Amber Waves of Grain

There are usually three months of the year when it rains less in Oregon than the other nine months. We call it summer, and local people think that occasional days of 80F/26C are insufferable. That much heat nauseates them; it leaves them weak and debilitated, muttering, fanning themselves and drinking iced coffee frappés. For those months they pack away their down and only wear their fleece jackets in the morning and evening. Those of us who have lived in places like Houston and New Orleans find these complaints amusing. We gaze happily into the thin covering of clouds in the pale blue sky and congratulate ourselves on having found this paradise.

Today after Tai Chi, I met two friends for lunch, and after that I drove out to Champoeg (pronounced Sham-POO-ey) State Park to meet two other friends from far away who are camping out there in their RV. The park is in the Willamette River valley, and there must be some kind of wildlife, but I didn't see any. I shot this grassy meadow, streaked rather beautifully in the late day light, as we took a long stroll after dinner. Then we came back and ate ice cream with freshly-picked blackberries from the bushes all around us. Summer.