A Living Magazine - Day 50 - Israel and Recuperation in Woodburn

It was not a "sleep in" morning. The protection of the shadows was draining away, with the growing of the daylight. I monitored how my feet felt as I pulled my boots on and packed up. They were better, but still needed a good amount of attention--especially the untreated blister on the right foot.

There were about two miles to walk to Gervais. I was hoping it wasn't as small a town as it looked on the map. The sun wasn't even up when I strolled down 3rd Street, toward the "City Hall". Not a gas station, pharmacy or restaurant in sight. When I reached the train tracks, I saw some glowing neon signs in some of the businesses along the way. Three store fronts were bars, but the last one was a market!

Ah, the Gervais Market! I looked at the front door's list of hours. It would be open at 8:00 am. It was now 6:00. I'm used to long waits. Two hours wasn't that bad...

Half heartedly, I pulled out the laptop and tried to find a Wi-Fi signal. There was one, but it required a password. I transferred pictures instead, and processed them. That took up all of 15 minutes. Wanting to sit and keep my feet off the ground, I made an effort to just stay on the bench. Cars passed by every now and then. And, an Amtrak commuter train flew by. I thought maybe they were going a bit too fast through the middle of a town. But, what do I know?

It always amazed me how one set of tracks would have a train barrel by in one direction and, then less than 10 minutes later, have another go by in the other direction. It very much seems like that switch they use to redirect trains would fail more often than it does. I don't know very much about the whole process. I'm sure there are layers of safeguards in place. Along with GPS tracking and monitoring, Wi-Fi/G4 communication and all the experience of over a hundred years, I'm sure they have a very good system place. Still, one does have to wonder sometimes. Most train accidents are not collisions though, nor do they have to do with faulty switches. They are due to conductor error or other reasons (as with the recent Amtrak derailment in Philadelphia). I feel completely safe riding trains (famous last words?). Here's the huge train that went in the opposite direction...

Sorry for the length of the video. I just wanted to make an impression

about how many cars this second train had.

After the rumbling of the train and the traffic gates being reset to their upright positions, I caught sight of a little wisp of movement across the street. It was a small tabby cat. Being a cat lover, I always try to make contact with them if I can. So, not expecting much of a reaction I did a "Kitty, kitty, kitty..." call. As if I were its long-lost owner, it darted over to me, meowing loudly. This was nice to see. I noticed it was a female, with a big flea collar that needed to be wrapped almost twice around her neck to fit properly. She was very friendly and playful...

My little friend doing Yoga--I think they call this "the tail cleaning position".

I think it is interesting how people do things "for" their animals as bet-hedging--like putting on flea collars (a fairly ineffective way of controlling a problem that may not exist). Obviously, the cat had no fleas. And, flea collars are really for preventing an infestation, not treating one. So, that's cool, I guess, although I haven't seen a single flea since being on the West Coast. I'm sure they're here, just not a huge problem in the places I've visited. She did a lot of scratching, but this seemed to be due to the habit of distraction or boredom. I've seen it a million times with my own cats over the years. Cats do a lot of things for psychological, rather than physical, reasons. Purring itself is used as a natural anxiolytic--to calm themselves down, even when in severe pain. Buddy purred the day he lost his leg. 

I checked her ears and there was a minor amount of ear mite evidence, but nothing too bad. She was young; perhaps under two years. The good thing about the collar was that it showed that she was someone's pet and not just a stray. It also showed that she was being cared for. Her friendliness was also a good indication of that.

She climbed up on my lap. I picked her up and held her like a baby for a long time, while her little purr-motor ran at full speed. It reminded me how much I miss Buddy. Eventually she jumped down and I let her wander off. I stored the memory away, perhaps to recall as a "drifting moment," somewhere down the road.

Now it was 7:15. I was a bit chilly and used to having my jacket (which was actually just a large cotton shirt). The only other long sleeve shirts I had were my light blue San Francisco button down shirt and the IWALLK t-shirt. I grabbed the IWALLK shirt and put it on.

Meet Israel Cortez

Right about then, a young man stepped out on to the street from an alley and walked toward me. When he got up to the storefront, he asked when it opened. I told him it was supposed to be 8:00. We started talking about the town, the lack of the stores, etc. After some time, we exchanged names. His was Israel Cortez. I thought the name Israel was cool. He said it definitely was rare for a Mexican.

I told him about my project, and asked what he did for work. He said he works at a blueberry cannery.  Highbush blueberries are a big crop in Northern Oregon. The growing season is long and ideal for such a crop. It also gets cold enough for the plant's cyclical needs in the winter. I told him that we had those in Maine, but that the Washington County industry was mostly lowbush.

Israel said that what he really wanted to do was go up to Alaska to join a fishing crew. He had done it before, and it paid very well: $24,000 for three months! He'd been all around the North West states, working and just hanging out. He told me about some pretty interesting things in some of the port towns of Washington--both legal and illegal. He asked me if I would buy him a beer and handed me enough change to do it. I wasn't convinced that he was old enough, so he showed me his ID. It was valid. I asked him why he didn't just buy it himself, and he told me that he'd had an argument with the clerk about using the restroom. Well,whatever it was, I didn't mind buying him a beer for a Sunday.

A police car drove up and parked facing us. The officer, a white, very young looking and rather rotund fellow, with a baby face, a bullet-proof vest (!), and a belt that included all the bells and whistles--and weapons, stood there with that cop-pose that they do. He asked how we were doing? We told him we were doing well. It was all just so typical...

I wasn't sure about the history between these two guys. I told the officer, who said he'd seen me sitting there a couple hours before, that I was just hiking through and a snippet about the project. He acted interested in that surface, almost non-believing, way. But I knew that he did believe me, by the end of the list of places I'd been to. Instantly, I also knew that he saw me as legit. Israel was probably the main motivator for this early morning police visit. I told the officer that we were waiting for the store to open and talking. With no one to ticket, no laws to recite and a coffee getting cold in his car, he wished us a good day and got back in the cruiser. He sat there for a good five minutes, filing his report or whatever. I felt sorry for him, in a way. He was stuck in this tiny place (Israel said they have two police cars in Gervais--a town of 2,500 people). Except for Friday and Saturday nights, it must be sleeper of a job. But... Someone had to do the job. In this case, it was him.

Eight o'clock came and went. I was wondering if the market would open at all. Even Israel said that this was unusual. Finally, another young man in a white car drove up, hopped out and apologized for being tardy. I was glad he was there. Israel disappeared behind the corner, and I followed the other guy up to the door, while he opened up and shut off the alarm. He invited me in as he flipped on the coffee and turned on the lights. The store was very well-stocked for being such a small place, understandably. I collected my favorite Arizona Mango juice and Israel's beer, a cheese danish, banana and purchased the coffee, for whenever it was done.

The counter guy told me a bit about the town. Apparently, about 60% of the residents were on state or government assistance. It was mostly a Mexican demographic, which came as no huge surprise. He was a nice guy. He and two other employees (one of them the owner, who had inherited the business from his father who started it in 1943) were struggling to staff the place after a fourth employee, who had worked there three years, suddenly quit a few days earlier. Unfortunately, the owner was dealing with leg and colon cancer, so was rarely in lately. The woman who was supposed to open that day, had severely broken her leg that weekend and called out. That's why he'd had to come in on his day off.

I asked about Woodburn; whether it was a larger town. He told me they (Woodburn) have ten times the population, restaurants, gas stations and even a Wal-Mart. Sounded good to me. I needed to fix up my feet and buy some supplies, and was anxious to get down the road. The coffee machine beeped, indicating it was ready and I fixed myself a cup. I said goodbye, and headed back out to the bench where Israel waited, semi-patiently. I gave him a card and told him I would be mentioning him in this post. He liked that. I asked for a photo, and he was happy to comply...

Israel Cortez - Blueberry Canner and Deep Sea Fisherman

Walking back to Route 99E was a slow process. I had to get used to the pain again. Along the four mile stretch to Woodburn, I caught a few interesting things...

Tiny, two inch long bat. Maybe struck by a car, mid flight?

A plantain tree. There were also a couple of palms in this yard. Can't seem to escape them.

I was still in a relatively good mood, even through all of this foot pain, when I entered Woodburn. I knew relief would soon come. I really wanted to find the Wal-Mart, because it would have everything I needed: batteries, Equate wipes, socks and water. Down the entire length of 99E, in town, I found every other store besides Wal-Mart. I just couldn't wait any longer, so when I saw a Dollar Tree right next to a Payless shoe store, the decision to visit them instead was an easy one. 

First, I went to Payless. The kind woman, stocking shoes asked me if she could help me. I told her I needed socks, and she suggested getting the six-pack for $5.00. I checked them out and they looked pretty good; maybe not as thick as I wanted, but having six of them, I would be able to simply wear each pair out, and then use the next. It was a good deal. Initially, I had resisted getting more than one or two pairs, because of the lack of storage space in the backpack. But, the thought occurred to me that I could wrap the extras in my bandanna and use it as a pillow at night. I bought them and headed next store to the Dollar Tree. 

Every Dollar Tree is set up the same way. Normally I would go there to buy socks. In Livermore, I'd buy one pair every week. But, I already had my socks--better quality ones. I knew I couldn't by batteries there, since they only sold the "dead-in-an-hour" kind. And the wipes were not exactly what I was looking for. What I needed more than anything was water that I could use to wash my feet after attending to them. I bought it, and hobbled to a knee-high brick wall located near a four way intersection. 

The cars went by, their drivers and passengers rubbernecking at me, as I removed the boots and peeled off the socks. First I rinsed both feet, then I took out my med kit. Finding the antiseptic tissues, I did my best to sterilize the bottoms of my feet. Then, out came the multitool knife. In the sunlight I saw that I had missed a few blisters on the left foot the night before. I got those first, then went on to pierce the ones on the right foot. Under each big tow was a small blister that needed attention too. When all of that unpleasantness was over, I washed my feet with my motel soap and the water I'd just bought. They stung like hell for a few minutes, with the pain lessening to a manageable ache after a while.

I removed the socks from their bag while my feet dried in the sun. As people stared on their way by me, I smiled and waved. Most folks would turn away quickly. But some would wave back and a few even beeped. Fun with roadside surgery!

When the feet were dry, the new socks on, and the boots laced up well, I went down the street to the McDonald's I saw there. This place was DECKED OUT for Wi-Fi! There were outlets at every table. Dream come true! This would be my office for the rest of the day. I published my post for the day and examined Google Satellite for green areas around town where I might set up my nest that night. There was no way that I would punish my feet with a walk to Canby (12 miles away) yet. Quite a few places stuck out on Google, and using the "street view" option, I could see that there was no fence at the prospective spot. I saw one particularly good looking spot, only about half a mile from where I was, and not too far from Route 99E.

When it got dark, I left my "office" and made the short hike to the spot I'd located online. sure enough, it was just perfect. A short dirt road led into a field that was bordered by thick, mid-sized trees and bushes. There were no houses, except the ones across the street, and they were blocked by the tree I'd chosen to sleep under. 

I pulled out the tarp, lay out the sleeping bag and made my sock pillow (which was a perfect size). Then, I lay down to sleep, noticing that the ground was a bit less rough than my place the night before. Just this thought alone seemed to lull me into unconsciousness. Sometimes it is the focus on just one comfortable aspect of where I am that is needed to relax me enough to fall asleep. And it was a good sleep; the real healing began to take hold.

Woodburn Sleeping Place