Trestle Falls, Umpqua National Forest

When you are low to the ground like Jones and hiking on all fours, I wonder if you notice the steepness of the hill as much as a taller homo erectus. Something to do with physics, no doubt. He seemed unfazed by the climb but of course he didn’t have 30+ pounds of girl and gear on his back to emphasize the point. Regardless, there were wows all round when we reached the upper falls cascading 60 feet into the mossy grotto below. The trail goes behind the waterfall, which is very exciting, very pirate cave–and excellent footing, fyi–but Jones was less of a fan. He doesn’t like to be dripped on.

Cat poop consumed: no

 

South River Road, Cottage Grove

The marquee in front of Cottage Grove High School (Home of the Lions) scrolls much helpful information, including SPRING SPORTS DESSERT MAY 25 IN THE CGHS CAFETORIUM, and man, it’s hard to keep one’s ironic distance, even with a word like cafetorium that begs for snark. I attended high school, naturally, but worse, I worked at one for seven years, and I continue to be grateful that I no longer have to, especially now that schools routinely have a room called the “cafetorium.” In my day, we had the multipurpose room and we were glad to have it!

Cat poop consumed: no

 

Sunrise Estates, Cottage

Oof, one too many enchiladas for dinner. Sometimes I’d like a minder to give me a carefully measured cup of kibble for my meals, and just be done with it. I’d probably have shinier hair, too.

Cat poop consumed: probably

 

Mount David, Cottage Grove

Ramona used to be so reliable up here. You could take off the leash and she’d stay close, come when you called. But now she is genuinely deaf, so when she starts wandering in the wrong direction toward the golf course side of the hill, and you’re all Ramona Ramona Ramona, while wrangling a toddler who is determined to hike in the opposite direction, it’s not so easy. Like Frost’s fences, leashes and backpacks make for well-managed dogs and children.

Cat poop consumed: no

 

North River Road, Cottage Grove

Excuses, always with the excuses. But I’m so sleepy. I’m so old. It’s so early. It’s so cold. I really have to stop and smell this grass right here. And right here. Also here. Now I must relieve myself. Not really. Actually now. Oh, I’m a poor crippled dog, see how I’m limping? I might be more motivated if there were a better selection of cat poop.

Cat poop consumed: no

 

River Road North, Cottage Grove

I have been hanging around CG for lo these three and a half years and that pile of bricks is still blocking the sidewalk at 2nd and Adams. And that house is still for sale, stubbornly set at the quixotic price that means it will never sell. Next to the swing bridge is a hut on wheels with the hopeful sign declaring it the future home of a family courtesy of Habitat for Humanity. I wonder how long it will take for the chain link fence to be rebuilt, the one on Bryant that was crushed by a tree in the big storm in March? And why is that bucket of waste oil still in my driveway?

Cat poop consumed: no

 

Fir Grove Cemetery, Cottage Grove

You know how animals in other countries have their own way of speaking, just like a foreign language? Like how French dogs say “ouaoua,” or Swedish cats say “mjan,” or Spanish chickens say “cocoroco.” We saw some turkeys on the path heading into the trees, and no kidding, they said “gobble gobble,” just like you’d expect.

Cat poop consumed: yes

 

Sunrise Estates, Cottage Grove

I love early photographs of New York City when the robber barons built their massive mansions on upper Fifth Avenue before anything else was around, so they stood like Beaux-Arts blocks in the mud. That’s what this silly development is like. The four dream houses aren’t exactly grand enough for Edith Whartonesque society balls of innuendo and decolletage, but they do stand in lonely largeness up here on the hill lit by irrelevant streetlights, and with a paved path through a central park that doesn’t even exist and hopefully never will.

Cat poop consumed: yes

 

Row River Trail, Cottage Grove

Maybe next time we’ll remember that we don’t have to park along the side of the road a half-mile from the actual parking lot at the Mosby Creek Trailhead. Maybe next time we’ll remember to bring the plastic rain shield for the baby juggler and the child won’t be assaulted by hail. Maybe next time L. will wear a hat and gloves when it’s 37 degrees and raining. Maybe next time we’ll get to run more than 2-1/2 miles. Maybe next time there will be a dog towel in the car to rub down a shivery Jones. Maybe next time, though, we won’t get to stop at Rally for a consolation beverage.

p.s. It’s “row,” as in “Ow, I’m getting pelted by hail!”

Cat poop consumed: no

 

Mt. David, Cottage Grove

If frost is acting like a verb, that is to say, frosting, you’d think it would be creamier, like on a cake. Every blade and leaf is indeed frosted this chilly morning, but none of it is spreadable. It’s more like those spun-sugar figurines that ride on top of cakes looking so dainty and delectable but which are actually cruel, crunchy and inedible. Very pretty, though.

Cat poop consumed: no