits multiply like rabbits. They will always be with us.
Raccoons
A few months ago, something dropped out of a tree near the bus shelter at Southeast 27th and Hawthorne and scurried away. It was this raccoon, hanging out in the middle of the day.
Years earlier, I had to take out the cat door in my house in Southwest Portland after my kids came home from school and found raccoons eating out of the cats’ food bowls. We lived close to a creek in a neighborhood with a lot of wooded spaces.
Opossums
I’ve heard them rustling in the bushes, and I glimpsed a pair of them once. I remember them having scary white skull-like heads, but the photos I see on the Internet show benign animals with pointy faces.
Coyotes
I’ve never seen one, but they are present all over town. Beats me where they live. The cat that went out the cat door and never returned to my Southwest Portland house was probably coyote food. Coyotes may keep the rabbit population in check. But what will keep the coyote population in check?
Nutria
Nutria are nocturnal, but I’ve seen them in daylight in Milwaukie, where they camp out in a pond behind the Milwaukie Public Library. This one was photographed in Westmoreland Park.
Bigger game
Last month, police were called when a black bear wandered into Canby. They tried waiting for wildlife officials to arrive with tranquilizer guns, but the bear was prowling near a Burgerville and a Saturday market and a crowd was gathering. So they shot the animal.
May into June
The month of May seemed to go on forever. I live in a neighborhood of gardens and growth. Every day some new plant begs for attention from the wild tangles of shrubs and flowers and grasses. Trees fence with the sun, shading sidewalks and streets and manicured lawns edged with annuals. The lushness is so overwhelming, it makes me long for winter. I can’t help it. I pine for those months of being able to see the structure of trees. But sometimes, shrubbery suffices.
Festival time
It’s June in Portland, the City of Roses, and the Rose Festival is in full swing.
Regardless how you feel about using pulchritude and a perky personality as a means of measuring the worth of children, Rose Fest offers some good community fun. The Grand Floral parade, with floats painstakingly decorated with fresh flowers, was a Saturday morning tradition for decades. It used to be my job at The Oregonian on parade day to take notes for the photographer who was shooting the parade from high above the crowds in the bucket of a cherry picker crane. I wrote about that fun experience a few years ago.
The parade is today, June 6.
Starting this year, the event is moving entirely downtown and has been rescheduled for the evening. The abbreviated route starts along the riverfront and ends up at Lincoln High School.
The Starlight Parade, with lighted floats, used to be on a separate evening but this year has been folded into the Grand Floral. Its contingent starts out two hours after the big parade, also at the waterfront.
That’s a lot of parade, stretched over hours. I hope they have adequate portable toilet coverage.
More June ceremonies
Father’s Day is the third Sunday of June. Midmonth, graduation. New starts, new beginnings, new lives.
I feel for our graduates, coming into a world that is so unpredictable, and in many ways so unforgiving and so unloving. College grads come saddled with debt, hoping for a break, a job, a meaningful life. Let’s cheer for them.
On to sports
Baseball season is in full swing. Go, Padres!
The World Cup starts Thursday, June 11, with Korea v. Czech in Guadalajara, Mexico, and Mexico v. South Africa in Mexico City. I don’t have a favorite team; I just root for whoever. I like getting up at weird early hours to catch games being played in faraway places.
June resolution
I have a resolution, a theme, for June. “Wispy whispers of inspiration, from both sides.” “Both sides” means Gemini, the schizoid astrological sign. Wispy whispers? I don’t quite believe I wrote that. Maybe I meant more mystical meandering, intimations, mutterings. That sort of thing.
June is the month of Gemini, an astrological sign I am ambivalent about. Sometimes I will initially really like a person who is a Gemini, and they will turn out to be, well, something other than what I first fancied. It’s an odd phenomenon, unique to me, and not a reflection on all the fine Geminis out there. I’ve just had a couple of rough experiences.
O, Creator! (I mean you!)
You were created to create. It’s what humans do, when we are not destroying.
When you create, you enter a dream where Spirit greets you and guides you. It is a place you should visit often.
Please write
Or knit or make birthday cakes. Draw with chalk on the pavement. Finger paint with the kids.
Make something. Anything.
I quilt and cook and engage in creative bus riding, but writing is my nirvana. I love being up to my elbows in words, tossing them around, waiting to see what comes next.
Because I don’t know what will come next. I may have an idea of what I will be writing, what I want or need to say. But the words don’t corral easily. Herding cats may be a frayed cliche, but that’s what writing sometimes feels like.
In this essay, the words are being unusually unruly, because I am forming it out of nothing. I sat down to write a cheer, an encouragement, an invitation to writing. And so it goes. . . .
I want you to move fearlessly to the keyboard or pick up a pen. Don’t think about the words. Think about feeling. Or don’t think at all. Just let the words come. Let the passion flow from you fingers, your hands, your heart.
Why write?
I write for publication, specifically for this Substack newsletter, Becoming. Sometimes I write book reviews for people who actually pay me.
But often, every morning, actually, I write just to write. I write to wake up my being, to oil the sinews of syntax, to get into the rhythm of creation.
My practice is write continuously for 20 minutes without pausing. I write—whatever. Random words, memories, poetry, little stories.
This morning writing exercise has been the foundation of my day for years. I seldom use what I write during this time, but neither the time nor the words are wasted. It is exercise.
What you will discover
For some folks, the best part of writing is having written (thanks, David Sarasohn, for this insight). Having written, you are clear. You understand more about yourself. You have moved the needle toward fulfillment.
When you write, whatever you write, you are a writer.
You don’t have to publish your work. You don’t have to show it to anyone, although I guarantee you others would like to see it. But you have written, and what you wrote is part of you, and you are enriched by it.
Even if all you write is, over and over, “I don’t know what to write,” once you sit down and pick up a pen or place your fingers on a keyboard, you are making a start. Just begin with one character, one word, one thought. Your heart, your mind, you hands will guide you from there.
Don’t be afraid. Stick with it and make a plan to do it again.
The next time you try it, you will surprise yourself.
Open a world of wonder. Please write.
Reluctant writing
The keyboard in my lap. A nickel for my thoughts. It’s hard to move my fingers. The words seem gummy and stale. In another world, long past. I might have struck a smoke. Lost in nicotine and ink, Tobacco on my tongue. Now I sit with an espresso, Waiting for my soul to wake up. Caffeine in my veins, A kick to my creativity. Just keep the fingers moving, Clicking on the keyboard. What comes today may be golden— Tomorrow I’ll sieve through it, Wash away the dross, and hope A little yellow dust remains.
Check out
What is it with Worchestershire?
A few weeks ago, I ran a photo of a broken bottle of Worchestershire sauce nestled in a pile of broken auto glass. Then I came upon another discarded bottle of this delicacy. Someone in the neighborhood must really love anchovies.
Hairy sign
A writing friend, Kelly Turner, shared these photos of a sign that appears to have grown a head of hair. The back, especially, could use a trim.
Bomb that yarn
June 11, Thursday, is national yarn bombing day, as it is every year.
Yarn bombing, wrapping objects in public spaces with knitted or crocheted art, has been a thing for about 15 years. On this day, knitting needles and crochet hooks become “weapons of mass construction” and you may find decorations on trees, poles, doorknobs or statues.
Here’s a traffic pole decorated with yarn opposite St. David of Wales Episcopal Church on Southeast Harrison.
Want to learn more? Check out Yarn Bombing: The Art of Crochet and Knit Graffiti, by Mandy Moore, at the Multnomah County Library.
Goodbye for now
Thanks for reading Becoming. Thanks for liking it and leaving comments. Thanks for your loyalty and good wishes.
I’m keeping the yearly subscription price at $50 (or $5 a month) for now. Fifty bucks is a bargain for 52 weeks of lively writing and the occasional bunny photo. A few brave souls, dear to me, have ponied up $100 a year as founding members.
On PayPal, you can tip me in $5 increments.
But mostly, keep coming back. I have fresh content every week and I love sharing it with you.
Love, Fran
—30—
Hairy signs and bunny rabbits. What else could one wish for?
You fulfill my mind with your posts. Thank you Fran and I encourage those who like Fran’s writing of the daily wonders of living to become a paying subscriber. I Tried to afford it but I lasted six months. Yet I’m privileged still to see her post. Thanks Fran.