2017 Oregon Book Awards

George and Jennifer outside the Gerding Theater.

It wasn’t the Oscars and it wasn’t the Grammys. But it was my first time attending an awards event and it was pretty cool.

On Monday night, I joined my friend Jennifer Brennock at the 2017 Oregon Book Awards, held at the Gerding Theater in Northwest Portland.

No red carpet in sight. But in the lobby there was a pop-up book sale going on staffed by the folks from Broadway Books, my neighborhood book store. Also, there were plenty of animated conversations going on among book nerds of all ages, young adults to retirees.

For those of us who love words, it was a night to celebrate seasoned pros, first-time authors and everyone in between who strives to inform and inspire us readers with works of fiction, non-fiction and poetry. If you’ve ever written seriously — whether for work or as a hobby — you know the feeling of facing a blank screen and wondering when or how the first words will materialize.

If you’re patient, they will come. Eventually.

Knowing a little something about what that’s like, I felt nothing but admiration for these accomplished writers who faced the blank screen and won the stare-down. These are the diligent, creative folks whose characters, plots, scenes and dialogues — imagined or real — come to life on the page, often after years of research. Such work is impressive and every one of the Oregon Book Award finalists deserved the whistles, whoops and hollers they received.

***

Before the event, I met Jennifer at a coffee-and-wine bar a short walk from the Gerding. We met several years ago when I attended a writing workshop she was leading on Orcas Island. I was impressed by the way she led the class and since then I have been dazzled by her writing.

Read Jennifer’s contribution (“Baby Shower”) to my Voices of August guest blog project.

She’s taught English at the community college level and I’m now teaching communications classes at two universities, so we have that connection, too. Jennifer’s students are blessed to have someone whose writing prompts challenge them to think and feel deeply and whose own intelligence and passion explode off the page.

The awards program, sponsored by Literary Arts, itself was entertaining — probably more so than you’d think given the absence of live music, video clips or other such stuff that you see at the Academy Awards.

The Portland nonprofit Literary Arts sponsors the Oregon Book Awards.

A California author, Lysley Tenorio, was a charming master of ceremonies, filling the same role as Jimmy Kimmel, Ellen DeGeneres and others have done at the Oscars.

Anis Mojgani, a spoken word artist based in Portland, performed a poem. Téa Johnson, a Grant High School senior, reprised her winning entry in the citywide high school poetry slam competition known as Verselandia.

Read a profile of Téa Johnson in Grant Magazine.

Finalists were announced in eight categories, and the judge for each one read an excerpt from the winner’s book before calling that person to the stage.

Turns out that I had met — ever so briefly — the winner in the first category. Kate Berube took home the award for Children’s Literature for her book “Hannah and Sugar.” Last summer, I took part in a fundraising trivia contest sponsored by a nonprofit that provides books to low-income children. Kate, an author and illustrator, was at that same fundraiser and donated a portion of profits from her sales that night to the same cause.

Even better, Jennifer knew the woman who won the Creative Nonfiction award. That would be Walidah Imarisha, who is currently a lecturer at Stanford but also has taught at Portland State and Oregon State universities. Walidah was honored for “Angels Without Dirty Wings,” a book about life behind prison walls that weaves together the stories of three people — her incarcerated brother and his fellow inmate and herself..

Reunited: Jennifer Brennock and Walidah Imarisha

Jennifer and Walidah have known each other since graduate school. In the lobby afterwards, the two embraced and Walidah autographed the book I bought on the spot. Gotta make room for it on my always crowded bookshelf.

***

Two quick anecdotes that illustrate what a small world we live in:

Walidah’s companion that evening was a young man who had participated years ago in a summer journalism program for minority high school students that brought him to The Oregonian, my former employer  John Joo, then a student at Beaverton High School, remembered me from the program — probably one of those times when I popped into a room of teenagers wolfing down pizza and soda during a visit to the newsroom and said a few words. What a great memory.

Before leaving, I introduced myself to Cindy Williams Gutiérrez, the only Latina/o among the Oregon Book Award winners. Cindy is a poet who’s worked with Milagro Theater, the bilingual theater group where my wife and I saw a recent production. Her new book, “Words That Burn,” dramatizes the World War II experiences of three men, including Lawson Inada, a Japanese American internee who later taught at Southern Oregon College, where Jennifer met him as an undergraduate student.

Cindy chatted warmly, jotted her email address on a card, and invited me to get in touch. I think I’ll do just that.

All in all, a fun evening spent in the company of someone who loves words as much as I do. Who needs the red carpet anyway?

Season-ending selfie

Blazermaniacs: Deborah and George during the first half. Smiles went away during second half.

You can stick a fork in the Trail Blazers now. After last night’s gut-wrenching loss to the titanic Golden State Warriors, my favorite basketball team is one loss away from having its season come to an official end.

That should happen Monday night when the Warriors seek to put the finishing touch on a 4-to-0 playoff sweep of the home team.

On Saturday, I went with my friend, Deborah Heath, to see Game 3 of this Round 1 matchup between the Blazers and the Warriors, the defending Western Conference champions.

The Blazers played beautifully in the first half, inspired by the presence of their injured big man, Josuf Nurkic, and brilliant play by their star guards, Damian Lillard and C.J. McCollum. Deborah and I wore giddy smiles as the Blazers took a 67-54 halftime lead.

A fellow fan shows her support of the Blazers’ new center, a 7-footer from Bosnia who’s only 22 years old.

Unfortunately, Golden State is loaded with talent and the visitors came back to steal a clutch 119-113 win that tore the hearts out of the Blazers and their fans. So much for those halftime smiles.

The loss meant that I went winless as a spectactor. Yep, all six games that I attended this season ended in a loss.

LA Clippers. Dallas. Golden State. Boston. Washington. Golden State, again.

What a contrast to last year when every game I saw produced a win and a shower of confetti. I didn’t expect a repeat of last season but even one win — especially last night, when the stakes were higher — would have been nice.

Predictions: No. 1, Golden State is going to win it all this year. And why shouldn’t they with four All-Stars on their team? No. 2, if Nurkic is healthy next season, watch out for the Blazers.

Ohio on my mind

On the Cincinnati riverfront in May 2016.

The Buckeye State and the Beaver State have so little in common that it’s hard to think of a logical start to this post.

Ohio is a typical Midwestern state stretching from the Great Lakes to the Ohio River, a political swing state with a big industrial base but also a big chunk of poverty-stricken Appalachia. With 12 million people, its population triples that of Oregon.

Oregon has the Pacific Coast, the Cascade Mountains and Crater Lake, and is a reliably blue state, one of just five left where Democrats control the governor’s office and both houses in the legislature. We’re so predictable that neither Trump nor Clinton campaigned here last year, knowing that our few electoral votes would go to Hillary.

So I’m just going to dive in and say that as a longtime Oregonian, it’s odd to realize how much the state of Ohio has intruded on my consciousness during the past year.

The connection took root last spring when I spent some time in Ohio at the tail end of a whirlwind trip whose main purpose was to see four baseball games in three cities in the space of five days. I began in Pittsburgh, then shimmied over to Ohio.

My rental car and airbnb rental in the Ohio City historic district of Cleveland.

I saw one game in Cleveland and spent the night there, then drove to Cincinnati and did the same there.

Before then, I’d passed through Cleveland twice before in the mid-70s as a college student heading to summer internships in Washington, D.C., and again more recently on a road trip with my daughter to get her settled for graduate school in Pittsburgh. We made time to visit the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame and Museum and thoroughly enjoyed ourselves.

Years earlier, Simone and I also got a look at Oberlin College, on the outskirts of Cleveland, as she was considering where to go for undergraduate school. (Thank goodness, she didn’t choose Oberlin.)

In any case, here’s how Ohio has burrowed itself into my mind:

— When I visited in May, the first highway sign that greeted me upon entering the state bore the name of Governor John Kasich. Hey, remember him?

— Arriving early for the baseball game in downtown Cleveland, I was dazzled by Progressive Field, one of the most beautiful stadiums I’ve seen. In the fall, the Indians would return to the World Series and lose a heartbreaking Game 7 to the Chicago Cubs.

Progressive Field is a great venue. It was ranked as Major League Baseball’s best ballpark in a 2008 Sports Illustrated fan opinion poll.

— A short walk away is Quicken Loans Arena, bearing larger-than-life images of LeBron James and his teammates. In June, a month after my visit, the Cavaliers would win the NBA Championship in a thrilling Game 7 against the Golden State Warriors. In July, delegates to the Republican National Convention would nominate Trump for president.

— In Cincinnati, I got to attend a Reds game with Anne Saker, my former co-worker at The Oregonian. A native Ohioan, she’s now working as a reporter at The Cincinnati Enquirer. Peter Bhatia, my former boss in Portland, is now the editor at the Enquirer. The newspaper made the news last fall when its editorial board endorsed Clinton for president — the first time in nearly a century that it had backed a Democrat.

 (Click on images to view captions.)

George with Cincinnati native Rachel Lippolis.

George and Anne flank a statue of Reds great Joe Morgan, arguably the greatest second baseman of all time.

— Before the game, I had lunch with Rachel Lippolis, a regular contributor to this blog over the years. Though we’ve been online friends for several years, this was the first time we’d met in person. Rachel, another native Ohioan, was pregnant then and became a mother in October. For some odd reason, her alma mater, Denison College, is represented among the college and university banners lining one wall of the entrance to the building where I work for an education nonprofit.

— That afternoon, I also explored the Queen City’s riverfront. Looking south into Kentucky, I hadn’t realized the Ohio River had served as the dividing line between the free North and the Southern slave states. It was a powerful, wrenching moment that stays with me still. Part of the reason why is that I spent some time in the National Underground Railroad Freedom Center, learning more about the region’s history and viewing museum exhibits that included an actual slave pen with shackles chained to the floor. Chilling.

The Roebling Murals at the Covington Waterfront depict the history of this northern Kentucky city.

A well-preserved slave pen is on displat at the National Underground Railroad Freedom Center.

— Back in Oregon, I became a grandparent in late July. Looking for a suitable gift for daughter-in-law Jamie, I stumbled upon a wonderful book and blog titled “Becoming Mother.” I  bought the book and sent off a complimentary email to its author, Sharon Tjaden-Glass.

Sharon Tjaden-Glass

We became Facebook friends and soon enough, Sharon landed in this space as a guest blogger, writing about life in a swing state and then about the horror of discovering her baby’s due date was Inauguration Day. She lives in Dayton, a place I came nowhere near during my 2016 trip. I don’t imagine we’ll ever meet, but it’s still nice to connect with a millennial who’s a kindred spirit. (Her newborn son delayed his arrival until early February.)

— Two books I read during the latter half of 2016 were set in Ohio. One, by Celeste Ng, is titled “Everything I Never Told You,” and takes place in the late ’70s in the fictional small town of Middlewood. The novel is centered on the tensions within a family made up of a Chinese American father, an Anglo mother and their three reclusive children. The other, by J.D. Vance, is “Hillbilly Elegy,” a memoir of growing up amidst generational poverty and low educational expectations in Appalachia, first in eastern Kentucky and then in southwest Ohio, in the now-decaying steel town of Middletown.

— A Netflix movie that Lori and I rented was filmed on location in Ohio. “Liberal Arts” stars Josh Radnor as a disillusioned New Yorker who returns to campus at the invitation of a retiring favorite professor. The scenery at Kenyon College is breathtaking, reminiscent of Oregon’s many hues of green. And the movie, also starring Elizabeth Olsen (younger sister to the Olsen twins), is actually pretty good.

— Before the year ended, I met with another former co-worker, Steve Woodward, when I was looking for ideas to incorporate into my college teaching this term. Steve was a guest lecturer in two of my classes last week and, wouldn’t you know it, he too is from Dayton and a graduate of nearby Wright State University. Once a reporter and editor at The Oregonian, Steve is now CEO of his own online news startup and one of the most forward-thinking individuals I know.

The “Sing the Queen City” 3D Art Sculpture, is the signature piece and part of the ArtWorks urban public art project known as “CincyInk.” (Photography by Brooke Hanna.)

I could go on about my discovery of a little indie band called Over The Rhine, named for a neighborhood in Cincinnati. Or about my newfound love of Cincinnati Chili, a no-beans chili made with cinnamon, cloves and chocolate that’s paired with spaghetti and shredded cheddar cheese. But that might make a person wonder if I’m thinking of moving to Ohio.

No. Way.

2016: What a year

Dawn on Orcas Island brings a magnificent view of Mount Baker.

Three weeks from today, the nation will inaugurate a new president — not the one I wanted, not the one everyone expected, but the bloviating mess known as Donald J. Trump.

I shudder to think what the next four years will be like under this man who continues to defy every social and political convention while trampling on the bounds of common decency. Especially so after the model of dignity, grace and intelligence that we’ve seen exhibited by Barack Obama and his equally impressive wife, Michelle, a power in her own right.

It’s still beyond belief that a man so ignorant (and proud of it), so misogynistic (and proud of it), so narcissistic (and proud of it) has been elected to the nation’s highest office. Yet there’s no disputing that Trump’s election was the story of the year in 2016.

But I’m not going to dwell on him. I’ve got my own agenda today — and that’s taking a look back at the year that was. For all the sadness we felt seeing so many entertainers and other public figures pass from the scene — David Bowie, Prince, Maurice White, Elie Wiesel, Garry Shandling, George Michael, Carrie Fisher, et al — there was a lot of other stuff going on in the Rede household.

After all, this is the year I traveled a new path, away from the newsroom where I had worked for the past 30 years. This was the year I caught a glimpse of what retirement might be like, only to settle into a new work routine in the fall.

Here’s a quick take:

***

First grandchild: We welcomed a charming little girl into our lives in late July. Little Emalyn May Rede, the daughter of our youngest son, Jordan, and his wife, Jamie, has been nothing but a source of pride and joy.

Cute as a button? Oh, yeah.

Jordan, Jamie and Emalyn.

Nonni Lori and lil’ Emalyn.

Lori and I were privileged to be the first ones to see and hold Emalyn, other than her parents, when she was just hours old. In the months since, she’s already transformed from helpless infant to smiling, healthy baby, seemingly delighted to be part of the action.

A new job (actually, two): Just as my severance from The Oregonian/OregonLive was running out in mid-September, along came two opportunities to return to the workforce.

Portland State University hired me to teach in the Department of Communications. I got started with a Media Ethics class that set me on a course I’ve always wanted to explore — that of a classroom teacher.

At the same time, I landed a part-time job as communications coordinator with the nonprofit Portland Workforce Alliance, an organization that partners with local employers and schools to expand career and technical education opportunities for metro-area high school students.

In January, I will add a third leg to this stool as an adjunct instructor at Washington State University Vancouver. I loved being a journalist, but I also feel fortunate to have these new employment opportunities.

The big noventa: My dad turned 90 years old in March, so all three of us kids and our extended families gathered in a San Diego suburb to celebrate nine decades of good living.

My dad and stepmom drove in from New Mexico. Lori and I flew in from Portland. My younger sister Cathy flew down from Alaska. My older sister Rosemary, with help from her daughter and son-in-law, hosted the party near Oceanside.

Thanks to a selfie stick, four generations of Redes gather around Dad (in black hat) in honor of his 90th birthday.

Catarino Allala Rede is the only sibling left from a family of seven brothers and two sisters. It was great to see my dad basking in the love and admiration of his children, grandchildren and great-children. For a man who did manual labor all his life and whose formal education stopped at the eighth grade before he went back later in life to get a G.E.D., he’s done pretty damn well.

A baseball road trip: In May, I made a whirlwind trip that allowed me to see four Major League Baseball games in three cities in five days. I flew into Pittsburgh, then drove to Cleveland and on to Cincinnati.

A solitary Tigers fan under the lights at Progressive Field. Cleveland beat Detroit, 8-4, on May 4.

A Portland visitor on the Cincinnati riverfront.

In all, I covered about 400 miles from western Pennsylvania to Ohio, traveling the length of the Buckeye State through gently rolling landscapes. With Lori’s blessing, I stayed in three airbnb rentals and took the opportunity to see new sights, experience unfamiliar places, and visit with new and old friends in Pittsburgh and Cincinnati.

Cool concerts: There were only three this year involving pop artists, but each was satisfying in its own right.

Emily Strayer, left, and Natalie Maines perform against the backdrop of a rainbow heart.

Liz Longley: Five CDs and still in her 20s.

Lead vocalist Natalie Maines.

Got to see Jackson Browne at Edgefield in August and he was outstanding. A month earlier, I saw the Dixie Chicks at a Clark County amphitheater just north of Portland and they were exceptional. Their July concert came at a time when I was feeling down, given a spasm of fatal shootings of both civilians and cops in three states.

In November, I saw Liz Longley, a favorite singer-songwriter, for the second time in 18 months, this time in the intimate space of the Alberta Rose Theater.

Excellent books: All that free time I had in the first few months of the year enabled me to dive into the world of literature. Although I slowed down considerably after going back to work, I still managed to plow through 15 books.

They ran the gamut — everything from a young reader books about a transgender youth (“George” by Alex Gino) and a deaf baseball player (“The William Hoy Story” by Nancy Churnin) to a gritty collection of stories about the Motor City (“Detroit” by Charlie LeDuff) to a rape survivor’s memoir (“Lucky” by Alice Sebold) to a sweeping novel about race, culture and class in Nigeria and the United States (“Americanah” by Chimananda Ngozi Adichie.

There was lots more by the likes of John Updike, Steig Larsson, Ta-Nehisi Coates, Lauren Groff, Celeste Ng, Anne Hillerman and Robert Goodlick. You’ll find a synopsis of each one here: Books & Literature.

PIFF: Early in the year, I joined the ranks of volunteers at the 39th annual Portland International Film Festival. In exchange for helping to greet patrons, take tickets, etc., I got to see six movies for free at three theaters during the month of February.

Cinema 21 in Northwest Portland was one of three venues where I volunteered this year.

A new volunteer at the 39th annual Portland International Film Festival.

It was a lot of fun and I’d like to do it again, but not this year. Too much going on with my three part-time jobs to even consider it.

Urban hikes: Another luxury during the first half of the year was exploring my own city with the help of a great guidebook, “Portland Hill Walks” by Laura O. Foster.

The Japanese Garden is beautiful any time of year.

A mural on North Michigan Avenue urges passersby to “Know thy neighbor as thyself.”

The north end of Joseph Wood Hill Park offers a sweeping view of houses, commerce and Mount St. Helens.

Vibrant colors stand out among a wall of greenery on the Reed Canyon trail.

At the summit of Mount Tabor, the sky seems bluer above these fir treetops.

Hard to believe you’re in the middle of a city when you’re all alone on this path.

I made a routine of selecting a route that took me into mostly unfamiliar neighborhoods, where I learned a lot about the city’s history, geography and demographics. Hard to say which were my favorites, but I do recall the pleasant surprise of discovering Marshall Park in Southwest Portland and getting thoroughly soaked when I hiked through the jewel that is Washington Park.

Island getaways: We made it up to our cabin on Orcas Island three times. Each time is like opening a valve and releasing the stress that comes with living in a city of 632,000 people and an urban area of 2.4 million. Compare that to maybe 2,000 folks total on Orcas.

We’re blessed to have a place where we can hike and kayak, read, play board games, feed the birds and watch old movies — all in a beautiful place that offers Solitude with a capital S.

A familiar couple on the observation tower at Mount Constitution.

Deborah and Bob Ehlers, our favorite Hawkeyes.

Ideal conditions for kayaking on July 6.

The 4th of July parade in Eastsound gets off to a colorful start.

The program for a fun-filled morning.

A Western Tanager takes a sip and a dip at the water feature at our home.

Loop Drive offers shade and solitude.

This year, we enjoyed a parade and community potluck on the Fourth of July weekend and hosted our longtime friends, Bob and Deborah Ehlers. We did our best to make their three-night stay a memorable one, with excursions to Doe Bay, Eagle Lake and Mount Constitution.

Pets: We lost our beloved Otto in July, shortly after our final trip to the island and just a week before Emalyn was born. He was a Jack Russell Terrier, 11 years old, blessed with a sweet disposition, and loved by all who knew him. Otto was especially close to Lori and had earned the status of “The Fourth Child.” Fittingly, he died of an an enlarged heart.

The Little Peanut waits for a morning treat.

Inseparable: Otto and Lori.

Before Otto died, he schooled little Charlotte, our Terrier-Pug-Chihuahua mix, in the ways of the world. She misses him, for sure, but she has blossomed as the sole focus of our canine attention. Charlotte and I survived a run-in with two pit bulls at a dog park, but she’s healed completely and is becoming more social with other dogs and humans.

Mabel, now the senior pet, continues to rule the roost in her own bedroom, a sweet brown tabby who refuses to come downstairs and interact with Charlotte.

Voices of August: No recap would be complete without mention of my annual guest blog project and post-publication meetup. For six years now, I’ve opened up the blog to a different writer each day during the month of August. It’s a wonderful thing to see — a diverse group of friends, relatives and co-workers from all over the country (and even abroad) each taking a turn writing about an issue or an experience that never fails to entertain, inform or resonate with an online audience.

Aki Mori visits with Karima Bassalé. Karima and Parfait also brought their two sons, Ashti and Nouri.

Sue Wilcox wrote about an influential conversation with her father toward the end of his life while she was still a high school junior.

Tammy Ellingson and Alana Cox: women who lean in.

Al Rodriguez, my best friend since childhood, and John Knapp, who’s contributed a guest blog every year since 2011.

From right, journalist Lillian Mongeau, retired journalist John Killen and teacher Tammy Ellingson.

This year’s VOA gathering was held at a Northeast Portland brewpub not far from our home and drew folks from three states, including my compadre, Al Rodriguez, and his lovely wife (and first-time VOA contributor), Elizabeth Lee.

***

Like the other 65 million-plus Americans who voted for Hillary Clinton, I wish we were inaugurating the nation’s first female president. Instead, I’m left to hope that in 2017 we can endure the worst of what a Trump presidency can bring and begin building a coalition that returns the White House to someone we can put our trust in.

Happy New Year, everyone.

Becca becomes a bride

The newlyweds: Jeff and Rebecca Olson.

Two weekends ago, Lori and I settled into plastic folding chairs, draped with purple fabric, in a pasture flanked by a 19th century Victorian farmhouse and a row of tall trees shielding us from the late-afternoon sun.

There on the grounds of the Clackamas River Farm, we were gathered with dozens of other guests for the wedding of Rebecca Wilcox and Jeff Olson.

Rebecca is the youngest daughter of our longtime friends, Eric and Sue Wilcox, and known to one and all as Becca. She was born just days after our youngest son, Jordan, and they’ve been friends virtually their entire lives.

Childhood friends Becca and Jordan.

We’ve seen her grow up along with our own kids, transforming from a chatty, curly-haired little girl to a chatty, beautiful adult. (And I say “chatty” with affection.)

On this particular Saturday, she was beaming. As she should be, surrounded by friends and extended family at a sprawling 45-acre venue about 30 miles southeast of downtown Portland.

An 1890 farmhouse anchors the scene at Clackamas River Farm near Eagle Creek.

Becca walked in on the arm of her dad, who no doubt felt mixed emotions — a sense of fatherly pride combined with loss of a daughter and the addition of a son-in-law to the Wilcox clan. Her mother, I imagine, probably saw a lot of herself in her daughter, who has followed her into the teaching profession. Both are outgoing and dedicated to family above all.

Scott, the older of two brothers, officiated the ceremony with efficiency and humor. Steve, the younger one, delighted the crowd with a reading from Robert Fulghum’s, “All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten.”

Eric and Sue at the May 2013 wedding of their eldest son.

Lori and I were happy to be there, doubly so when we reminded ourselves that we’ve seen each of the Wilcox children get married. Likewise, Eric and Sue have seen two of our three kids get married. (Who knows if the third will someday go down that path?)

If that isn’t a sign of a great friendship that’s spanned almost 30 years, I don’t know what is.

The wedding and reception went quickly. As night fell and the stars came out, the focus of attention shifted from cake and pies to the dance floor, where guests moved to a playlist curated by our DJ son, Nathan.

The Rede brothers, Nathan and Jordan.

Weddings, like births, are an occasion for celebrating a new phase of life. They give us a chance to express our fondest wishes for happiness, good health and all that comes with being a couple legally committed to each other.

We felt privileged to be there and delighted for Becca and Jeff and their immediate and extended families.

Books and beer

A Dream Team of trivia quiz masters. From right: team captain Casey Jones, Simone Rede,  George Rede, Lori Rauh Rede, Kyndall Mason, Sarah Feldman (Casey’s wife), Sarah Jones (Casey’s sister).

Take a favorite activity (reading), combine it with a favorite beverage (a local microbrew), top it with a good cause (a literacy program for children) and you’ve got an irresistible combination.

Now throw in a trivia quiz, a raffle, and the company of good people and you’ve got the recipe for some serious fun.

All of that is what drew Lori and me out to a Northeast Portland brewpub last night.

On a pleasant summer evening, we joined a crowd of people attending a fundraiser for First Book Portland, a nonprofit that provides new books to low-income children.

We were invited to the Breweries for Books event by Casey Jones and his wife Sarah, a young couple we met a couple years ago at a summer party hosted by longtime friends. Casey is a member of the advisory board that raises money to provide book grants to existing community programs (such as Head Start) serving children from low-income families.

First Book is a national organization and the Portland chapter was founded in 1998.

Casey knows of my fondness for books. In fact, he paid me a visit when I held my own used book sale last month to raise money for a similar cause. I didn’t hesitate to return the favor when he invited me to the First Book event at Migration Brewing Co.

Also joining us last night: Casey’s sister, Sarah (yes, another Sarah), our daughter Simone and daughter-in-law Kyndall.

A pint of cream ale goes well with raffle tickets and a roll of Smarties, a trivia quiz prize.

A genuine autograph by team captain Casey Jones.

Together we named ourselves the Dream Team and took on four other teams in a literacy-and-beer themed trivia quiz. Above the din of conversation, we fielded questions about  literature, sports, science, beer, pop culture and other topics. I thought we’d be shouting out answers but the format was different — and better. After each question, team members had the opportunity to talk among themselves before committing to a single, written answer.

After four rounds, scores were tallied and, guess what, the Dream Team took first place. We promptly donated our prize — 50 percent of the trivia contest entry fees — back to the organization. The winner of the raffle did the same. Migration Brewing donated 10 percent of the evening’s profits. And Kate Berube, a local children’s author and illustrator, did the same from her book sales

I guess you’d call that a win-win-win-win situation. All for the benefit of young readers.

Want to know more about First Book and help out, too?

Read more: firstbookportland.org

Save the date: October 26 for the fifth annual Wine-ing for Literacy event, a wine tasting and silent auction at Olympic Mills Commerce Center, 107 S.E. Washington St.

 

Celebrating on Orcas

Early morning clouds over Cypress Island.

Was it only a week ago that we were relaxing yet again on our piece of paradise in the San Juans?

Yes, indeed.

Lori and I arrived at our Orcas Island cabin on a Friday, prelude to the Fourth of July weekend, and wound up celebrating not just the holiday but a dear friend’s milestone birthday.

Foxglove in the foreground, skunk cabbage in the distance.

Any morning is better with a hike around Eagle Lake.

Is there a more calming visual than Eagle Lake?

It was the first time we’d been up for the Fourth, but it may not be the last. Island life was on full display with a downtown parade and mayoral election, a community potluck, a farmers market and a fireworks show on the water. Totally charming.

Here’s how it all went down:

Saturday, July 2

Drove into Eastsound for the July 4th parade, a loosely organized event that’s more Starlight than Grand Floral for those of you familiar with Portland parades. Just about every activity or group on the island was represented — American Legion, Lions, Kiwanis, Garden Club, the library and, not least, a motley crew of men of all ages playing rainbow-colored percussion instruments and calling themselves the Odd Fellows.

There were antique cars and trucks, local politicians, and the five candidates for Honorary Mayor of Eastsound — four dogs and a newt (called Sir Isaac Newt’n). The winner was Lewis, a 12-year-old Corgi who campaigned for “dog park expansion and fresh water bowls (and treats) at all Eastsound businesses,” according to the local newspaper.

The 4th of July parade in Eastsound gets off to a colorful start.

A young spectator checks out the action after pulling her wooden duck in the parade.

Sir Isaac Newt’n finished dead last in a field of field running for Honorary Mayor of Eastsound.

Every parade has to have horses, right?

Evidently, this dog had enough of the parade.

The Odd Fellows bring up the rear of the 4th of July parade.

More than $15,000, a record amount, was raised for the Children’s House preschool program by islanders and visitors who voted for their favorite candidate. Very cool.

After the parade, we wandered over to the Saturday Market on the Village Green. populated by the usual array of organic farms, jewelers, painters, soap and candle makers, and other artists. With Lori’s encouragement, I made my way to the pie booth for a slice of blackberry pie a la mode. Had to do my part for the fundraising, you know.

View a parade slideshow here, courtesy of the Islands’ Sounder: http://www.islandssounder.com/news/385321371.html

Look closely to the right of the truck (above) and you might notice two Portlanders, seated, viewing the parade.

Sunday, July 3

On a sun-splashed morning, we found ourselves at the Doe Bay Community Association’s  45th annual Independence Day celebration.

4th of July selfie in the shade.

Kids clamber aboard the Doe Bay Fire & Rescue truck.

Teenagers play alongside senior citizens in the community band.

The essence of Americana: the 45th annual Independence Day potluck.

The program for a fun-filled morning.

Talk about a Norman Rockwell scene. It was total Americana with an all-ages community band, led by a conductor in a baseball cap, playing patriotic music. There were speeches, silent and oral auctions, a raffle, singalongs to “Yankee Doodle” and “America, The Beautiful,” grilled hot dogs, and a potluck overflowing with salads, side dishes and desserts.

The event was held at the volunteer fire house, across the road from a field where several black steers munched on grass, and just a short walk from Doe Bay Resort & Retreat. All proceeds from the event — including a cutlery set that we won in the silent auction — go to fund the association’s annual operations, including the potluck. We were glad to contribute.

Monday, July 4

Our longtime friends, Bob and Deb Ehlers, arrived on the actual holiday for a three-night visit that began with Lori’s signature dinner — cioppino and Caesar salad — and ended with a soundless fireworks display.

A black-headed grosbeak awaits his turn at the bird feeder on our porch.

A Western Tanager takes a sip and a dip at the water feature at our home.

The fireworks were set off in Bellingham, near the U.S.-Canadian border, less than 20 miles from our cabin on the northeast end of the island. We were far enough away that the red, white and blue patterns reflected off the Strait of Georgia without a sound. Quite the introduction for our guests from Salem, Oregon.

Tuesday, July 5

Hiked around Eagle Lake, the placid body of water at the heart of our island community, enjoying the solitude and multiple views of the lake. Postponed plans for an afternoon sea kayaking trip because of wind and rain, and went into Eastsound instead to browse the local shops.

Came back to the cabin for dinner and a brownie-and-ice cream celebration of Bob’s birthday.

Wednesday, July 6

The sightseeing continued with a drive up to the top of Mount Constitution, the highest point on the island at 2,400 feet. From there, you have a breathtaking view of Orcas and nearby islands, all laid out like so many chess pieces on a green and blue landscape of trees and water.

The view from Mount Constitution is simply spectacular.

Looking northeast toward Canada, roughly 20 miles away.

A familiar couple on the observation tower at Mount Constitution.

Deb, Lori and Bob at Mount Constitution, a must-see attraction within Moran State Park.

You can spot Canada’s Vancouver Island to the north, as well as the Washington coastline from Bellingham to Anacortes. On a clear day, you can see as far south as Mount Rainier, 65 miles southeast of Seattle. Spectacular.

We returned to Doe Bay in the afternoon for a three-hour kayaking trip in ideal conditions — clear, warm and no wind. What a difference 24 hours makes.

Partners in life, teammates on the water.

Ideal conditions for kayaking on July 6.

Corey, a native of Iowa City, led our sea kayaking trip out of Doe Bay.

A friendship that began in Salem is nurtured over dinner at Doe Bay Cafe. From left: George, Lori, Deb and Bob.

King salmon, white beans, thin-sliced kohlrabi and field greens.

Deborah and Bob Ehlers, our favorite Hawkeyes.

Back on land: George, Lori, Deb and Bob.

Bob and Deb got a kick out of the fact that our guide, Corey, was, like them, a native of Iowa. We’d been out with Corey a couple times before and were well acquainted with his friendly personality and deep knowledge of the islands. This time, we parked ourselves in a cove directly below a tree where a bald eagle was eating a fish he’d snatched minutes before. Magnificent bird. Memorable sight.

We freshened up and came back to Doe Bay Cafe for a delicious dinner, then ended the evening gathered around our outdoor fire pit, warmed by the flames and 36 years of friendship with Bob and Deb.

***

We bid them goodbye the following morning, kicked back with our canine companions Otto and Charlotte, and had a relaxing, do-nothing evening to cap off our stay.

We’ve been coming to our island getaway for more than a decade now, and it never gets old.

Each visit begins with a can-you-believe-this appreciation that we are fortunate to be here.

Tip o’ the hat to the Pittsburgh Pirates.

Lori’s carefully cultivated lavender, one of the few plants that deer won’t eat.

Charlotte takes a walk in the woods.

It’s a place where we can set aside the stresses of urban life and just turn things down a notch or two. It’s a place where we can enjoy simple things: feeding the songbirds that flock to our porch; sitting outdoors with a cool drink; walking alone or together on the dirt-and-gravel roads above our cabin. It’s a place where we can just pause and enjoy the silence, the blessed silence.

In view of all that, it’s a given that each visit ends with a pledge to return as soon as we can.

Three for ‘fore’

Not Ready for Prime Time Golf: Ed, George and Tom.

Even if you’ve never played the game, you probably know golfers yell “fore” to warn other golfers of an errant shot. Luckily, there were no heads bonked and no close calls during a round of nine holes  with two friends.

Instead, there were the usual hits and misses you’d expect from guys who play less than five times a year. Long, straight drives and impressive putts mixed in with hooks and slices off the tee, divots, whiffs, and sand traps.

Such inconsistencies might frustrate an accomplished golfer. But when you roll with my crowd, it’s easy to keep things in perspective. The point is to have fun — enjoy the fresh air, revel in the occasional good stroke, celebrate the rare “par” — and go have lunch afterwards.

Tom and Ed walk the fairway after massive drives off the tee.

That’s exactly what my buddies, Tom and Ed, and I did yesterday at Eastmoreland Golf Course in Southeast Portland. Bordered in part by the Rhododendron Gardens and Crystal Springs Lake, Eastmoreland is ranked by Golf Digest among the top public courses in the country to play.

The front nine is mostly flat and, though lined with trees on every fairway, we didn’t lose a single ball. Yesterday’s weather was perfect, too. Overcast skies and mild temperatures came on the heels of blistering hot weather earlier in the week and rain that fell later in the day.

Eastmoreland Golf Course dates back to 1916.

Yesterday was my first time at Eastmoreland. I got the idea to play there during a recent urban hike in the Reed College area that took me past the perimeter of the course.

Based on this week’s experience, I wouldn’t mind playing here again. Maybe 18 holes next time?

Noteworthy: The scorecard showed that each of us roughly shot our age in strokes. I call that success.

Photograph: Eastmoreland Golf Course

Mediocre no more

Raising a glass to a successful season (clockwise from bottom left): Brian, Mike, Joel and George.

When I last wrote about our bowling team in early February, I conceded that we were living up to our team name — the Mediaocracies.

Four weeks into the winter season, we had won 8 games and lost 8 games, a mediocre showing that put us right in the middle of 22 teams competing in the Average Joe’s League at AMF Pro 300.

Well, I’m happy to say we finished on a roll (sorry, cheesy pun). During the just-concluded season, we improved to 38 wins and 26 losses — good enough for a two-way tie for fourth place. We finished 10 games behind the first-place team (48 wins, 16 losses) and just one game behind the third-place team.

As a reward, we received enough prize money as a team to treat ourselves to dinner out Monday night at Portland’s Temple of Hamburgers, otherwise known as Tilt.

No, it’s not really the Temple of Hamburgers, but every one of my friends and family who’s eaten there agrees it tops the list of burger joints in Portland. After last night, add two more true believers — teammates Mike Slama and Joel Odom. (Both showed remarkable restraint, steering clear of the sinfully rich offerings in favor of healthier options.)

Mike (aka “Spud”) and Joel (aka “Joey”) joined Brian Wartell and me this season when our two previous teammates had to bow out. Everyone on the team contributed to our late-season surge.

Joel, who became known as Joey only because league officials mis-typed his name onto the team roster, led the way with a 171 average. On some nights, he was simply awesome, rolling four or five strikes at a time and often notching games of 200 or more.

Prize winnings, tucked inside this envelope, amounted to about $30 each. Not quite enough to go pro.

Mike, Brian and I all finished with averages in the 140s, which makes us appear more consistent than we really were. From week to week — and often game to game — we never knew who’d be on or off their game. As a result, the others had to try to step up when one bowler wasn’t at his best.

Above all, we had fun. And that’s the point in a coed, non-sanctioned league like ours. There are some great bowlers, for sure, with a half-dozen men and women averaging 175 or better and one dude at 210. But there are also some who struggle to break 100 — and who  enjoy themselves just the same.

The dirty little secret? The worse a person bowls, the higher their handicap — which means their team starts off each game with an advantage in points. As a matter of fact, that was a frequent challenge for us — having to overcome the opposing team’s larger handicap.

The spring league starts June 6 and we’re all looking forward to it. Like any baseball team emerging from spring training, we’ll be starting the season with optimism and fresh hopes for a better season.

After all, we’re mediocre no more.

 

Working and vacationing in Southern Africa: Guest blogger

Victoria Falls, seen from the Zimbabwean side, is often graced by rainbows.

Editor’s note: For as long as I have known him, I have been impressed by the scientific mind and musical talents of Greg Baker. Our youngest child and his first-born, both boys, were classmates from preschool through high school and our wives are great friends.

Greg is an accomplished fiddler and birder, but it was a work trip to southern Africa two summers ago that piqued my interest. I asked him to share his experiences in a guest blog and so he did, recalling elephants, forests, brushfires and charcoal.

By Greg Baker

In August 2014 I had the good fortune to work in Zambia, a land-locked, south-central African republic of some 14 million people. I was assigned to the position of job site safety manager for the construction of a hazardous waste landfill in the northern Copperbelt Province of Zambia, not far from Chingola.

Construction of a large, lined landfill can only occur during the winter season when conditions are dry – it must be completed before the predictable rainy season commences begins in late spring. Our construction schedule would be tight. My charge on this project was to prevent deaths, accidents, injuries, equipment losses and uncontrolled releases of hazardous substances. This would present a few challenges, as approximately half the crew consisted of local, young untrained laborers, and you never knew what to expect from local suppliers and subcontractors.

Though I’ve traveled a bit in Europe and visited several Central American countries, I’d never been on the African continent. I imagined it would be dominated by lush tropic vegetation and teeming with wildlife. But I quickly came to realize that location, elevation and season matter.

During a four-month stay, I would get a ground-level view of the country’s environmental and economic challenges and shoot hundreds of photos of spectacular scenery and wildlife. I would come home not just with the priceless experience of viewing exotic animals and birds in their native habitats but also with a new perspective on the traditional practice of cutting down live trees to produce charcoal.

So there I was, on my first trip to Africa – a serious birder, and I was stoked! More than 98% of the plants, birds and other animals encountered during this trip would be new to me. Undoubtedly I would find time for some collateral birding, and photograph species new to my life list of world birds (aka “lifers”).

Click on images to view captions.

Southern masked weaver closeup.

Southern masked weaver.

Open-billed stork.

In Zambia people drive on the left hand side of the road, which is a throwback to former British colonial rule. Our construction management team drove through Kitwe to Chingola on a paved, but potholed asphalt road, recently improved by Chinese convict crews – they work for next to nothing I was told. My driver – a young fellow from Ndola – complained that the Chinese get much of the public works projects, because local Zambians simply cannot complete with the very low Chinese wages. (Over the course of the next four months I would come to appreciate that the Chinese aren’t exactly winning the hearts and minds of the African populace. And they appear to be underperforming on infrastructure development, specifically new road projects.)

Typical potholes on a major two-lane highway.

Drivers swerve around potholes, constantly resulting in frequent collisions. Over the course of my four-month assignment while I was there, several pedestrians and drivers would perish along the stretch of road adjacent to our construction site. Loud truck tire explosions occurred about twice a month – the Zambians appear to habitually use their tread-worn semi-truck tires until they blow up.

While cruising along at 110 kilometers per hour (roughly 70 mph) I could not help but notice the speed limit was posted at 60 kh. I was surprised but not shocked to see large stands of pine forest plantations, not dissimilar from what I have observed back in the states, in southern Georgia and northern Louisiana. They appeared to be plantations of pine, perhaps imported from elsewhere.

I soon learned that our project site was at 4,000 feet elevation and 12 degrees south of the equator. Would I get to experience any dense wilderness jungle during this trip? I could hardly wait to explore the countryside.

A typical informal roadside market at a railroad crossing where traffic normally slows down.

There seemed to be plenty of low-lying forests off in the distance, but very few wetlands, streams, ponds and lakes.

I soon learned that brushfires are daily occurrences during the dry season. Fires go unattended and the locals seem quite casual and unconcerned about them. The same goes for garbage fires in and around Chingola. People burn garbage around the clock and don’t seem to mind the foul acrid odors that offend the senses of a fellow from Portland, Oregon. (On one Sunday morning I arose at 8 am for a jog, but quickly gave up — the air pollution was too intense. That day I did not venture outside of my hotel room until noon.)

On a day off I visited the Chimpfunshi Chimpanzee Sanctuary with a few staff from the project and the Mokorro Hotel and Grille. We came across an uncontrolled brushfire, essentially out in the middle of nowhere.

An unattended fire near Chimpfunshi.

The fire must have been displacing insects because several species of birds were actively foraging in front of the fire line, including a distant hornbill, and a small flock of iridescent Greater Blue-eared Starling – both lifers.

Back in the vicinity of Chingola, I occasionally noticed women gathering dead wood in the adjacent forest around the perimeter of our job site. They collected large bundles and balanced their loads on the tops of their heads. The wood is used to produce charcoal, which is the primary fuel used for cooking in rural areas. (Zambia does not have any natural gas, coal or oil resources, and must import such fossil fuels, primarily for commercial and industrial purposes.)

Young local women from the squatter neighborhoods carrying sticks for charcoal production, which can occur informally, anywhere

Bundles of locally produced charcoal for sale along the road side

Back in the states African families are frequently belittled for relying upon “cooking” charcoal, which produces carbon dioxide that presumably contributes to climate change. (“If only those Africans would stop making and using charcoal we would have much less deforestation and less severe global warming to worry about.”) Westerners generally believe that the practice of cutting live trees down for charcoal production has resulted in deforestation in arid regions of Africa. No doubt this is a huge problem with unintended consequences. And it is a problem that is only exacerbated by unsustainable population growth.

But after residing in Africa for a few weeks I started to gain a different appreciation for this custom and the impact that it appears to be having in this part of Zambia. From the few wildfires I had observed, I concluded that such fires do not burn very hot, and the trees and shrubs in the forest understory appear well-adapted for surviving regular light fires. If the dead wood was left in place, the accumulated fuel would burn much hotter and likely destroy large tracts of forest. What type of landscape would result then, and how much carbon dioxide would be sequestered and/or released?  Either way, that dead wood eventually IS going to get burned. And live trees should be left unharmed – at least that is the law.

Humans have been an integral part of the ecology in Africa for millions of years and have shaped the present day landscapes.  The age-old African custom of regularly gathering fire wood has apparently resulted in the sustainable forests which we observe today in this part of Zambia. Despite the well-intentioned criticisms of Westerners, the forests and landscapes surrounding Chingola appeared to be doing very well, thank you very much.

I wish I could say the same about wildlife around Chingola and our jobsite. Mammals and birds were few and far between. Many children carry catapults (i.e., sling shots), so any unwary wild creature that moves could wind up in a pot or on a skillet before the day is done. Same for road kill – the only road kill I observed were flattened dogs which were ritually left in place to become two-dimensional, and recognizable even a few weeks after meeting their maker. Perhaps there weren’t many wild mammals and reptiles around to be struck?

***

SEPTEMBER 2014

Towards the end of the first week of September our team learned that a major shipment of construction materials had been delayed; consequently, we would have an uplanned shut-down at the project site – and a furlough – for up to two weeks. I decided to stay in country, though, as I might have had to return to the job site to conduct inspections, risk assessments, and issue specific work permits. So, I decided to fly over to Livingstone, Zambia to check out Victoria Falls and the famous national parks that were said to be teeming with wildlife.

My $40 per night private cottage at Jolly Boys in Livingstone, Zambia.

Since I stayed over a week in a private cottage, I got the 8th night free. The place had two cots with mattresses and mosquito netting; concrete floors; and screen windows. The shared bathroom facilities were in separate buildings, as were places to dine. Not bad at all!

Chobe River habitat.

In early September, many large mammals are concentrated on Sedudu Island.

I signed up for a day trip to Chobe National Park in Botswana with Kalahari Tours.  The morning was slated for a water trip to Sedudu Island.  Sedudu is a term for a group of hippos. Then following a brief lunch, the afternoon was scheduled for a game drive along a river bank and channel of the Chobe River, immediately across from Sedudu Island.
A bull elephant started crossing the Chobe River for Sedudu Island right in front of our boat.

A wild African elephant.

Bull elephant starting to cross the Chobe River for Sedudu Island

He made it across.

This was my first encounter with a wild African Elephant. I was so pleased to observe this large bull as it swam across a river channel and ascended onto Sedudu Island.  Each elephant must consume several hundreds of pounds of vegetation daily, and during the dry season there are more than 100,000 of these giants in Chobe National Park.

I photographed hundreds of birds, reptiles and other mammals. (See www.bigdecadebirder.com to view the images.)

White rhino.

Cape Buffalo.

Nile Crocodile, a man-killer.

Hippos larger than mini-vans take out a lot of humans each year.

A sleeping leopard is one of the Big Five.

I took little comfort (from our boat) when a nearby buffalo assumed an assertive posture. (This species kills several people every year.) The Cape Buffalo is one of Africa’s dangerous Big Game Five, or simply “Big Five.”  The other four include the African Elephant, White Rhino, Lion and Leopard.  I was very fortunate to photograph all of the Big Five while visiting the Livingstone area for the week.

One day my destination was Victoria Falls, which is one of the Seven Wonders of the Natural World.  Dr. Livingstone was the first European to observe it back in 1858, I believe.  How Dr. Livingstone ever made it here without dying of Yellow Fever, Malaria and a host of other life-threatening diseases is beyond me.  I took my prophylactic malaria medication religiously each morning.

Victoria Falls, more than a mile wide, is considered one of the Seven Wonders of the World.

Victoria Falls and gorge viewed from the Zambian side.

It quickly occurred to me “You’re not back home in Oregon, Greg.” Victoria Falls is nothing like the Cascades of the Columbia Gorge. which is so familiar. For example, Multnomah Falls, while impressive, is essentially a single thread of cascading water. In contrast, the band of spilling water from the Zambia River is over a mile wide, dropping some 350 feet into a steep narrow gorge, shrouded in perpetual mist, punctuated by a persistent rainbow.

Mist from the falls maintains a small permanent rain forest, where I stood taking this photo. Across from this mist, I paused in a mini-rain forest and was rewarded by encountering a small mixed flock or “party” of small foraging birds, which I took time to identify and photograph.

LATE SEPTEMBER/EARLY OCTOBER 2014

Subsequent day trips took me back to Chobe National Park in Botswana and to the other side of Victoria Falls in Zimbabwe.

Back at work on September 24th, we had a brush fire sweep through our construction site. Since I had wildfire fighting experience, I managed the fire response.

It wasn’t an intense fire, but we had to keep it away from a million dollars’ worth of heavy equipment and landfill liner materials!

I remained on site over night to conduct fire watch. I saw an adult African Eagle Owl flying around by an owl nest during the fire, and I was concerned about the owlets and their chances for survival.

The next morning both owlets were gone. They had vanished without a trace. I feared the worse. Perhaps they had dropped out of the nest because of the fire and were consumed by some predators?

Brush fire approaching our job site

Two weeks after the fire, I spotted two owlets, including this one.

By October 6th, nearly two weeks had passed without any sign of the owls. I happened to look up and spotted the owlets in the trees.

MID TO LATE NOVEMBER 2014

By mid-November we completed our landfill liner installation in the nick of time — just ahead of the first major wet season downpour. My job was done! I could now go meet my wife Rebecca in Livingstone. Later, we would fly down to Capetown and explore the South Africa coast.

Rebecca Bauer, a sight for sore eyes after months apart.

International traveler and lifelong birder Greg Baker.

DECEMBER 2014

After visiting the Livingstone area, Chobe National Park and the Wilderness area of South Africa I came to reconsider my previous impressions about charcoal production and the forests back at our construction site near Chingola. Perhaps the only reason there are ANY forests remaining around the Copperbelt and Chingola is related to the absence of elephants?

The folks around the Copperbelt exterminated the African Elephant long ago – this species is known for tearing down small to medium-sized trees and creating/sustaining savannah and grasslands habitats. If the African Elephant were reintroduced, protected, and allowed to roam freely (unlikely) throughout the Copperbelt, there would be very little shrubbery and understory left for the Zambians to collect for charcoal production – the landscape would likely be more savannah-like and there would be more grasslands.

After four months in Zambia I was not certain what to conclude about my Westernized preconceived notions concerning charcoal production, deforestation, climate change and elephants. I will simply have to return to Africa one day to ponder these matters again!

***

Greg Baker has chronicled the entire trip and hundreds of photographs on his website: http://www.bigdecadebirder.com.  He is currently employed as Director of Training at PBS Engineering and Environmental in Portland, Oregon. His wife, Rebecca Bauer, is a retired teacher from Portland Public Schools.

All photographs courtesy of Greg Baker

Map: zambiapretoria.net