A Day at the Park

The sound of waves in a pool of water

I’m drowning in my nostalgia

(SYLVIAN, David. "Nostalgia". Brilliant Trees. Virgin, 1984)

I grabbed my camera and headed out on the road.  No one expressed interest in going with me, so I took off alone.  No destination had been planned, I just pointed my car at the road and drove.  I’ve spent enough time around the parks in my area, and, really, nothing in Beaverton grabbed my attention.  

Eventually I found myself driving down Terwilliger Boulevard toward Lake Oswego.  From there I headed west on Oswego Highway toward West Linn.  That’s when I knew where to go; Mary S. Young Park.

I spent a good deal of time there when I was younger.  The place, unlike most of West Linn, hasn’t changed much.  

Camera in hand, I set off on an expedition.  Conditions were not favourable.  Sure, it’s summer time, but it was overcast and grey.  Living in the Willamette Valley is never having to use a neutral density filter.  At best, the light value was 13, once I hit the interior, we’re looking at probably a 10.

As I decided on a deep yellow filter, thi was probably going to be difficult.  I took comfort in the fact that I am just getting used to film photography again and, as the park has been there for forty years, I’ll probably be able to come back.

Then is started to rain.  for a while, it was just a light, misty drizzle that was easy to contend with, but then it turned to a shower.  Owing to the nice canopy of trees, I was able to (mostly) keep dry.  I was actually more worried about my camera, as I had just gotten it back out of the shop.  Happily,the place that I was looking for had enough cover that I could take refuge until the shower passed.

On the Turkey Creek Trail there is a section that is a long wooden bridge.  Each end goes over the creek and the center runs along it, under a cliff.  I stood there for a long while listening to the rain on the leaves above, the creek below, and a couple of birds singing away off in the distance.  It’s moments like this this simply cannot be photographed.