Long Weekend of Aquarius

How often do you get directions to a friend's house that include the phrase, Turn right at the donkey?

If you're like me, the answer is Not often enough!

Luckily, I was able to ameliorate this deficit with a weekend trip to Scappoose to visit my friend Toni (though you may prefer to think of her as Heidi).

It was a journey not just in distance (although at 28 biked miles from Portland, the distance was notable).

It was a journey back in time, thanks to Toni's very special dom-icile.








The dome has all the modern conveniences, circa 1978.

Because what if you are in kitchen making dinner, and the goats are up in the sleeping loft watching the latest episode of the Partridge Family and you need to tell them to come down to eat. . .

why scream Hey kids, the cheese fondue is ready at the top of your lungs, when you can just intercom-municate throughout your hemispheric home using the latest technology?




The dome also has a lovely picture window in the living room.

Which offers a nice view out to the mini-me geodesic-garage.

Yes, once upon a time, someone hiked into what was then 20 acres of untouched woods, felled the trees to clear their own housing site, and then decided to build the garage with the same prominence and proximity to the house as it would have in any suburban subdivision.

Still, it was very pastoral. Beautiful, relaxing. Filling, too, because Toni cooked us a rather awesome dinner.

But being out in the country always feels a little spooky to me. Like any true New Yorker, I associate any nature too large to be mown with the serial-killers-gone-amok of Stephen King novels.

And, though I didn't want to insult Toni's hospitality by mentioning it, sure enough — as soon as the sun started to set, an evil spirit seemed at hand. At big hand.

Buckacabra, futurist goat sucker

Still, I had a great time, and would recommend it to anyone. Just turn right at the donkey, and enjoy!