Sandboarding – A Dramatic Interpretation

“I recognize your look of trepidation,” said Melissa, my travel writing instructor, as my classmates and I exchanged glances. Fresh from an all-too-brief explanation of how to sandboard, I realized that my face betrayed my inner concerns. I mean, who would willingly go careening down a sandy dune on a three-foot-long piece of wood that looks more like a giant popsicle stick than a form of transportation? Oh, that’s right – I would.

On a fateful summer day, Melissa led intrepid members of her travel writing class to Sand Master Park pro shop in Florence, Oregon, where we rented four sandboards and at least attempted to leave our cares behind us. The dunes called to us, and we answered the call – with a little fear, in my case.

The concept seemed simple. Strap onto the board, lean on your back leg, pick up some momentum and coast through the sand while maintaining some semblance of balance. As we arrived at Honeyman Memorial State Park, I repeated this mantra in my head.

At the base of a massive dune, I paused and glanced up at it. The sun, unusually conspicuous for the Oregon coast, beat down on the sand, causing the crystals to glitter. The top of the dune offered blue sky and a view of the nearby lake. It all seemed innocent enough.

Toting our newly-rented sandboards, my class and I made our way to the middle of a dune, deciding the height to be sufficiently challenging for our first sandboarding attempt. The view from our sandy perch both awed and intimidated, the steep incline of the sand looking slightly more insidious than desired.

My classmates plopped down in the sand and bravely strapped their boards to their feet. For a moment, we looked at each other, wondering who should be the first to risk ingesting a mouthful of sand. Then, one by one, the brave souls took the plunge and glided to the bottom of the dune.

“It’s your turn!” my boyfriend Mario announced after his successful trip down the hill, handing me his board expectantly. My time had come.

Board strapped securely to my bare feet, I stood, bending my knees and testing the stability of the contraption. Oh good, I thought, it has no stability whatsoever.

Finally, keeping in mind the successful ventures of my classmates, I inched forward into the sand and allowed myself to begin the treacherous descent. Images from my first year of snowboarding as a 13-year-old flashed into my head while I picked up speed.

One particular snowboarding memory stuck out, in which I took a headlong tumble down the bunny hill, flipping lengthwise and landing with my face planted in the snow. I had crashed so badly that someone from the ski lift above shouted down, “Are you alright down there?”

I answered by waving my gloved hand in the general direction of the voice, too embarrassed to remove my face from the snow and reveal my identity.

Luckily for me, sandboarding treated me kindly on my trial run. The coastal wind whipped my hair out of my face, and although I participated in some arm-swinging and leg-wobbling, I did not fall to a sandy doom. The addictive sensation of flying made me smile and forget to worry.

As for Melissa, she zoomed care-free down the dunes, crashing here and there but also experiencing the exhilaration of weightlessness that the cautious boarders (like me) sadly miss. In the end, our “trepidation” was unfounded, but perhaps its very existence drove us to challenge it with bravery.

Stop the Invaders

During my summer internship last year, my mentor Tania introduced me to the complicated world of invasive species.

“Oh look, it’s Clematis vitalba!” she would rattle off in a cheery tone during strolls around Oregon State University’s campus. Finding invasive species was like a scavenger hunt to her and she constantly amazed me with her encyclopedic knowledge of invasive plants.

Tania raised my awareness of the plants growing all around me. Suddenly, a simple cluster of English ivy in my dad’s backyard warranted great displays of pointing in alarm and shouting, “Hedera helix!” before savagely attacking the invader with a shovel.

Ever since my internship, I feel a continued sense of allegiance to the battle against invasive species. For example – during a walk through Eugene’s Buford Park with my travel writing class, clusters of invasive blackberries sparked my old fervor.

The forested hillsides and open fields of Buford Park, combined with the frequent visitation of hikers, make the land a perfect candidate for the establishment of invasive species. Nonnative plant seeds are easily spread on people’s shoes or gear when they are neglectful about cleaning up after a hike.

“We deal with false brome here, something that the state has recognized as a pretty scary invasive species,” said Jessica Allison, a volunteer coordinator for Friends of Buford Park.

Jessica explained that the Friends of Buford Park and Mt. Pisgah started in 1989, when visitors noticed a herd of cows grazing all over the fields of the park. This observation disturbed them, taking into account that cows are detrimental to native habitats.

Deciding to take action, the Friends of Buford Park and Mt. Pisgah formed a team, clearing out the cows and devoting themselves to restoring the natural habitat of the park. Now, The Friends concentrate their efforts on environment-restoring projects.

“We’re focusing on restoring oak savannah habitat,” Jessica explained. “Currently, the oak coverage is less than one percent of what it used to be.”

Invasive species contribute to some of this native upheaval. Oftentimes, when invasive species settle in, native plants are outcompeted and crowded out by their foreign adversaries. Plants like false brome, a nonnative quick-growing bunchgrass, easily overcrowd native grasses and leave little room for indigenous species to grow.

In order to get the area back to its original state, The Friends organize volunteer groups to help remove invasive species and properly maintain hiking trails. Jessica coordinates these events and she encourages people of all ages to participate in volunteer opportunities.

“We engage our community through volunteerism to create future stewards of the park,” Jessica said. “We want to show what it takes to take care of the land and how much fun that can be.”

In fact, the next volunteer opportunity is this Saturday, where volunteers will meet at the onsite native plant nursery. The nursery consists of indigenous plants grown from seeds collected in the Buford Park and Mt. Pisgah area. Volunteers nurture the seeds into growth and eventually, these plants are used to repopulate areas where invasive species are removed.

Jessica made the opportunity sound so interesting that I considered joining in on the invasive plant-bashing. Tania would be so proud.

Buford Park and Mt. Pisgah are southeast of the Eugene/Springfield area, off of I-5 by Exit 189 and Seavey Loop Drive. More information can be found at their website.

For the Birds

My first impressionable encounter with birds happened when I was growing up in the country. A flock of turkeys decided to take up residence near our house, in all their wing-flapping and gobbling glory. This apparently amused my dad, because he started feeding them birdseed, which forever branded our backyard/ forest area as a permanent restaurant for the turkeys.

Sometimes they were irritating, but most of the time they were just entertaining. When they would arrive, bickering and pecking at the ground, my parents and I would cluster around the window and watch them (I know, I had a super exciting childhood).

Admittedly, this encounter did not elevate turkeys to Ben Franklin status, but it left an impression on me. Their silly-looking movements and social interactions differed so greatly from those of mammals. It was easy to see how birds evolved from dinosaurs millions of years ago – sometimes birds can look strikingly prehistoric.

When I visited the Cascades Raptor Center on Saturday, I saw the incredible diversity inherent in the class Aves. Since it’s much easier to watch turkeys out the back window than come face-to-face with a bird of prey, my visit introduced me to a completely different kind of bird experience.

The center is set up to hold a vast menagerie of rescued birds, all in separate holding pens that fill out the perimeter and interior of the facility. Bald eagles, peregrine falcons and turkey vultures all perched calmly in their pens, wings outstretched and mouths open as they tried to combat the onslaught of the 90 degree weather. As a fellow warm-blooded mammal, I felt their pain.

As I journeyed through the center, using a map that allowed me to conduct a self-guided tour, I passed by a group of children who were attending a birthday party at the center. I hung back, smiling at their enthusiasm for the trainer and her owl. Later on, I listened as they dissected owl pellets and laughed over their discoveries.

My visit also brought me in contact with many varieties of owl, which hold a special place in my heart after I saw this video about a year ago. I don’t know what it is about them, but with their large, blinking eyes, aura of elegance and graceful pattern of flight, they may be my favorite bird. Particularly eye-catching was Archimedes the snowy owl, who politely disdained me throughout the duration of my visit.

The best thing about the Cascades Raptor Center, in my opinion, is that they only keep non-releasable birds, due to injury or human influence. Every time I visit a zoo or safari, I feel a sense of guilt because oftentimes the animals are being kept for no reason other than human entertainment. The concept of a rehabilitation center appeals to me because the birds are being rescued, still allowing people the benefit of seeing the beautiful creatures up close.

As I walked away from the last terrarium, I heard a flutter of wings behind me. Turning, I saw a red-tailed hawk gazing curiously at me, pressed right up against the wires of his enclosure. We studied each other for a moment and I realized how grateful I was that someone cared enough about this bird to save him. 

The Earlier the Better

 Although it pains me to admit this, I am not a morning person. I always have good intentions. I optimistically set the alarm for 7 a.m., cheerfully imagining all the things I’ll do with my morning. I hear the birds and their idealistic chirping as I picture myself sipping tea and basking in the glory of having the entire day ahead of me.

And then the alarm rings. Barely awake and still half-immersed in a dream about learning to tap dance, I scramble to my feet in a clumsy, frantic manner, swiping at my earsplitting cell phone in desperation. Half the time I end up knocking it on the floor, which is why it’s a miracle that my phone is still functioning. The other half of the time, I manage to hit the “dismiss” button (why is that even an option?) and end up sleeping until the absolute last second possible. So much for tea-sipping and glory-basking.

I often wish I would exercise a little more self-control, and here’s one reason why – shopping in the morning is divine. My recent excursion to the Lane County Farmer’s Market on Tuesday proved this to me.

I left my apartment at 9:20 in the morning and arrived downtown around 9:45 a.m. This may not seem early to most, but when it comes to shopping, I usually fail to get anywhere before noon unless someone is dragging me by the arm. The overhead clouds were starting to clear and the Farmer’s Market was also just beginning to stir with activity.

Usually when I attend events like this, the bustle of commerce is already in full swing and the commotion is somewhat overwhelming. The vendors barely have time to answer questions about their produce, let alone stop and chat. In the morning, that all changes.

When I approached a booth called “Berg’s Berries," I was greeted by the smiling face of Fanny Berg. Because of the slow morning pace, I talked with Fanny about her business and learned of her fondness for the Farmer’s Market.

“When it’s winter, I miss coming to the market,” she said, standing behind a colorful display of blackberries, strawberries and other brightly-colored fruits. “I’m friends with my customers and they even come to my house. We’re all very friendly, no pretention.”

Berg’s Berries come from an organic farm in Alvadore, Ore., where Fanny and her husband grow and harvest fruit during the summer and fall months. Before leaving the booth, I scored a complimentary strawberry, which tasted of perfection.

Encouraged by my first encounter, I moved on to Eugene City Bakery’s tent, where buttery pastries accosted me. A few customers lingered by the booth, choosing a roll here, a Danish there. Inspired, I jumped into the conversation.

“Which one is your favorite?” I asked of Alicia Sparks, who began working for Eugene City Bakery a few months ago.

“Probably the Schnecken,” she answered, gesturing to a hazelnut-laden, gooey pastry. The prospect was tempting, but after some deliberation, I selected a gigantic blueberry-peach scone.

Around 11 a.m., a crowd started to accumulate around the market, a more familiar sight to me than the lightly populated atmosphere from earlier. As I walked away, munching on my scone, I felt for just a moment like a morning person.

A Different Kind of Civil War

As a recent Oregon State University transplant, I see everything through orange-and-black colored glasses. After spending three years in Corvallis, I can’t help but compare my time in Eugene to my experiences at OSU. Although I’m not going to the extremes of keeping a pro and con list, I have to admit that I weigh one town against the other, finding differences and evaluating how I feel about them.

One thing about the University of Oregon that I like better than OSU is the Duck Store. It’s located in a convenient place on campus, its outward appearance is eye-catching and its contents are both diverse and useful. I always felt that OSU’s bookstore left something to be desired with its middle-of-campus location and its drab setup.

While Eugene wins the campus bookstore contest, Corvallis definitely wins for best downtown. It offers a gorgeous riverside park with a spacious bike path, an ample variety of restaurants, from bars to burger places to elite seafood palaces, and a comfortable atmosphere with plenty of families and college students alike.

Eugene’s downtown seems inaccessible and unappealing by comparison. For one thing, it’s much larger and sprawled out than Corvallis’ downtown, which occupies about five streets. There seems to be no focus, no highlighted streets with popular attractions. As a newcomer, I find it difficult to tell which parts of downtown are meant to be appealing and which are purely business.

The entire place struck me as highly urban with lots of concrete and metal. Corvallis streets explode with colorful blooms from spring to fall, but on my walk through Eugene’s downtown, none of the flowers popped out at me. It seemed to be far removed from nature, a theme that is unusual in a city like Eugene.

Since we visited downtown in the morning, my impression was perhaps skewed, but there seemed to be a significant lack of people present. Besides the abundance of homeless people, I didn’t see many people shopping or eating in restaurants, something that tends to give an area a comfortable feeling. Admittedly, it was earlier in the morning, but I would still expect more people to be out for breakfast or shopping on a Friday.

Basically, Eugene’s downtown makes a bad first impression. I didn’t see any shops or restaurants that made me want to remember them for later.

But maybe it’s unfair to judge downtown Eugene on a few, brief visits. My perception of downtown Corvallis comes from years of checking out restaurants, exploring parks and visiting intriguing little shops that can't be found anywhere else. I can see the potential in downtown Eugene, with its edgy art, multitude of sculptures and hodge-podge restaurants. After all, Saturday Market already holds a great deal of fame and appeal, and it’s located in downtown Eugene.

Ultimately, while I am willing to give Eugene’s downtown a second chance, I didn’t click with its atmosphere and I still remain loyal to my first love of Corvallis, home of Science Pub, Block 15 and Peak Sports. Although the Ducks may reign supreme when it comes to football, perhaps Eugene has a thing or two to learn from Corvallis, after all.

Downtown Eugene is located off of Exit 194B on Interstate-5. For more information, visit downtown Eugene's website. 

A Visit to Ice Cream Heaven

The sudden, bright taste of mint melted on my tongue, unexpectedly refreshing. I didn’t quite know what to think of the flavor, but I immediately recognized one thing – I loved it.

“People say that our mint chocolate chip ice cream is unique, not like other mint ice creams you might have had,” said Sarah Wicks, sister of Emily Phillips, who owns the Red Wagon Creamery food cart with her husband Stuart.

Unique is an appropriate word to describe their handmade mint chocolate chip ice cream. The flavor brought to mind a crisp mint julep or the lively taste of iced tea garnished with fresh mint sprigs.

The smooth, white color appealed to me more than the stereotypically pale green color of your average, everyday mint ice cream. Dark chunks of chocolate peppered the creamy landscape, creating a pleasant visual sensation. Clearly, these ice cream makers know what they’re doing.

Emily and Stuart Phillips opened their ice cream cart last year. Phillips, who has worked as a chef in New Zealand, was looking for something new and ice cream seemed the logical conclusion.

“I just really like ice cream,” Phillips said, peering out from her cart on a sunny Tuesday afternoon. I found this statement to be wholeheartedly relatable.

Nestled in the corner of a parking lot containing Healthy Pet and PartyCart, Red Wagon Creamery gives off a neighborhood lemonade stand vibe. A shaded collection of tables and chairs complements the booth, extending an offering to sit down and stay a while.

The cart itself stands out with a cheery, bright red sign. During my visit to the cart, a pair of college-aged girls ordered ice cream cones, followed by a grandfather and granddaughter duo.

Phillips said that Red Wagon Creamery splits its time between its primary location and the Lane County Farmer’s Market, where the handmade ice cream fits perfectly with the organic produce and local atmosphere.

This, along with the deliciousness of the ice cream, ultimately drew me in to Red Wagon Creamery. I prefer local, homemade flavors because they tend to be much more memorable and genuine in taste and feel. As a college student, I usually can’t afford to practice all-local shopping, but the prices at Red Wagon Creamery are reasonable - $2.75 for a generous single scoop. Plus, the vibrant taste of the ice cream makes it worth the occasional indulgence.

Seven flavors are currently offered, but the flavors are interchanged seasonally. With clever names like “Li’l Almond Annie” and “Not-So-Plain-Jane-Vanilla,” the flavors easily charm and I found myself tempted to try them all.

I would love to go back to this food cart, but the obscure location may deter me from visiting any time soon. It ventures far from campus and downtown, making it less accessible for students. Additionally, I found Phillips to be somewhat aloof and unfriendly, although this may simply be the result of a long day in the hot sun.

Regardless, I won’t forget that lingering taste of mint anytime soon and the memory of the flavor will probably draw me back on the next hot summer day we encounter.

Red Wagon Creamery can be found at the intersection of 28^th St. and Friendly St. in Eugene, Ore. They are open Monday from 8:30 p.m. to 11 p.m., Tuesday from 10 a.m. to 3 p.m. at the Lane County Farmer’s Market and 5 p.m. to 9 p.m. at the primary location, Wednesday and Thursday from 2 p.m. to 8 p.m., Friday from 3 p.m. to 7 p.m. at the Springfield Farmer’s Market, and Saturday from 9 a.m. to 3 p.m. at the Lane County Farmer’s Market. More information can be found at their website, Red Wagon Creamery.