anti:freeze

Tanner Springs park was designed to preserve a small patch of the native wetlands that once thrived here (long before the railyards, and even longer before galleries and condos and Pearl fashionistas.)

What fascinates me is the way the floating path resembles the city grid - a literal representation of the city imposed upon nature.

Old railroad ties make an interesting material for the fence. This recycled raw material reinforces the environmental theme, but at the same time, it memorializes the very industry that first devoured this land. It creates an interesting tension: Which past do we wish to preserve?

That tension is at the heart of what makes this park so creepy for me. Of course I support preservation, but is this really preservation? One small patch of land - the size of two Starbucks cafes? No way could such a small square of land save the wetlands. No way could it make a difference to the dwindling wildlife.

And speaking of wildlife, you won't find much here. The grass and plants grow in neat rows. Water pipes peek out from the murky creek. What you will find: benches and pebbled walkways, signs that warn visitors to stay off the grass, and neat stairs (no handicap ramps, by the way.) Several signs warn to keep dogs out of the park. One asks visitors to help preserve this sensitive habitat.

Interesting how the responsibility falls on us. Portland city planners have no problem building more conods and highrises. But we, the citizens, must keep our dogs out of the grass.

And doesn't that say it all?

Steel Bridge, early evening, for Photo Friday (theme: conspicuous)

I like to think of the Steel Bridge as a mountain - the kind of mountain I always imagined before I moved here. Strange, I know. Let me explain: I can see it from almost every street in my neighborhood, and it always orients me. When I need a release, I walk across the lower deck and cry as I look out over the Willamette. And when I glance down a street and catch a glimpse of the black towers, elegant as a Franz Kline, I gasp.

But now that I think about it, I am the conspicous one here - even though you can't see me in the photograph. Ever since 9/11, the police (and fellow citizens) seem wary of people who snap pictures of bridges. Sometimes I even leave the camera in my bag.

my entry for Photo Friday: delicate

Maybe because the bottom span could lift at any moment. Maybe because the steel beams look so soft - like charcoal streaks on the sky. Or maybe because the little man on the walk signal seems to float like a ghost inside the frame.

Maybe it is just that I feel so delicate here, as I trust faceless engineers to carry me across the Willamette. And as I fight against the urge to hurl my notebooks into the polluted water.

This could all fall apart in a split second. In my earthquake nightmares, this steel crumbles into the water and washes out to sea. So delicate.