One step closer in Forest Grove

My friend Marcus once described sake as alcoholic dishwater, so when I saw a sakery in Forest Grove in my “Oregon Curiosities” book, I didn’t have a lot of hope for it.

He and I have seem to have similar palates when it comes to alcoholic drinks (i.e. we pretty much prefer soda), but I decided to give it a try anyway. After all, it’s in the book and one more item to cross off my list.

So, I made the trek to Forest Grove with my friend Mitch, who worked at a sushi restaurant before and had an appreciation for sake.

We pulled up to the tasting room at SakeOne, the world’s only American-owned and operated sakery, and were greeted by a worker who happily guided us through our sake tour.


We started off with the Silver, which was described in the brochure as crisp and dry with green apple notes. What I tasted was more like paint thinner than apples, but Mitch seemed to enjoy that one.

From there, we moved on to Pearl, which was supposedly sweet and full-bodied with a delicate coconut aroma. I could smell the coconut, but it was more paint thinner for me here.

I’ll admit my palate is unrefined, and I’ve scarcely found an alcoholic beverage I do enjoy. Although, there are a few. Mitch had no problems enjoying the various tastes.

Next, we moved on to G, which had a full fruity nose with hints of spice that gave way to creamy layers of ripe melon flavors and hints of pear and plum. Or so I’m told. This one had an aftertaste that stuck with me, and I was happy to see our tour guide bring out some water.

I thought I would get a chance to cleanse my palate, but alas, she used it to wash out our glasses.

We came to the last leg of the tour, which included a more fruity mix of sakes. These are the ones I was looking forward to the most. We tried the Asian Pear, which was light and delicate with fruity Asian pear aromas and flavors. This one, I could actually taste the pear and was pretty pleased with it.

We ended the tour with the Plum sake, which was by far my favorite. It had a taste reminiscent of fruit juice and went down easy. It was described as having a juicy plum aroma with light almond notes.

Our tour guide pointed out that the Plum goes really well with a Champagne mix. We were sure to buy a bottle to put that to the test. And I can confirm that she is correct about that. It makes a delicious bubbly drink that tastes a bit like fruit juice. But it’s easy to overindulge, so beware.

I saw in the brochure a Raspberry sake that I wanted to try, as well. But our tasting was over. I asked if we could still taste the Raspberry, and the guide seemed a little put out by the request.

It seems the Plum is the perfect finisher, and she didn’t think we would get the full effect of the Raspberry, but she did acquiesce to our request eventually. Maybe it was because the Plum was so good, but I didn’t enjoy the Raspberry much after all, despite its rich aroma of freshly picked raspberries.

SakeOne is at 820 Elm St., and there are plenty of road signs to point the way. The tasting room is open daily from 11 a.m. to 5 p.m. Tasting are $3 a glass.

We left the sakery and headed to more curious pursuits. As it turns out, the world’s largest barber pole is also in Forest Grove, a.k.a. Ballad Town USA. The Northwest Barbershop Ballad Contest has been held here every March for the last 60 years.

In 1973, the Barbershop Harmony Society held its international convention and championships in Portland. Chuck Olson, a Forest Grove native and barbershop quartet aficionado, led a campaign to honor the event with the world’s tallest barber pole.

Years before, the event was held in San Antonio, where they erected a 40-foot pole to commemorate the occasion. Not to be outdone, Olson and his crew opted for a 70-foot pole with a 2-foot Styrofoam ball on top.


After the convention, the gang didn’t want to see the pole chopped up for firewood, so it was brought to Forest Grove, where it stands high above Lincoln Park.

Getting to the pole proved to be a bit of a challenge, as nearly all of Lincoln Park is under construction. We were forced to admire it from afar, behind locked construction fences.


Mitch and I actually found an opening where we were confident we could slip through the fence, despite the locks. But we decided to avoid a possible trespassing fine just for an up close and personal look at the pole. Luckily, my camera has a good zoom on it, so the experience wasn’t a total loss.

I still haven’t decided where to explore next, but it’s a long weekend, so I’ll have plenty of time to decide. Any suggestions?
Technorati tags: Agriculture

Best burger in Oregon?

After my trip to see the Astoria Column and Bridge to Nowhere, I said we would talk about burgers.

As promised, I’m back to do just that. A few weeks after I arrived in Oregon, I headed to Mount Hood with a couple of friends. It was a completely random and unplanned trip, which made it even better.

On our way out there, we drove past Calamity Jane’s on Highway 26 in Sandy, and my buddy Blake insisted that restaurant has the best burgers around. We were all ready for some sustenance, and I was attracted to the name as Calamity Jane had become a nickname of mine soon after moving here. Luckily, that string of unfortunate events seems to have ended now.

I quickly turned the car around and headed back. And I’m so glad I did. Blake was right -- that place does have the best burgers around. Heck, I’d go so far as to say it has the best burgers anywhere.

The menu was a little daunting, with more than 50 burgers to choose from and three sizes. They all have a special name and unique ingredients. Like the George Washington that’s topped with sour cream cherries. Or the Hot Fudge and Marshmallow burger. I stayed far away from that.

Instead, I went with the standard All-American burger with cheese, lettuce, ketchup, mustard, mayo and the like. I ordered the 1/3-pound version. But I also could have had a 2/3-pounder or whole pound. I wasn’t that hungry.

It turns out, Calamity Jane’s is also listed in “Oregon Curiosities,” so I had crossed that one off the list before I even bought the book.

When the waitress brought our order, I wasn’t expecting to like it as much as I did. But it was by far the best burger I’ve ever tasted. In my years of living in Pennsylvania and New England, I never came across a burger so tasty.

Since then, I’ve been on a mission to see if any other burgers in Oregon can top that one. I tried burgers from Char-Burger in Hood River, Top o’ the Hill in Aurora, Giant Burger in Lake Oswego, McMenamin’s in Portland, and they are all really good. Just not as good as Calamity Jane’s.

So, now, I’m asking for your help and suggestions. Do you know of any really good burger restaurants anywhere in Oregon? I'm searching for the best. Please pass on your recommendations to me. I’ll be traveling the state, searching to and fro, crossing off curiosities and sampling the beef.

Technorati tags: Agriculture

Conquering fears and feeling at home in Astoria

I had another opportunity to visit the Oregon Coast Sunday with plans to check out the Crab and Seafood Festival in Astoria. While I was there, I decided to check out two more curiosities.

We drove into town on Highway 202, and I decided I liked Astoria as soon as we crossed the welcome sign. The first street after that was called Williamsport Road, and I was quite surprised and pleased to see the name of my hometown on a street sign.


I was sure to pull over and take a picture of the sign, as well as one of me under the sign. I also learned that Young's River wraps around Astoria. That name has personal significance to me, which made Astoria even more special.

From the street sign, we made our way into town, and I was ever more giddy with excitement when I saw the so-called Bridge to Nowhere -- the Astoria-Megler Bridge.
The bridge crosses the mouth of the Columbia River, stretching 4.1 miles, making it the longest continuous truss bridge in the world. Construction work lasted from November 1962 to August 1966, but critics wondered who would take a bridge from small-town Oregon to an empty shore in Washington, or "nowhere."


Apparently, lots of people. In the final months of '66, about 240,000 vehicles crossed the bridge. And by 1993, more than 1.6 million cars a year were trekking across the toll bridge. That year, the bonds were paid off more than two years early, and the toll was removed.

I'm usually afraid of bridges, but I couldn't let a little fear keep me from driving across it. The bridge starts out pretty high above the water. I'm not sure of exact feet or anything, but I know it was high enough to make me second guess my decision.
I did chance a glance out both sides of the window and was happy I did. The view was breathtaking up there. I handed my camera over to my buddy Mitch, who snapped away at the water, the mountains, the ships and anything else we could see.

About halfway across, the bridge takes a dip and levels out with the water, making it seem not so scary anymore. But it felt like we were on that bridge for half of the day. We finished the 1,232-foot journey and turned around and did it again, enjoying more scenery and taking more pictures.

We were feeling pretty good about ourselves after conquering the bridge and decided to head over to the seafood festival. But on our way, I noticed a sign pointing the way for the Astoria Column, another item on my list. The sign was sort of a surprise, and I hooked a quick left, taking the corner on two wheels.

If I thought the view from the bridge was amazing, it was nothing compared to the view at the top of Coxcomb Hill, the highest spot in town. It was a beautiful clear sunny day, and we could see for miles. But even that didn't compare to the sight from atop the 125-foot column.

There were four people in our party, but Brittany and Trisha decided they didn't want to hike up the steps, so Mitch and I were on our own. Just before we entered the spiral staircase, several people had come out, high-fiving each other or pumping
fists or proclaiming, "We made it."


I didn't quite understand why until a little later. We started our ascent to the top, and I soon realized that I'm not in very good shape. Luckily, there are landings every 20 or so steps to allow someone to take a break.

We made the first 60 steps with no problem, but after that, we had to take a breather before continuing our climb. Another 40 steps, and I was feeling winded again. I got to the next landing and the next, and before I knew it, we could see sunlight coming from the top of the column. We decided to skip the last landing and finish the hike.

At the top, I also realized pretty quickly that I have a strong fear of heights. The observation deck up there isn't very wide, and I also believed that the fence wasn't quite high enough. But I did get to enjoy yet another magnificent view of the state from up there.

We hung out for a few minutes, then Mitch and I made our descent. And at the bottom, it was our turn to high-five and pump our fists. We were feeling quite victorious after that, like we could do anything. We made our way over to the souvenir stand and promptly bought a pin and a pen that proclaimed, "I made it to the top of the Astoria Column."

I also added another magnet to my collection, and much to my delight, a pair of earrings that resemble the column. All in all, it was a pretty fantastic day.
The tour will take next weekend off, as I take a small detour to Orlando. But when I return, we'll talk about Oregon's burger crop. I currently have no plans for the weekend after I return, so if you have any suggestions, please let me know.

Technorati tags: Agriculture

Checking out Portland's underground

Unfortunately, I don’t have any ghost stories to tell after my trip through Portland’s underground. That will have to wait until that haunted tour.

Apparently, the Portland Walking Tours frowns on conjecture and its guides are made to tell just the truth. And as they said, the truth of Portland’s past is often more scandalous, sexy and scary than a legend anyway. The guides don't work from a script, so each tour is unique.

The tour is rated PG-13 and “not for the faint of heart.”

My friend Brittany and I were both excited for this opportunity, but we almost lost our chance for a spot on the tour because it had sold out already. We were fortunate that another woman had purchased two tickets for Sunday's tour but was unable to use them. She kindly sold them to us for face value.

We started out at Pioneer Courthouse Square, where we purchased our tickets from the kind woman and met up with the rest of the group. It was then a quick MAX ride over to Old Town/Chinatown to begin the trek into the seedy.

We heard tales of discrimation, politics, flooding, displacement, tunnels, crimping and sex and got quite a history lesson along the way.

Our group was led to the waterfront of the Willamette River, which frequently floods its banks, the last time in 1996. Our guide was very insistent that it would happen again, despite measures to add sea walls to contain the water.

We heard about Vanport, a town just north of Portland that was wiped off the map by flooding of the Columbia River in the 1940s. At the time, it was Oregon’s second-largest city, made up mostly of blacks. But in a situation similar to New Orleans after Hurricane Katrina, the city was devastated by floodwaters and the population was displaced.

May of Vanport’s residents moved to an area known as Albina, but they were displaced yet again when a new highway was built through there.

Portland is not a terribly diverse city, the tour guide noted, and some of that stems from its unwelcoming stance to minorities throughout the years. Another black eye for the city came during World War II when Japanese-Americans were rounded up and placed in internment camps.

A headline in The Oregonian from the time even proclaimed, “Portland to be first Jap-free city.” A memorial plaza now lines the waterfront. A copy of the Bill of Rights is etched in stone as a reminder that those amendments were forgotten for the Japanese. The plaza also contains etchings of poems from those who were held in the camps and an apology from President Reagan.

Also along the waterfront, we were told of the process of crimping, sometimes known as shanghaiing. When ships came into port, the crew members would often hit the saloons and flophouses and not come back.

But the ship’s captain needed men to do the labor on board, so he would turn to nefarious dealings to fill the slots. During a saloon visit, a poor unsuspecting man would be slipped a Mickey or so-called Kelly’s Comforter. While he was passed out, he would be taken to the ship, and the captain would pay about $20 for him.

When he woke up in a strange new floating bed, he’d be too far out to sea, to escape in most cases and be forced to accept his fate as a ship worker.
This practice has long been tied to the tunnels beneath the city, but our guide said there’s little historical evidence to suggest they were actually used for crimping. He says the term shanghai tunnels didn’t show up until about 1975, about 100 years after the practice had ended.

Though clearly a despicable practice, I did admire the ingenuity of one such crimper, Bunko Kelly. He was sent off to find a crew member for one captain but returned instead with a cigar store Indian wrapped in a blanket. It was a few days before the captain had realized he’d been hoodwinked.

He wasn’t the only one who fell for one of Bunko’s scams. One night while walking the streets of Portland, Bunko heard moaning coming from one of the tunnels, along with a foul smell. Upon further investigation, he found several men down below, most of them dead or dying.

Apparently, they had plans to break into a saloon and drink the spirits, but they got the tunnels confused. Instead, they forced their way into an undertaker’s office. And what they thought was alcohol was actually embalming fluid.

Bunko carried the dead men one by one to a ship and loaded them on board, telling the captain he got him lots of new staff. So happy was the captain with Bunko’s efforts that he paid $30 a head, instead of the usually $20. There's no telling what happened days later when the captain realized the truth.

Not all stories on the tour were so grave. We learned that Matt Groening, creator of “The Simpsons,” uses things he saw growing up in Portland in the show. Blinky, the three-eyed fish, for example, came from the Willamette River. And Flanders is the name of a street in Old Town.

And we made a stop at Dan and Louis Oyster Bar. We were there to check out some sistern and hear about the crooked dealings of volunteer fire departments. But I was thrilled to see the world’s largest oyster cracker, which is another curiosity that I got to scratch off my list. The cracker was baked for the oyster bar on the occasion of its 75th anniversary back in 1982, at which time the restaurant had served more than 3 million oysters. The cracker is at least a foot tall and a little cracked, but I think that was the highlight of the tour for me.


We also trekked over to Voodoo Doughnuts. I had already been there (as detailed in a previous blog), but this time, there was a wedding about to happen. The owners double as ordained ministers and perform marriage ceremonies under the giant doughnut. On Mondays, the place also offers free Swahili lessons. And occasionally, performers give concerts in the small space.

We were also guided past Saturday Market and Skidmore Fountain. Pharmacist Stephen Skidmore left $5,000 in his will for the fountain, but it wasn’t enough money. Other businessmen were asked to donate, and brewery owner Henry Weinhard agreed to kick in $10,000. But he had one stipulation. On the day the fountain opened, he wanted it to be filled with beer that he would pump from his brewery about two blocks away.

Under his plan, the fire department would use its hoses to transport the beer, but fire officials saw major problems with that. They feared that people would poke holes in the hose and suck the beer out, so that plan was nixed. Beer never did flow in the fountain, after all.

Other interesting facts we picked up: Portland has more breweries than anywhere else. Portland has more adult businesses per capita than anywhere else, thanks to Oregon’s liberal free speech laws. Courtney Love, lead singer of Hole and Kurt Cobain’s widow, got her start stripping at a club in Portland. Very few, if any, Asians live in Chinatown. The streets in Portland were designed to face
magnetic north on a compass when it was originally laid out by founders Francis Pettygrove and Asa Lovejoy. But when Captain John Couch came along with his addition, his streets pointed toward true north. Walking down Ankeny to Second Street, it's easy to see where things went crooked. At this intersection stands a rare five-sided building, as well, a product of the new layout. It's also at that intersection where perhaps the only true shanghai tunnel is located. The bar there is called Shanghai Tunnel.

Couch was so enamered with Pettygrove and Lovejoy’s plans to number their streets that he decided to use the alphabet. However, other areas were annexed into the city, and there were four A streets. So, Couch’s streets became Ankeny, Burnside, Couch, Davis and so forth.

We ended our tour at Old Town Pizza, which is supposedly haunted by resident ghost Nina. According to the menu, Nina had been sold into a life of prostitution and worked at the site, a former hotel. Missionaries came along and convinced Nina to share information with them in exchange for her freedom. But before that could happen, she was pushed down an elevator shaft, and some say she never left. I guess I had a ghost story, after all.

We did get to take a quick tour into the tunnels below the pizza place, but some of the mystique was worn off after learning that they probably weren't used for crimping after all. And there were no run-ins with Nina, either. However, I did get some photos of the tunnels with my digital camera, and it appears as if some orbs show up in a few of the frames.


I had a lot of fun and learned lots about Portland I never would've guessed. I didn't tell all the secrets, however. You'll have to take the tour to find out the rest for yourself. The same company also has Best of Portland tour that shines a more favorable light on the city and its inhabitants and an Epicurean Excursion through the Pearl District, sampling some of the best food the city has to offer.

Next up, I check out the curiosities in Astoria, including the bridge to nowhere and Trajan's Column.

Technorati tags: Agriculture

Wedding cake and singing bridges

I've been having a great time seeing the state of Oregon, and searching for more curiosities gives me a sense of purpose. I doubled up on the oddities during a drive out to Hood River Sunday morning. I don't think the weather could have been any better or the view of the Columbia River Gorge any more breathtaking.

So, with my car sunroof open and the stereo cranked up, I hit Interstate 84 on my quest to see what is possibly the world's oldest piece of wedding cake, which resides at the Hood River County Museum. Most of the museums I've visited lately have been no more than a small room with some artifacts, and I was expecting more of the same during my most recent outing.

But I got more than I bargained for in the Windsurfing Capital of the World. This museum had lots of displays and exhibits that covered quite a bit of ground. But I wasn't really there to see an early 20th century dental office with a foot-powered drill or toys that my grandparents grew up with. Although they were both quite interesting, I was there for that piece of cake. From 1887. And it's still holding up pretty well today in a glass container inside a glass case.



As the story goes, Jennie Boynton married Joseph Shoemaker in Pendleton in 1887. The fruitcake survived the couple's move to Hood River about two years later. It even survived long after the couple died -- Joseph in 1922 and Jennie in 1936. For some reason, someone hung on to the piece of cake before donating it to the museum in 1963.

This is what I love most about Oregon. When people find things like giant hairballs or old fruitcake, their first thought is not to throw it away. Their first thought is that there must be some worth in such oddities. And somewhere along the way, someone clearly agrees with them and puts said oddities on display. And it gives curious tourists like me something to do and look forward to. It's a harmonious system.

The Shoemakers were pioneers to the Hood River area, so it makes sense that the cake should be kept around. There's some conjecture that the cake lasted so long because fruitcakes are typically laced with alcohol, which could have preserved it. It is hard to kill a fruitcake. Even if a nuclear bomb wipes out the Earth, I'm thinking cockroaches will be munching on them and Twinkies.

I expected little else to captivate me at the museum once I saw the celebrity cake, but a worker pointed out a wind surfboard in the back. It was one of the first 10 ever manufactured in 1964 and certainly the first to be used by a woman. There's even a picture of the woman riding the board, which looks a lot like a barn door with a sail. The accompanying explanation also says the surfboard warranted a mention on "The Price is Right."



The worker also noted the rail station display and pointed out that the Mount Hood Railroad turns 100 this year. Taking an excursion is on my list of things to do, even if it isn't quirky.

I wrapped up my fun at the museum and headed over to the so-called Singing Bridge, a mile-long structure that connects Hood River with White Salmon, Wash. When the bridge was built, it had a wooden deck. But that was replaced with steel grating in 1950. Since then, people have noticed a hum as they crossed, and many locals often roll down their windows to listen in.



I was sure to do the same as I crossed the toll bridge, but I have heard that song before. There's a bridge in my hometown of Williamsport, Pa., that crosses the West Branch of the Susquehanna River that sings a similar tune. It didn't dampen my excitement, however.

And when I turned around to cross back into Oregon, I saw the most amazing view of Mount Hood. You can't see that in Williamsport. I was so tempted to stop right in the middle of the bridge to take a picture, but that certainly would've been frowned upon by my fellow motorists coming up behind me. Instead, I turned back around, paid another 75-cent toll and crossed back to Washington. I found a lot on that side that afforded me a great view and took some pictures. I think they are postcard-worthy.



Next on my list is a tour of the shanghai tunnels in Portland. According to the Web site, the tour is rated PG-13 and not for the faint of heart. I'm hoping to have a ghost story to tell after that.
Technorati tags: Agriculture

Portland keeps weird with various oddities

People have been clamoring for my latest blog entry about my offbeat travels through Oregon, so I won’t make them wait any longer. And by “people,” I mean my good friend Tara. She and I spell our names the same way but pronounce them differently. She’s really a good person otherwise. Except for that one major flaw.
 
Anyway...back to the blog. My most recent journey took me back to Portland to witness more of the weird that the city is so proud of.
 
My first stop was at Stark’s Vacuums at 107 NE Grand Ave. for a foray into the Vacuum Cleaner Museum. I was really looking forward to this trip, having read all about the special features and attachments and the Goddess of Leisure. But I must admit that the museum did not sweep me off my feet.

 
Perhaps it was my general distaste for the act of vacuuming that made it ho-hum. (Truth be told, I’d rather be ironing. I wonder if I could buy that saying on a bumper sticker. Or if there’s an iron museum around here.) Or maybe it was the general lack of personality there.
 
The museum is tucked in the back left corner of the store, free to anyone who wants to take a peek at the vintage models that have been donated or traded in throughout the years. The 300 or so vacuum cleaners line the walls, some with tags that give a little history of the model, which sometimes includes who donated the item. There’s no guide to point out the really interesting tidbits, which could be how I missed a lot of them.
 
I was intrigued, however, by one vacuum from the 1890s. But if you’ve seen one upright, canister, handheld vac, floor polisher, Hoover, Eureka, Electrolux, you’ve pretty much seen them all.
 
My visit to Voodoo Doughnuts on NW Third Avenue was much more interesting. I was a little overwhelmed by the choices of doughnuts. All the available treats are displayed in a revolving dessert case, and it took a little bit of work to match them up with the names on the big board overhead. I’m still not quite sure what’s in the Marshall Mathers. 
 
I settled on a Portland Cream -- much like a Boston Cream with the yummy filling and chocolate frosting, but with a small hint of a coffee flavor. Of course! Incidentally, I learned in my “Oregon Curiosities” book that there was a 50-50 chance that the city would be named Boston. But Portland obviously won out.
 
I also tried one of the cereal-covered doughnuts. Froot Loops was probably the healthy choice, but I went with the Cocoa Puffs because I’m a little cuckoo. The chocolate doughnut was covered in chocolate frosting and topped with Cocoa Puffs to round out the chocolate trifecta. I somehow managed to avoid sugar shock when eating that one.
 
I chose one more doughnut and was on my way. The Arnold Palmer caught my eye, as he was also from Pennsylvania. His doughnut was covered in a concoction of iced tea and lemonade mix. I’m still not exactly sure how that equals golfing or why he would be memorialized in a Portland shop, but I did enjoy the doughnut. Any suggestions?
 
I’m looking forward to going back because there are still lots of tasty treats to discover. Like the vegan doughnuts, the giant glazed doughnut that equals four regular ones, the voodoo doll-shaped doughnut. And that Marshall Mathers doughnut continues to intrigue me.
 
As I was making my way to Voodoo Doughnuts from a lot across the street, I came across another curiosity -- the Benson Bubbler -- at the corner of NW Third and Burnside. The elegant, four-bowl bronze fountains flow with free water for parched Portlanders.

In 1912, lumberman Simon Benson donated $10,000 for the creation of 20 of the fountains, hoping to encourage his workers to drink water and not booze at the salooons. Today, there are more than 50 downtown, dispensing drinking water from 5 a.m. to 10 p.m. daily.
 
From there, I headed over to Naito Parkway to check out the world’s smallest park -- Mill Ends Park -- near the intersection of SW Taylor Street. The 2-foot-by-2-foot park is occupied by one small tree and a few flowers in the median of the road. Some say leprechauns live here, but the only gold I saw was in the colors of the flowers.
 
There’s a sign on the sidewalk that gives the history of Mill Ends, and I’m pretty sure the sign is bigger than the park itself. It’s said that Oregon Journal columnist Dick Fagan had an office that gave him a view of the street below and a hole where a lightpole was to be placed. The pole never arrived, and he decided to plant flowers there.

In his column, he would spin tales of the goings-on at the park and described a group of leprechauns who had taken up residence there. It officially became a city park on St. Patrick’s Day in 1976.
 
I ended my adventure at Pioneer Square downtown at the milepost that gives the distances to far-away lands like Timbuktu, Walden Pond and Mecca and not-so-far-away lands like the Oregon Zoo, Mount Hood and the Columbia River Gorge. Perhaps my favorite marking is the one that points out that Tipperary is “a long way.”

 
The square also has thousands of bricks etched with the names of local residents and businesses. I was told some famous names are seen on the bricks, but when I inquired at the information center nearby, I was told that was not the case. However, the square’s Web site lists bricks bearing the names of Elvis, Dan Rather, Sherlock Holmes, Mr. Bill and others. The Web site is still selling bricks for $100 each, so your name can be laser-etched in history.
 

There’s still lots to see in Portland, but I’m hoping to take a detour through Hood River next for the oldest piece of wedding cake and the singing bridge. I can’t wait!
Technorati tags: Agriculture

Velvet paintings not just about Elvis anymore

The oddities tour continued Sunday with a stop at the Velveteria in Northeast Portland, a museum devoted to velvet paintings.

I was prepared to embrace the tack of the velvet paintings, but I didn’t know I’d have so much fun doing it. After regaling friends and family with stories of the world’s largest hairball and Bobbie the Wonder Dog, I had no problem finding someone to join me on my museum tour.

We walked in and paid our $3 admission charge before we were allowed to enter the gallery. I didn’t know where to look first, but my eyes landed on a painting of a familiar face. But I was sure I had to be wrong.

“Is that Jack Kevorkian?” I asked Carl, the founder.

“Yes, that is Dr. Jack Kevorkian,” he confirmed. “And that’s the leader of the Heaven’s Gate cult over there.”

Sure enough, there was another of Marshall Applewhite looking wide-eyed and crazed. Carl explained that the two were sold as a set in Tijuana, Mexico. I’m not sure what the artist was thinking when he created those, and I wonder what others he had planned in that series.

Moving on to the next wall, I found the “Unicorn Combover,” which was one of my favorites, perhaps as much for its name as for the artwork itself. It featured a unicorn with a long flowing mane that covered the head of a person next to it. There were apparently plans by the Velveteria folks to make that one into a T-shirt, but it was cost-prohibitive. I hope that changes soon because I’d line up for one of those.

The main exhibit going on at the moment is of Polynesian beauties. The founders purchased several paintings from a Hawaiian artist who had been told they were too tacky. However, they were some of the more artistic paintings on the walls. We even were given leis when we walked in to set just the right mood.

The exhibits change regularly and have been featured on The Travel Channel and “The Tonight Show with Jay Leno.” Many visitors to Portland or recent transplants like myself are often the ones who clamor to the museum to take in the velvety goodness.

Of course, the Velveteria also had the obligatory Elvis and dogs playing poker paintings, but there were so many other interesting subjects to see. Another personal favorite was of Hulk Hogan, wearing his wrestling belt and a bandanna on his head. But what made this artwork particularly unique was the green hue to Hogan’s skin, making him look more like the Incredible Hulk. I have fond childhood memories of the Incredible Hulk, so that one was special.

Just around the corner from the Hulk are two paintings depicting Jesus. In one, he is sporting a gravity-defying beard that’s pretty spectacular, and in the other, he is wearing the crown of thorns. But as Carl pointed out, the likeness bears an amazing resemblance to Sammy Davis Jr. He even put a small picture of Davis next to the painting to show the similarity. Indeed, the painting was dubbed “Sammy Davis Jesus.”

And there’s a small room in the back that’s filled with paintings of nude and topless women, and another section for paintings that glow under blacklight. The museum has paintings of E.T., Mr. T., Michael Jackson, Mel Gibson and over 100 others. I wasn’t allowed to take pictures, so as not to ruin the fun for everyone else. You’ll just have to check it out on your own.

At the end of my gallery tour, I was overjoyed to see that the Velveteria had souvenirs. At so many of the quirky places, that isn’t the case, and I leave with only my memories and maybe some photographs. But not this time. The museum offered T-shirts, post cards, bumper stickers and bracelets, among other items.

I purchased a shirt and a few post cards, but I couldn’t resist the hot dog earrings, which I’m sporting now as I write this. Especially at $1 a pair. At first, they seemed so incongruous with the theme of the place. But in an odd way, I realized, they fit perfectly.

The museum is open noon to 5 p.m. Friday through Sunday at 518 NE 28th Ave. between Sandy Boulevard and Glisan Street. Portlanders apparently aren’t so quick to stop in, but they are definitely missing out.

Technorati tags: Agriculture

From Wonder Dog to tree wonders: the journey continues

By Tara S. Polinsky

Since my visit to the world’s largest hairball, I’ve been on a mission to take in all the curious wonders Oregon has to offer.

I ticked three more items off the list, including a trip to see a mural devoted to Bobbie the Wonder Dog, a grove of trees from all 50 states at a rest stop and the world’s smallest redwood park.

Before the oddity tour began Sunday afternoon, I took in the tulip festival in Woodburn. Tulips are probably my favorite flower, so that was quite a sight. Not Holland exactly, but I imagine it’s close.

Now, on to the quirky stuff. First, I drove out to Silverton to trace the tale of Bobbie the Wonder Dog.

I think I’m the only person in Oregon who didn’t know this story, but for any others who don’t know, I’ll recount it now. Back in the summer of 1923, I’m told, a couple from Silverton drove across the country with their dog Bobbie.

Somehow when they arrived in Indiana, the dog got lost. And although the couple searched for Bobbie during their three-week visit, he didn’t turn up. They were upset and heartbroken to leave him behind, but they had to get back home.

Six months later — on Feb. 15, 1924 — Bobbie arrived on their doorstep in Oregon! He was much thinner after his 2,800-mile trek, but he apparently had made some friends along the way. He stayed at a few homes, and many people spoke of their Bobbie sightings, which helped authorities retrace his route back home.

Books were written about him, movies were made, and now, Silverton memoralizes the canine each May with a pet parade. The town also has a mural painted in Bobbie’s honor and has declared Feb. 15 Bobbie Day. There’s even a little replica doghouse in town.

I was sure to get a Bobbie pin at the Silverton museum as a souvenir. Again, they didn’t have T-shirts, magnets or earrings, either.

Now, on to the grove. The Baldock Rest Stop just south of Wilsonville on Interstate 5 is reportedly the state’s largest and most visited. Nestled amongst the restrooms and vending machines is a small trail with trees from each state, plus Guam, Puerto Rico and the Virgin Islands.

Back in 1967, Oregon Attorney General Robert Y. Thornton wanted to commemorate the meeting of attorneys general, held that year in Portland. He arranged for the highway department to plant the official tree from each state for the occasion. All the trees are labeled with a number, state and type.

I was excited to see the grove and maybe catch a glimpse of home — the Pennsylvania tree. However, the first tree on the trail was No. 2 Delaware. I couldn’t find No. 1 anywhere, and I’m guessing that one was from PA.

I’m not sure of the rhyme or reasoning to the numbering system. I only know that it’s not alphabetical or according to when the states ratified the Constitution. At any rate, it’s still an interesting sight to see and one you wouldn’t expect at a rest stop.

Monday afternoon, I spent part of my lunch break at the world’s smallest redwood park in Salem at the corner of Union and Summer streets near the Capitol. For years, it was the smallest park period at 12 by 20 feet. But Portland was not to be outdone, and a 2-by-2-foot park, supposedly inhabited by leprechauns, took the honor. (More on this later when the oddities tour takes on Portland.)

A California salesman was said to have sold a redwood sapling to a Salem judge in 1872. The judge, William Waldo, planted said tree on his property, but as the tree grew, so did the city.

The judge gave up his land for construction of a road, but he struck a deal with the city of Salem that the redwood go untouched. The tree is now about 85 feet tall with a circumference of 22 feet. Proposals have come and gone to remove the so-called traffic hazard, but the tree lives on.

I’m mapping out plans for my next adventures now. I’m not sure where I’ll go next, but I’m really wanting to see the vacuum cleaner museum, the world’s oldest piece of wedding cake and take a tour of underground Portland.

Stay tuned...

Technorati tags: Agriculture

Oregon's oddities and attractions on display

By Tara S. Polinsky

I moved from Pennsylvania to Oregon in early January and have worked to learn my way around. In the first few weeks, I stuck mainly to Portland’s downtown and Hawthorne Boulevard but decided I wanted to see more. During one of my escapades around the city March 17, I stopped at Powell’s City of Books.

I had never seen anything like it before. I had heard stories, but they didn’t prepare me for the block-long, three-story-high bookstore. I wandered for about two hours, and I’m sure I still didn’t see everything. While I was there, I bought a book called “Oregon Curiosities” by Harriet Baskas with quirky and odd things to see throughout the state. I figured it would give me lots of ideas for fun things to do and help get me acclimated.

Curiously, Powell’s is just one of the offbeat things covered in the book. And the $14.95 was well worth it.

One of the first things that caught my eye in the book was the world’s largest hairball in Mt. Angel, which is just about 20-30 miles from where I live in Wilsonville.

Here’s a little background: Apparently, back in 1941, some workers at a meat-packing plant found a 2 1/2-pound hairball in a 300-pound hog. For some reason, they decided to take it to the St. Benedectine abbey, thinking that was something the monks would like to see. They were right apparently, as the monks accepted this gift and put it in their museum, next to an eight-legged cow, a six-legged calf and many other oddities.



I became obsessed with seeing this hairball. It was all the talk at work all week. But when I went online to find the monks’ museum hours, I learned that it was only open till 4 p.m. on weekdays. That pretty well crushed my hopes of ever seeing it. (It turns out, the hours have now changed from 1 to 5 p.m. for anyone wanting to catch a glimpse of the hairball.)

But at the end of a meeting at work March 23, a fellow copy editor mentioned that he couldn’t get me to stop talking about the hairball. And I lamented the museum times and how it just didn’t seem meant to be. My boss surprised me when he said I could leave work early to check it out.

He told me to be sure to take lots of pictures. I was very excited and found it very hard to concentrate on work the rest of the afternoon.

Most people think the hairball is pretty disgusting, and I had a hard time talking anyone into going with me. I had dinner with friends the night before and tried in vain to get them to see the light. They just kept saying how they have cats, and that’s not something they want to see.

So, I made my way in solitude out to the abbey, which sits at the top of a hill, overlooking rural Oregon. It’s a magnificent view up there and so solemn and peaceful. I was loath to leave when my fun came to an end.

I picked up a map at the library and headed over to the museum, where I was surprised to find two other adventure-seekers. I located the hairball amidst an array of taxidermy animals, quartz stones, various bird eggs, religious artifacts and more. “Random” described the scene well.

One of the other quirky tourists was kind enough to take my photo.

“Do you want the hairball in it?” she asked me.

“Of course!” I proclaimed. “It is the world’s largest, you know.”

She did know. It turns out, they are into the curious and odd, as well, and we talked for quite a while about Oregon oddities. We shared ideas about things to visit, then headed to the bookstore, hoping to find a souvenir of the hairball.

I had visions of hairball T-shirts and magnets and maybe even earrings. But alas, that was not meant to be. I did, however, come across a bumper sticker proclaiming, “I love my German shepherd,” with a picture of the pope on it. I’m not Catholic, but I couldn’t resist buying that! I also found a bottle labeled, “Holy water.” And when I was paying for it, my cashier kindly offered to fill it with said water.

“Sure, if you have some around,” I said. I needn’t have worried. There was a cooler under the counter that dispensed cool holy water.

After that, I said goodbye to my new friends and headed back to more urban environs. I’ve recounted the story many times, and only a few have seen the draw in the giant hairball. But for any other like-minded tourists, take the Woodburn exit off Interstate 5 (#271) and follow Route 214 toward Mt. Angel. When you get to town, turn left on College Road or Church Street and follow the signs to the abbey.

Technorati tags: Agriculture