Life in the PNW is low-key glorious. We don’t want word getting out and even more people moving here to experience it. They always bring their hometown tarnish with them and it harshes our mellow just a bit.
Let ‘em scratch their heads in confusion about life here:
That comes from a truck on the street.
That’s intimidatingly simple to order.
Beer swilling liberal haven.
Filled with inexplicably fit folk…
Being smart and right burns a lot of calories, m’kay?
Come get a taste of the wonder, but be careful how you time your visit.
You can get a great hike in our in the gorge or cascades.
You can watch horrified like the rest of us as our beautiful landscape burns at the hands of some punk.
You can enjoy our tasty brewed treats – caffeinating or intoxicating.
Two of those are undeniably real, the other is a secret. Not sure whether any of them are actually a reason to stop drinking or a better reason to start.
Again, it’s about timing in the PNW.
Just when you think you know all the potential traps to avoid when planning your exotic getaway to weird Portland, Orygun, you go to your travel agent and say something like, “Um, like we wanna go” – just assuming you’re from the San Fernando Valley for some reason – “for a weekend during Spring Break. All the locals will be gone, but it’s not as touristy bad as summer will be.” only to find yourself wondering why your Travel Agent is giving you this face.
It’s because you can’t outsmart us.
It’s a little known fact that our summers here are simply glorious.
Lit by the longest, most sunshiny days you can imagine.
An even less known fact is springtime in Portland. Every year I wait for it. It doesn’t happen every year, but when it does…it’s amazing!
It’s been on my radar since early this week, when people were talking about snow this coming Saturday – aka: tomorrow, at this point.
I have to check myself when I start to expect it, because you never know it’s coming.
Wrap your mind around this: all four seasons in one day.
It almost happened yesterday.
I woke up and tried to plan my day’s attire. Really, the mystery here is what type of outerwear I’m putting over my jeans and tee shirt. It was 32 degrees.
I’d gone in on my usual day off, but ended up arriving a few minutes later than expected. I’d taken a later train than planned when I’d returned to my condo for an umbrella after hitting the street and discovering rain with drops the size of my head.
And, yes. We locals do use umbrellas. We aren’t idiots, like the transplant that started that rumor.
The Silver Fox joined me for my second and when we left, proving margaritas are a cure for what ails ya – working on my Saturday, in this case, it was sunny and golden bright out.
For two blocks.
Then it was sunny and raining out. It kept getting brighter and the rain got harder. People were laughing and smiling as they strode the sidewalks of Old Town in the surprise – and gorgeously lit – shower.
“Sunshine drops!”, I yelled out, giddy over the prospect of hitting the weather lottery.
This is why people think we don’t use umbrellas. You’re out and about and get caught be a sudden shower. Others might step into a doorway and wait it out, Portlanders relish it and carry on about their business.
I went home and surprised Myrtle doing something she wasn’t supposed to do – sitting in one of my dresser drawers that for sure wasn’t open when I left.
But I was only home to grab a growler so I could get provisions for the evening and hole up for the finale: snow.
I went to the Big Legrowlski to fill up and chatted for a sample or two with one of my favorite Pearl District peeps as she filled my growler with a lusciously light triple IPA.
As I was leaving: hail.