The last phone booth

While we are on the subject of phones, here's a relic.  It's not as much of a relic as the answering service, but almost.


Do you know what it is?  Of course you do, but come to think of it, you really haven't seen one in quite some time.  That's because there are hardly any left any more.  But we still have one.  It's in the parking lot of the Pink House.  


These used to be as common as the corner mail box - another relic - but now you rarely see one.  Especially a "full body" one like this one.  You can actually go inside this one although it doesn't have a door to close. 


It's no secret why we rarely see phone booths anymore.  They come from the days when we had to go to the phone, rather than the phone coming with us.  Nowadays of course nearly everyone's phone comes with them everywhere all the time, and even those whose phones don't come with them everywhere can at least take their phone with them around the house now that phones are cordless.


Still, the fact that there is even one full sized phone booth left and that it is here in GroveAtopia, is comforting.  Even though the world has forced us to modernize by using 10 digits to dial a phone number, we still have a few throwbacks to the time before that and this phone booth is certainly one of them.

Number please...

In our last post we discussed the new complication to dialing phone numbers here in GroveAtopia.  The modern age has forced us to have to use an area code no matter where we are calling, whether it be across the street or across the country.

Now we will turn our attention to the opposite.  While GroveAtopia has many devices from the modern era - cell phones, cordless phones, answering machines, DSL and a new WiFi service - to name a few, we also still have things from the olden days.   One of those things is a good old fashioned answering service.

The Cottage Grove Answering Service has been around for 30 years, but the switchboard is from the 1930s.  Yep, to answer calls, Kitty Slack, who is the sole operator and on duty 24 hours a day, 7 days a week, uses is an old fashioned switchboard  - the kind where you pull the plug out of one mysterious hole, and put it into another.  Miraculously the call is answered.

Why on earth would anyone still use such a service?  Well it turns out in this day and age, people are getting tired of leaving impersonal messages and talking to machines.  So if you use Kitty's answering service, your customers or patients or whoever calls you will, no matter what time of day or night, no matter what day of the week, always talk to a real person.  Kitty.

Some of Kitty's customers have been with her from the very beginning.  Others joined later.  Still later she added to her service.  She is GroveAtopia's only FedEx drop off point.  She also collects payments for people's phone bills, water bills, electric bills, cell phone bills and insurance bills.  And she sells some of her crafts in the store.  And she has a pretty garden in her parking strip out front.

Kitty never leaves the place.  She even sleeps in a sleeping bag on the floor near the switchboard so she is always available to answer a  call.  But really she doesn't need to leave, because at one time or another, if you live in GroveAtopia, you will find yourself visiting Kitty for one reason or another.  And when you do, you'll know you've just visited a place from the past.  But it won't seem that way.  It will seem just as natural as can be.

Next time you are here, be sure stop by.  If you listen very closely you'll hear the fairies.  They gather each day to watch over the place because they, like us are charmed by it.  I think they even help her late at night when she may not feel like answering the phone.  I think they it answer for her.  After all, who would know?

Three little numbers. One big pain.

541. We all know this as our area code here in GroveAtopia. In fact it is the area code for most of Oregon south of Salem. If you want to know exactly where, you can look it up.

Not too long ago all of Oregon only had one area code: 503. Then because of something having to do with cell phones and people moving here, the 541 area code was created. We got used to it.

Here in GroveAtopia, we are small enough that until quite recently we only had one prefix: 942. Gosh that makes remembering people's phone numbers easy. Not as easy as it was when we had the simple exchange where we could simply dial two digits and ring someone up, but simple enough. The other prefix is 767, but it seems so few people have it that it is not too difficult to remember it when we must. It usually, though not always, belongs to people who have moved here somewhat recently.

As it works out, 942 is the default prefix. You don't even have to say it when someone asks you your phone number. You simply say the last four digits. The 942 is assumed. If you have a 767 prefix, well then you must say the whole phone number.

So here we were, merrily dialing each other, in most cases needing only to remember 4 digits. Then one day the phone company said no more. There are no more telephone numbers to give out in the 541 area code. Again, cell phones and new comers were to blame.

And the fix? Now we must all dial the 541 area code to talk to anyone in our area code. That means if we want to call anyone with a 942 or 767 prefix - which means anyone here in GroveAtopia - we must all dial 541 first. Now instead of dialing 7 digits and remembering 4, we must remember 4 but dial 10 and sometimes 11. That's because sometimes we need the 1 before the 541.

Dialing 541 applies no matter how far away the person lives. They could live clear out past London School or right next door, you still need to dial the 541 area code.

Once upon a time, an area code meant something. It was reserved for dialing long distance, to places far away. Now it just means, well, that there are lots of phones and people and not enough phone numbers to go around.

So it's going to take some time. Time to get used to. Time to get over being aggravated every time we forget to dial it. Time to make it as automatic as 942. Time to not think it's silly to dial an area code in a town as small as this when we just want to call the lady next door.

A bad thing happened to a good place

Like most towns, GroveAtopia is dotted with various small grocery stores and mini marts. Some are of the chain variety and some are just a little corner grocery store owned by a real person.

That's what Diane's Market was. A little corner grocery store owned by a real person whose real name was Diane. That's Diane in the picture over there.

Diane's used to be Rita's. And yes there was a Rita too. In fact it's been a corner grocery store owned by a real person for a very long time.

Four years ago when Rita's became Diane's it took us all awhile to get used to it. We kept calling it Rita's for awhile until we finally got it through our heads that it was now Diane's.

There were a few changes too. Diane brought in little tables and chairs. She started a free lending library. She had a very large Pez collection on the wall. And she sold paraphernalia. She kept it in a little case behind the counter.

Lots of people went to Diane's. Usually they would run in, pick up something and run out. It was that kind of place. No lines, just that stuff you need at the last minute, or that one item you need and don't want to wade through the vastness of Safeway to get.

But others, those who had no place else to go, didn't run in and pick something up and run out. They walked in and stayed. They hung out there.

Diane tried to be tolerant, but sometimes people did bad things while they were hanging out and Diane had to call the police. But Diane said the police wouldn't help her. The bad people kept coming back. She wrote letters about it to the paper.

So when a disgruntled employee accused her and her husband Dave of selling marjuana at the store and accepting the Oregon Trail card for payment, the police arrested them. They searched Dave and Diane's house and found Dave was growing marjiuana there. He had a medical permit to do that, but he might have been growing more than was allowed. Both Dave and Diane's mug shots were in the paper.

The charges were dropped, but the accusation lingered. People stopped coming to Diane's. They stopped paying their debts.

So now she has to close the store and leave GroveAtopia to move back to where she came from.

As for the rest of us, now we have to worry. Was someone we know falsely accused? Did an injustice take place? Where will the elderly people who live across the street shop now? Who will buy the store? Will it even keep being a grocery store?

But our biggest worry is this: were we too quick to judge?

My Favorite Moss

Most of the rest of the world has the usual seasons, Spring, Summer, Fall and Winter. Here in GroveAtopia, our seasons are different.

You've already learned about The Lovely Season. Well now it is The Moss Season.

You might think you've seen moss. Nearly everyone has. But you really haven't seen moss until you've been in GroveAtopia during The Moss Season.

Step outside on a gray and mild day and the moss is there. You can almost see it grow. It is hairier and bushier and leafier today than it was yesterday. It has almost devoured the birdhouse. The fence posts are barely visible and some of the tree trunks have such a lush green carpet of moss you swear they have lost their bark beneath.

Which do you like best? The moss that looks like lettuce leaves? The moss that looks like little green stars or the moss that if you look very closely looks like it would feel soft, but really doesn't?

My favorite is the slender spiky moss that has a little cup at the top that contains a small red, what is it? Well it isn't a flower, because moss does not flower. It's a little tiny dollop of something that clearly belongs to the plant. Fairies probably look at it as a special treat, it being practically the only thing that isn't some shade of green in the moss world.

When it gets cold, the moss shrinks away. We worry about it then. Is it dead? Will it come back? Without it everything looks like everywhere else does in winter. Brown.

But then the temperature gets warmer and the rain returns and so does the moss. What were you worried about? It always comes back. It is our own little miracle that shows us that even in the midst of winter things grow. It gives us hope and helps remind us there is more, much more, to come.

GroveAtopia, A-Z

GroveAtopia's favorite publication was in the mailbox yesterday. The new phone book arrived!

Our phone book is probably the most well-thumbed book we GroveAtopians own. We are always meeting new people, and since our town is small, we know we will see them again. Soon.

So when we meet them, we exchange talk, then, if it didn't come up in the conversation, we go home and look them up in the phone book to find out where they live.

Unlike big city phone books, the GroveAtopia phone book is manageable. It fits nicely in any drawer and does not require any special weightlifting training to manueuver. At 1/2 an inch thick and 150 pages it is large enough to be taken seriously, unlike the phone books of tiny towns that are not much bigger than a pamphlet. And, unlike big city phone books, when you leaf through the GroveAtopian phone book, there, on every page is at the name of at least one person you know.

But maybe you didn't know they lived out Mosby Creek way and those others live on Bennett Creek. You didn't know they lived right here in town, and just were is Valley View Drive?

Seeing so many people you know as you browse through the phone book is comforting. No, you don't know all of them. You probably don't even know half of them. But you do know enough of them that you feel good when you find your own name, because there it is, surrounded by more people you know, or will know, instead of by the tiny names of many, many, many people you don't know and never will.

Alley cats

Here in GroveAtopia we have alleys. And we have cats. So we have alley cats.

There aren't a lot of them, nor are there too many of them, but they are there.

It's the same with the alleys. There aren't a lot of them, nor are there too many of them, but they too are there.

The alleys run behind the businesses on both sides of Main Street. They are used for deliveries and storage, for garbage cans and boxes. And sometimes they are used as short cuts. That's when there can be trouble.

You see, the cats also use the alleys. Some live there. Some are just there because a kindly business owner feeds them there. The trouble comes when some people use the alleys as shortcuts they either don't know or entirely forget about the cats and that can lead to unpleasant encounters.

Of course the Bookmine has cats. One or two of them live in the shop itself, but then there are those who live in the alley. Gail feeds them there, so of course they linger, waiting.

So one day when Gail was talking about this problem with one of her customers, that customer offered to paint her a sign to hang in the alley. "Sure," said Gail. "Thanks."

Expecting a simple warning sign, imagine Gail's surprise when the customer presented her with this lovely piece of artwork. It's much more eye catching than the usual warning sign, don't you think? Plus it adds a bit of beauty to the alley, which, well let's be honest, is not the most beautiful place in town.

But with a sign like that, it almost is.

Happy New Year! Mystery Solved!

Let's start the new year off right by solving one of GroveAtopia's great mysteries of 2009 - the Mystery boxes.

I'm sure you remember back in March, when we discussed the strange case of the mystery boxes that had been inexplicably been placed behind the bars on the porch of the historic First National Bank building on the corner of 6th and Main Street downtown. In case you don't recall, here is a picture to remind you.

Now do you remember? Those two boxes sat there in that exact position for nearly 2 years. Later a few more boxes were added, then some garbage. Clearly the situation was deteriorating. Who was putting them there? Why? All we knew was that they were coming from inside the building because those bars are never, ever, ever open. Why that is the case is yet another mystery, but let's not get carried away here. Let's stay focused on those boxes.

So you can imagine my surprise when a few weeks ago I was driving by the building and gasp! The boxes and their accompanying garbage were gone. For the first time in at least two years, that entryway was clean. Suddenly. So now the mystery was not why the boxes were there, but why the boxes were gone. Face it, everything about those boxes a mystery.

So now for the mystery solved part. A week or so later a sign appeared on the building. It's for sale. So of course the porch had to be cleaned up. Funny how it did not need to be cleaned up for us, but now that guests might be coming, well, time to clean.

It turns out that I am not the only one who noticed those boxes and that they were suddenly gone. The frame shop owner, whose building is right across the alley from the bank building, knows the lawyer who owns the building. He says he kept bugging him to remove the boxes, but somehow the owner never got around to it.

Then, later a friend at a birthday party brought up the boxes. He too noticed they were gone and had wondered why they were there in the first place. He also thinks the building would make a great toy and hobby shop, but then he is in to toys and hobbies.

So if you want to buy a building that was built in 1911, is the downtown historic district, and does not, I repeat, does not have boxes in the front entry way, then here is your chance.

And if you do buy the building, please promise you will never, ever put boxes in that entry way again.

Where did your Christmas tree come from?

I don't know where yours came from, but mine came from across the street. There's a small tree farm over there, and every year this little sign appears along the road.

If you walk or drive up the road, you'll pass the farm - a patch of about 1/2 acre of lovely trees, ranging from tabletop size to over 6', each one perfectly manicured to be shaped like, well, a Christmas tree.

Which to you prefer? The Grand, which is the dark green fluffy branched tree, or the Noble, which is the lighter green tree with short, thick needles with lots of space between the branches. Walk through the trees and take your pick.

Once you've decided on the perfect tree, Gary will come with his chainsaw and cut it for you. He's the one who labors and fusses over the trees. You can see him out in August, trimming and shaping each and every one.

Or, if you'd rather, you can bring your own saw and do it yourself. It takes about 45 seconds to cut a tree that took 8 years to grow. Then, if you are lucky, all you need to do is get someone to take the other end, and together you walk it down the road, across the street, and your tree is home for the holidays.

Now, if you live in the big city, you may want to make sure you are sitting down before you read this next bit, because it will shock you. Are you ready? Okay. Guess what the 6' Noble fir cost?

Twelve.

Dollars.

Not one hundred and twelve dollars, which is what someone I know paid for his city tree.

These trees cost just $12 and it is an simply an honor to have one in your house.

Happy, fun and cute

Happy. That's how it feels. Fun. Cute. That's what it makes you think.

A fellow GroveAtopian came up with this idea and made it into a bumper sticker. Don't you just love it? You probably even want one of your own.

Well you are in luck, because it just so happens you can get one of your own if you click right here.

Put it on your car and see what happens. Discover if you know what it's like to Feel Grove-y. It probably means something different to each of us, and we may not even be able to put it into words, but together, we know what it is.

Our rain is back

Someone said that today. Most would be sad under these conditions, but here in GroveAtopia, the return of rain makes us happy. We breathe a sigh of relief.

Especially now because we just came out of one of the coldest weeks ever. Last week it was 5.

If you are like me, the number 5 is a dollar bill, the age of a kindergartner or an easy number to count by. But last week, here in GroveAtopia, 5 meant degrees. As in 5 degrees. As in really, really cold. Last week, we had someone else's weather, not our own.

Many people think the weather in GroveAtopia, especially in winter, is downright dismal. Rain, rain, rain. Grey, grey, grey. They couldn't handle it they say.

But we can. And we do. And we expect and accept it.

Last week, however, was different. First it was cold. For us, that means below 20. Brrr. But it didn't end there. Day after day it colder and colder.

Then one day it was 5. Pipes froze. No matter what, you could not get warm.

Now let's be clear. This is not our weather. It comes from somewhere else and we don't like it.

But today, finally, it was raining. 50 degrees and raining, big fat raindrops - the kind that sneak up on you and suddenly begin to drop from the heavy clouds in the grey sky - that's what we know. That's what winter is supposed to be.

Those who don't understand why we live here because of the weather, merely see just that. The weather. They see rain, and grey, wet and green. They just don't understand.

We GroveAtopians know better. When we see rain in winter, we see it as "our rain" because we know anything worse really belongs somewhere else.

Someone died

It happens all the time. In fact it happens about every 10 seconds. Someone somewhere dies.

It even happens in GroveAtopia. Judging by the obituaries, it happens about once a day, on average. Maybe not quite that often, but close.

Even though GroveAtopia is a small place, most of the time, when one of us dies, most of us don't know them. But we look at the obituaries anyway because lots of times there is someone there with a familiar last name, and lots of times we know someone who knows them or is related to them. But most of the time, we don't know them personally.

Except this time.

This person died a couple of days ago and it was completely unexpected. About a week ago she told someone she couldn't come to a school field trip because she "felt yucky." She went to the doctor, who put her in the hospital and a week later she was dead. From cancer. That she didn't know she had.

Look at her. She was young. She was pretty. And she had no clue she was sick.

Face it. This is pretty much the nightmare scenario we humans, GroveAtopians or otherwise, fear most. We never think we won't be here to do the next thing and the next thing and the next. Here we are, merrily going about our business, making the usual assumptions that we will be here tomorrow and beyond, planning all the events that fill our days, some banal some not, when suddenly, out of the blue, we feel "funny" and find out it's fatal. Face it. We don't want to face it.

At the service today there was lots of talk about how she is not really gone because she will live on forever in our memories. But can that really be true? Memories are lovely but they are not the person, not at all. Memories do not move forward into the future, nor do they really comfort. Right now, in the fresh aftermath of this death, they only serve to remind us she is not here and won't ever be again.

Among death's many cruelties is its power to deny us the chance to see what happens next. We may believe we will still be here in some sense - perhaps hovering around overseeing everything - but we won't be a part of it. We will be wherever death is and everyone else will be here.

There were lots of mementos from her life. Among the most poignant was the stuff from her desk at work. Her pictures, her little reminders, sayings, her stapler. And there were emails, all sent to her during her brief stay at the hospital, all wishing for the thing that didn't happen; that she get well soon.

You don't even want to know that she had 2 little boys and that she was a supermom in every sense of the word. That means that a whole lot of little children, those who were friends with her sons, as well as their teachers were affected by her death. And of course many many more were touched by this death.

Knowing that, I dare you to click on the title of this post. But be warned. It will take you to a blog her family put together as the outcome unveiled itself in just 7 short days. You have to be really brave to read it.

Lots of people came to the service. That made her family feel good. They said so. Perhaps there is some solace for them knowing she had so many people in her life. But no matter how many people came, and no matter how many kind words were said, one thing remains. She is gone and she is never, ever coming back.

Oh dear

Just look at these headlines. Arson. Burglary. Pornography. Poaching. H1N1. There's even a "Pot Plot." Certainly they must be about some far away big city. Someplace that isn't where we live.

I'm sorry but I have some bad news.

These headlines are all about GroveAtopia. And they all happened in the last month. I know you don't want to believe it, but I'm afraid it's true.

When big city things happen in our small town, it's different than when they happen in the big city. When they happen here, we take it personally.

This is not the kind of personally you might experience in the big city. There, if you take something personally, it's usually because it involves an issue you care passionately about. Perhaps someone has said something that you find either upsetting or inspiring. That passes for personal in the big city.

But here, when you take it personally, it's because it really is. It's because you or someone you know knows the people involved. You have to admit it doesn't get much more personal than that.

And frankly we just aren't used to it. Our newspaper, even the one in the bigger city up the road is not usually filled with this type of news. So when it happens like this, one piece of bad news after another, we actually bother to wonder why. And we bother to ask what we can do to make sure it doesn't happen again.

We do that because in GroveAtopia, making things better actually seems possible. Our community is so closely linked that we think our problems are worth solving because we truly think they can be solved.

Even so, we are hoping we have come to the end of our spate of bad news, because quite honestly we can only take so much of it.

And we will never, ever get used to it.

Raking Rapture

Leaf raking season is well underway here in GroveAtopia and we must all make our peace with this annual chore. Whether you choose a leaf blower or metal or bamboo rake, you know those leaves just cannot stay where they are.

You might like to think they can. After all, won't they decompose by next spring, adding nutrients to the soil below?

In a word, no. That won't happen, but here's what will.

When the leaves finally finish their business and the last one has fluttered to the ground, good luck because you will have to wade ankle deep to your doorstep. And just try to make it through your doorway without at least a few leaves following you indoors.

Then comes the rain. It will transform your leaves into a mushy muck that is sometimes slippery, and sometimes simply sticky. In any case you can bet instead of following you through the door, the leaves will now ride inside on the bottom of your shoes, dropping off whenever and wherever they feel like it. Soon there will be as many leaves indoors as there are outside.

Now let's say you manage to put up with this and insist on seeing the natural approach through. Guess what will await you next spring? Leaves! The exact same leaves that fell the previous Fall. The same leaves you waded through and tracked into the house all winter. Because the sad truth is it takes more than one season for leaves to decompose.

So have I made the case? Do you see why we must rake?

Now when you face your carpet of leaves, you might feel overwhelmed, as if you will never ever get them all raked. But bit by bit, wheelbarrow load by wheelbarrow load you do. If you live in the city, you simply rake them into the street and the city will come and pick them up. If you live in the country, you are on your own.

Some people burn them, others compost them. Others find uses for them in the garden.

So where does the rapture come in?

Well it turns out that once the raking is underway, you realize you are lucky. You are lucky because you are outside, and it is cool and pleasant. The weak sun is there shining and things are green once again. If it wasn't for the falling leaves, you might even think it's spring. The moss is back in full force and the soil is soft. Even the weeds are back.

So if you aren't careful you will find yourself in a rapture of sorts – reveling in the new life that's all around you. Then raking is not a chore at all.

But let's not get carried away. Despite the rapture, I'm still hoping the raking is finally done for this year.

Alone in a room with these guys

What do you think it would be like to be alone in a room with these guys? Yesterday I found myself in just that situation - almost. It was me, a few others, and them.

So who are these people who call themselves SACHP and SHPO?

Well it turns out if you or anyone else wants to nominate anything in Oregon to be listed on the National Register of Historic Places, you have to go into a room with these guys and plead your case. They will have read your nomination weeks before you meet, and you can bet they've gone over it with a fine tooth comb. A few of them may have even visited the place you are nominating.

When it's your turn, you may say a few words, the SHPO staff person will have said a few words, and then you sit silently while the SACHP member chosen to be the lead on your nomination proceeds to offer their assessment. Page by page, line by line, it becomes clear they have read every single word. And you can bet they have suggestions to make it better.

In our case, there were extensive suggestions. So many in fact that our nomination was tabled. That means we have to go back to the drawing board - well not a blank drawing board, but we certainly have a lot of erasures, research and rewriting to do. Then we can try again.

Now I will be honest with you. I do not relish the prospect of going back to the drawing board on our nomination. We've been working on it with varying degrees of intensity over the past 3 years. We will need professional help – again – and we will need money to pay for it.

But I will say this. Despite the fact that the outcome was not at all what I'd hoped for, sitting in a room with these guys, even though they were dissecting our nomination, made me feel good about people.

Why? Because here they were, all alone in this room, charged with an obscure mission that no one but us knew or cared about - and not one corner was cut. Each member of this board did their utmost to fulfill their mission. They could have taken the easy way out - been less than rigorous and no one would have known.

But they weren't. They took their job seriously and did it as though it were the most important thing on earth. And actually, right then and there, it was.

State Advisory Committee on Historic Preservation (SACHP)

(updated 10/13/2009)

Appointed Members

Dr. William Willingham, Chair

Architectural Historian, Portland

Term(s): 5/1/2002 – 4/30/2010

5/1/2006 – 4/30/2010

Mr. John Goodenberger, Co-Chair

Architect, Astoria

Term(s): 5/1/2006 – 4/30/2010

Mr. Robert Hadlow

Industrial Historian, Portland

Term(s): 8/1/2008 – 7/30/2012

Mr. Jeffrey LaLande

Historical Archaeologist, Ashland

Term(s): 12/6/2008 – 12/5/2012

12/6/2004 – 12/5/2008

Mr. David Liberty

Cultural Anthropologist, Hood River

Term(s): 2/1/2009 – 2/2/2013

2/1/2005 – 1/31/2009

10/11/2004 – 1/31/2005

Ms. Judith Rees

Community Historian, Portland

Term(s): 5/1/2006 – 4/30/2010

Ms. Gail Sargent, AIA

Architect, Hermiston

Term(s): 5/10/2008 – 5/9/2012

11/1/2007 – 5/9/2008

*Two positions are currently vacant

State Historic Preservation Office (SHPO)

Ian Johnson - National Register / Survey Coordinator

Cara Kaser - National Register / Survey Coordinator

Roger Roper - OPRD Assistant Director, Heritage Programs/Deputy SHPO

Christine Curran - Associate Deputy SHPO

The end is near!

It's downright apocalyptic what's happening in the garden right now. We've had our first freeze here in GroveAtopia, and although the weather has been exceptionally fine for the past few days, the garden has taken its hit and responded accordingly.

What's left is a Darwinian freak show consisting of only the hardiest survivors and twisted mutations of what was meant to be.

Look at these tomatoes. Despite the death of the foliage, the green ones continue to ripen. In another patch, a bunch of volunteer tomatoes escaped the freeze and are just finishing their bloom. In mid-October. What fools!

In preparing the beds for their winter slumber today I discovered all manner of freakish vegetables. Besides the silly tomatoes still acting as if it were summer, there was broccoli that was oddly twisted and yellow. Gigantic garlic cloves overlooked during the harvest that took place months ago. One last hearty cucumber, misshapen, but still entirely edible. Green beans, as thick as your thumb, nearly as long as your forearm and tough as nails. A single carrot, the texture of rope.

Only the parsley, green onions and lettuce seemed happy and normal.

If it weren't for the freakish malformations left in the garden, you might almost convince yourself it was spring. But one glance upward at the blazing red maples and brilliant yellow walnut tree and you know. This is not the beginning that spring brings.

Clearly the end is near.

Yellow

It has hasn't been that long since I drove down Main St., but when I did early this morning here is what I encountered.

It was the usual Main St. scene, except that sometime over the past day or so the trees all got together and whispered to each other, "it's time" and they all turned yellow.

Now by looking at this picture you might think it was chilly when I took it this morning but it wasn't. It was actually quite warm, and gray and misty. The whole scene was as if a very soft, weightless blanket had alighted upon it. It was downright cozy.

I have been down Main St. a zillion times, but it can still surprise me. The yellow trees were today's surprise. It sounds silly I know, but as I rounded the usual corner, expecting the usual view, I gasped a little when I found this yellow and gray scene instead.

Clearly the autumn fairies are out in full force in GroveAtopia. Each day reveals yet another tree, or group of trees or bushes they have touched with their color wands.

We thought we had grown accustomed to the bursts of color that create the hot brilliance of summer, but suddenly here is autumn. Just a few short weeks ago we never thought it could happen, but now summer pales in comparison.

30 copies and a dozen eggs, please

We are lucky to have a full service print shop here in GroveAtopia. It's not a Kinko's or other chain copy shop. This one is locally owned. We share it with Springfield, where the other shop is located.

But the big shop is here in GroveAtopia and it truly is The Best Little Printhouse in Town. They sell signs, banners, business cards, books, brochures, cookbooks, flyers, door hangers, and regular old copies. And eggs.

What?

Yep. You can walk into the Best Little Printhouse and for $2.50, get a dozen eggs along with your print order. Or you could get 18 eggs for $3.75. It says so right there on the door.

Apparently they do a lively egg business because when I was in there today, they were fresh out of eggs. Someone had just come in and bought several dozen.

Now I don't know about you, but I like it that these two incongruous items co-exist in this store. It doesn't make a bit of sense from a marketing point of view, but that doesn't seem to matter. People come to the Best Little Printhouse in Town to buy their eggs, and I say, why not?

Pretty as a Privy

When new public bathrooms were built in the embattled little Opal Whitely Park, people worried.

Public restrooms are indeed a much needed public work, but making them freely available comes with its own set of worries.

Drugs, odors, sex, filth, graffiti, germs, vandalism. Most of us simply want to go to the bathroom, but some of us see the restrooms as a place to do much more than that.

There are all manner of solutions that attempt to help avoid these and other problems associated with public restrooms. The American Restroom Association has all sorts of advice.

But here in GroveAtopia we had our own solution and I think you will agree it is the kindest of all. To discourage would-be vandals from ruining these public bathrooms, the Art Guild took a few afternoons and painted pretty little pictures all the way around each restroom.

You can only see a few of the pictures in this photo. Each restroom has about 15 pictures, each one bright and unique, each one hand painted by one of several artists.

The restrooms were painted back in June when the Garden Club was busy making the park look pretty. I wrote about it then, but I think you'll agree the real test with a project like this is how it looks months later. I am happy to report that 4 months later, the privy pictures remain untouched.

Painting these pictures in the bathrooms was really a dare. Their pretty little designs, the fish, the bluebird on a fence post, the iris, are more than just that. What they are saying in their quiet, pretty little way is, " Go ahead. I dare you. Deface me. Scrawl your graffitti all over me. I bet, big and tough and defiant as you are you can't bear to harm pretty little me."

How annoying that would be for the person hell bent on saying what they must in this most public way, to encounter this row of quiet beauty and find out they just can't do it. They can't deface this work.

I like to think after the annoyance and perhaps anger has passed, that the would-be vandals have at least a moment of pause where they ask themselves why, and realize they do have a limit and these little pictures have shown them just that. That in the face of human effort and beauty, even the most angry heart, even as the spray can is raised, finger on the button, will lower the can, take the finger off the button, and toss the can in the trash.

It doesn't always happen this way, but it sure is nice when it does.

Sometimes beauty wins.

Pride and protest

What do you think when you see a plaque like this somewhere?    

I don't know about you but I have always thought this plaque was an honor and bestowed a certain amount of prestige on the place the it was hung.  

Well what if you had a chance to live in one of these places, and what if that place was part of a whole neighborhood of others like it?  What if it turned out that not only your house, the very one you live in right now, the one you fell in love with and bought because it and others around it were from a time gone by, qualified for one of these plaques and all that it stands for and all that it entitles you to?  

It would put your house in the same company as the White House, the Statue of Liberty and the Lincoln Memorial.  Wow.

But here in GroveAtopia, the reaction of some to this prospect is exactly the opposite of wow.  I'm not sure what that word is so I looked it up and here are some from which you may choose:  anger, irritate, upset, depress, disappoint, dismay, distress, pain, trouble, displease, offend, repel, repulse, turn off, disenchant, disgust.  Take your pick.

If you are like me you are saying to yourself, "Really?"  There are people who are angered, irritated, upset, depressed, disappointed, dismayed, distressed, pained, troubled, displeased, offended, repelled, repulsed, turned off, disenchanted and/or disgusted by the National Register of Historic Places?

In a word, yes.

I know, I was as flabbergasted as you.

It turns out that some people think that being on the National Register of Historic Places is nothing more than an example of government telling us what we can and can't do with one of our most sacred possessions - our property.

Never mind that we worry endlessly about what our neighbors have or may or may not do to their homes and how it might affect ours.  Thus far we have relied upon hopes and prayers and when they fail us we live with the fallout, although we may grumble.

So if your neighbor, who lives in the farmhouse built in 1905 decides to add a dome shaped second floor, strip off the porch and replace the beautiful curved bay windows, the ones you have admired through your own front window for years and years, there's nothing to be done.  It's your neighbor's right because it's your neighbor's property.

The National Register of Historic Places attempts to help people avoid doing that.  It offers incentives and through tax breaks, freezes and restoration loans to help people maintain the historic qualities of their homes. 

But it turns out some people view that as intrusion.  They would rather we trust in hope and prayer, and should things not turn out well, well that's just how it is.

So you see, some view the National Register as a source of pride, others see it as something to protest.   We don't know how it will all turn out. 

But here's what I do know.  I'd be honored to see my home listed on the National Register of Historic Places.  It would inspire me to do all I could to live up to it.  

So I guess I land on the side of pride.  And you may protest that all you want.