Stop and Smell the Roses

After a few hours of job hunting and studying for a gruesome Phys-Dis placement, Amber and I picked up the tourist map of Portland and chose to visit the Portland Japanese Garden in the Southwest section of the city. We had visited the Seattle Japanese Garden and I was a bit apprehension; the garden in Seattle was well cared for and very attractive, but I was bored most of the time, except when I spotted a turtle or unusually large koi. However, we decided to give Portland’s garden a shot. It was only 6 bucks with a student ID, and if you missed it above, I’m still looking for a job.



We hit the highway at two, even though the gardens are about eight miles away and found our way without issue. The day started out sunny, but like many here, there would be a shower in our future. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. The garden was zen-tastic and chi-mazing. The association of caretakers, Samurai gardeners as I call them, has created a relaxing balance between the natural conditions of a hilltop in Portland and the often stringent requirements of a formal Japanese garden. Paths wind through outcroppings of rock and Japanese maples cower in the shadows of ancient, indigenous deciduous trees; the Northwest mist hangs in the green and tint the air with a scent of purity.

Poetic, huh?

But the gardens were gorgeous. And, oh yeah, they also had gargantuan koi fish, but no turtles. I would suggest a colony of turtles if I were on the garden board, and I would have business cards read, “Matt Lobo: Head Pinecone”. Maybe I’d use my whole first name.



As we set off, neither one of us wanted to go back home and kept walking. Unknowingly, we stumbled upon the International Test Rose Garden. Thinking about it now, it makes sense they were near each other, but at the time, we were both very surprised. I’m not going to surprise everyone and admit to some secret affinity with roses like Hightower in Police Academy, when he turned out to be a florist. But, again, I was surprised at how nice the roses were, considering they have only one full-time gardener. We saw prize roses going all the way back to 1919 in all different shades and shapes. They call Portland the City of Roses, and since we’ve returned from the rose garden, I’ve noticed several more yards with large rose bushes that I ignored before. Do roses like rainy, cool weather? Maybe they just like the coffee around here.





We also visited the Pittock Mansion, a big house on a hill that was owned by people I don’t know that are now long since dead. The reasons I mention the mansion in a brief and distracted manner are two-fold. First, upon arrival in the parking lot, we were surrounded by panting, sweaty teenagers that, I assume, had run up the steep hill atop which the mansion sits. If you visit a mansion, like the Breakers, you don’t expect to see half-naked teens running through the parking lot, unless Boy George has rented the place. And second, the view from the property opened just north of the city and sent us reeling. Portland sprawled out before the mothball mansion and the light showers painted a rainbow across the business district. It was worth the five minute drive up.