Isabella Bird Miscellany

coffee cupping at Thump I have a dilemma of almost epic proportions.  Having moved to a new town means finding a new coffee joint to frequent.  My go-to spot in the Portland area was Wind Horse in Milwaukie.  They served up a honey latte that was crazy awesome – you know just the right amount of creamy foam and honey all swirled with robust coffee. Local roasters like Stumptown, Blue Kangaroo and St. Johns each have a different persona, much like establishments that serve their electrifying brew.   Coffee houses have their own vibe and beat, so it’s hugely crucial to find the perfect sweet spot.  I must admit, in my search I might have been slightly over-caffeinated recently, but somehow, that hasn’t translated into more productivity.  Wondering why on that one… So, here’s what I look for in a good coffee hang-out:  Of paramount importance is that they serve really good coffee; none of that freeze-dried, stuffed-in-a-can and drug out of the refrigerator stuff.  Nope, it ne

green in concrete For the last lot-of-years I’ve lived in urban areas.  I’ve become a city girl with hints of a flower child mixed with hipster nuances…translated I like to wear skinny jeans.  This is the total opposite of how I grew up, which was on a farm.  My paternal grandparents grew, raised, caught and hunted for everything they ate – radical organic, free-range stuff.  On my Mom’s side of the fam tree, there were green grocers and orchard growers.  Heck, I was in 4-H raising feeder calves and a small flock of wooly sheep.  Gardens, canning, freezing and preserving everything was the ordinary. I carried on the gardening-preserving, saving the spoils piece, until I found myself in fresh veggie-at-a-farmer’s-market heaven!  The foreign city I found myself in had a temperate climate where fruit and vegetables could be grown year ‘round, and … it was sold at a giant open air market every week.  Yippee!  I no longer needed to squirrel away for winter; it was there in cr

an imbroglio to untangle To say the least, this last year has been a crap shoot.  Massively cool things have happened, but there’s also been the stuff that takes you out at the knees and kicks you while you’re lying in the dirt crying like a baby.  Am I looking for sympathy, trying to make you feel bad?  Nope, think polar opposites.  This past year was a life of “Re.” Re, the little prefix we attach to words has a grand meaning:  do again and then again, or to do something you’ve already done.  Awesome, huh? In order to have a life of re, you first need to have some “de” (removal, out of or opposite.)  Before this starts to sound like a clever Dr. Seuss story, let me explain.  Sometimes we need to take things apart, deconstruct and edit. Keep in mind, deconstruction differs from demolishment.   The first salvages, carefully saves and reuses.  It’s time and labor intensive, but you end up with a sweet stack of bits and pieces to repurpose.  The sledgehammer approach, wh