The Republic of Portland

The other day, after a full evening of peach-picking over at Sauvie Island Farms, my sweet little family decided that we wanted to stop and get a bite to eat in our neighboring 'hood, St. Johns. First, we thought that we'd zip through the drive-through of Burgerville -- which, despite its name, is "Local. Organic. Sustainable.", and serves up a number of adventurous veggie burgers. (If such a thing exists.) Just take a look at my receipt from last month. Yeah. It's a drive-through. They also serve freshly picked blackberries. Oh, and everything is packaged up neatly in compost-able boxes and bags.

Anyhow, upon my request and because I had a buy-one-get-one coupon burning a hole in my wallet, we opted instead to try Proper Eats. We had never been to Proper Eats before, but upon entering we got the vibe pretty quickly about what the place was all about. First of all, it's full name is as follows: "PROPER EATS: You look like shi*t because you eat sh*t." Everything within Proper Eats politically correct walls is not only organic, but ultra-vegan. (Ultra-vegan being that the swiss chard you just ate was kept at at least a 1000 feet minimum from any moo-ing that a cow might make.) The bulk-food bins have warning labels that blast out to its clear-skinned and bright-eyed patrons things like "WARNING!!! This granola contains chocolate chips made with *MILK POWDER!*" Shudder!

The menu, however, looked scrumptious. And all of the people there were super quiet and super healthy and slightly stinky. We placed our order with a girl wearing a long skirt and braids and began wandering through the aisles, waiting for our dinner. It was then that Chad called me over to where he was standing, staring at a wall. On it was tacked up a "DIY Manifesto." DIY are the 3 letters that make up the heart of our neighborhood. DO. IT. YOURSELF. And here it is:

As much of a Do-It-Yourself-ers as Chad and I are - and I do think we are - I think that there is a key ingredient that is sadly amiss in this manifesto and even present in the general Portland population. It's the same thing that was missing from my drill sargeant yoga instructor that called me out and criticized me the other day in front of everyone. Its a gentleness, a tolerance, a kindness for people that DON'T do it themselves, that are NOT super-yogis, that do flip on the boob-tube now and then to watch a Saints game, and that sometimes like their pizza without quinoa flour, thank you very much.  Is that bad? I understand the Manifesto. I do. And I understand the importance of "spreading their cause" of not living lives that abuse our natural resources and of not plugging ourselves into mass media that tells you how to think, dress, and be. I know its important to grow our own food. To support our local economy. To walk or bike or take the Max. To never, ever, ever accept a grocery bag for the rest of my life. I get it, I do it, and I try to live this way. But if to live this way is at the price of being intolerant, angry and cruel to others that are not "on board", well then, I'm not so much on-board. Because even a DIY Manifesto is, in its own way, also a cultural move that requires people to assimilate, which is the very thing that they preach against.

I guess it makes me just want to say, "Chilled out Portland hippies, will you please just RELAX?"

Last night, Tate and I stopped by Green Bean Books to pick up a gift for our neighbor's birthday party. Inside, we learned that families on the block were planning a mass lemonade stand revolt. Yes, a lemonade stand revolt. Apparently, the other day some kids had their lemonade stand out and a public health officer told them that it was not allowed by the Health Department, and they would need to pack up their tin cans and go.  Lesson 1: You just don't tell a North Portland kid to move their lemonade stand without expecting serious repurcucssions from their parents. The mamas and papas on the block all set out their tables and chairs in protest last night, selling gallons of lemonade, to express their opinion that this was, of course, ridiculous.

But, I happen to like law enforcement. And, I like public health. And I'm wondering why there wasn't dialog about where this edict was written? And what could they do to work around it? Could the kids sell iced tea (herbal, of course) instead? Or are their certain hours or places that it is OK? But instead, it was a stand-off between the people and the law.  Maybe it's because there is virtually NO crime here that people have forgotten the value of law enforcement. To them, I say: Go to New Orleans, where coffee is served FREE at any coffee shop to an officer. Because there, they are always glad to see them protecting their block, watching their back. Portland is just so far removed from that reality that most of the world lives in.

People here drive with a bumper sticker plastered to the back of their car that reads, "THE REPUBLIC OF PORTLAND." And it is so true. It is an amazing, beautiful, pioneering type of place where healthy, smart children run free and wild in the streets in their handmade garb and mom and dad till their front lawn to ready it for planting chard and tomatoes. It is truly its own culture, and its beautiful and amazing. It is also super intense, and people seem to be so preoccupied with creating a perfect society that they don't seem to be enjoying life very much. Maybe I really have been in New Orleans too long. At any rate, I am thankful to live here, and I will leave it at that. And I will try to never impose my Portlandness on others.

(And by the way, the fare at Proper Eats is OUT. OF. THIS. WORLD. Tate had black beans, rice, and greens, and licked up every bit.)