Street roots
Aug. 3, 2012
Through the eyes of a child, an old scene is new again
don’t know if it’s the aging process or
just evidence of how great my
neighborhood is that I’m finding it
increasingly difficult to leave it for any
reason. Evenings and weekends, the kid, the
husband and I can typically be found on or
near Mississippi Avenue, if not in our actual
house three blocks away. We have
restaurants, parks, food carts, a bodega, the
Rebuilding Center, and the greatest
neighbors I’ve ever had. According to my
husband, the 10 blocks surrounding us is
the most diverse census block in the state
of Oregon, and we like that just as much as
we like our easy access to Thai food and
Unthank Park. We’ve been here 12 years,
and though the demographics have shifted
in those years to include many more
ironically mustached hip twentysomethings
on the street and more SUVs parked at the
curb, there seems to be, between the newer
folks and the families who have been here
decades, a vibe of living and letting live that
saves our increasingly hip little Mississippi
from feeling too precious. All of my
neighbors say hello in passing, and all of the
baristas and shop owners know my kid by
name.
The downside of contentment, though, is
complacency. Add Mississippi’s many
qualities to my own perpetual state of
overworked, and I get into a space where I
have to challenge myself to get my family
out of our comfort zone and into new
adventures. And this week, my husband
suggested that we take young Ramona and
try something in my discomfort zone: Last
Thursday on Alberta.
I have nothing against Alberta — it’s a
perfectly lovely street, yet I never go there,
ever, even though it’s less than 10 blocks
away. It just feels ... different. Differently
hip, maybe? Perhaps it’s because no one
knows our names there? In any case, I
remembered my most recent Last Thursday
experience, at least five years ago, as a
combination of a 4-lane traffic jam and
Burning Man - something oppressively
crowded where I felt out of place, most of
the men were shirtless (my prudish mid-
Michigander surfaces around scantily-
I
Melissa Favara
Melissa Favara
teaches English in
Vancouver and lives
and writes in North
Portland, where she
parents Ramona, age
5, hosts a bi-monthly
reading series, and
counts her husband
and her city as the
two great loves o f her
life.
claddedness), and most of the women more
cleverly tattooed than I. Yes. I know. I am a
terrible and narrow-minded person. But I
truly remembered the crowd as
monochromatic and a lot not-like-me — sort
of a Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome
aesthetic that just really makes me feel old
— and I remembered getting jostled a lot. So
it was with raised eyebrow that I agreed to
bike over to Last Thursday with my man
and Ramona, who’d be witnessing the
spectacle for the first time at one week shy
of six years old.
Ramona had $5 in her pocket from tooth
fairy loot combined with allowance, and she
was eager to deploy it at what her dad called
“The Fair.” As we locked up our bikes
behind the Community Cycling Center. I
could already hear the squeals of children
and the strains of an old-time band as well
as the rhythmic thump of bass and snatches
of a rap number. It would become obvious,
and quite soon, that I’d been right about the
crowded part, but wrongheaded in most
other ways.
First things first, there were a bunch of
folks there who appeared to have wandered
off from Burning Man; there was, in fact, a
lot of shirtlessness, etc. But what of it? As I
looked east and west at the throngs, I began
noticing things that surprised me, and didn’t
stop noticing for hours. There was, in fact, a
bunch of every kind of human there, and the
blend was pretty delightful.
While there were many booths selling art
that labeled itself as “upcycled” (am I the
only one who finds that new word
annoying?), there were also better than a
dozen booths manned by children selling
their own wares — one little girl, a cute
blonde cherub hardly older than Ramona,
showed delicate earrings made of colored
paper, and another gal helped her mom sell
the felt charms shaped like acorns that
they’d made together. A pair of stout little
brothers sold soda and water; their hand-
lettered sign advertised that they were
raising money for a school trip. Dread-
locked young women offered free samples of
homemade cheesecake to suburban moms,
and everywhere, strollers negotiated the
Join CUB in the Fight
to Stop NW Natural
NW Natural is proposing an 8% rate hike, AND
an increase in your monthly base charge of up to $29,
even if you don’t use any natural gas that month.
Your membership gives us the
power to fight these rate hikes.
thoroughfare with steampunk-modified
bicycles.
Ramona, perky even in the heat and
bustle, divided her time between carefully
examining the items offered for purchase
and stepping in and out of the little pools of
music, charmed and grinning. On one
corner, a young
rockabilly man played
jangly guitar and sang
Buddy Holly; half a
block later, and
So It was w ith raised eyebrow
(shirtless!) Latino
that I agreed to bike over to
rapper rhymed
Last Thursday w ith my maxi
nonstop, and on the
and Ramona, who'd be
next corner, a Luther
Vandross ringer belted witnessing the spectacle for
out R&B that bobbed
the firs t tim e at one week shy
heads all around. And
of six years old.
a cultural and
generational rainbow
paused before each
performer. It began to
feel like I could hang
here, because there was no dominant theme
— just food, music, and people watching
each other people-watch — a pretty good
scene for both me and the kid.
Ro finally decided how to spend her stash
as we were preparing to bike home. We met
a little girl whose nice dad was selling
jewelry he’d designed with metal rings and
sturdy rubber bands — stretchy chainmail!
Ro picked a lovely pink and purple bracelet
which the dad, a pirate-reenactment buff
who looked the part, customized for her
little wrist with a pair of needle-nosed
pliers. She took her dollar in change and
dropped it in the donation box in front of
the R&B singer, smiling and giving him a
little wave, which he acknowledged with a
wink that made her blush.
Will we go back to Last Thursday? Yes,
I’m pretty sure. But maybe not next month.
Thursday night revealed to me that my
jaded ex-hipster former self has the
opportunity to see lots of things through the
new prism that is my child’s perspective.
We’ll see what she thinks of First Thursday.
Meet Your Local Branch Manager:
“Communities aren'tjust streets and build
ings. Communities are thriving places
where cultures, commerce and souls grow
stronger together."
- M ary
http://oregoncub.org/streetroots
Mary Edmeades
Social Impact Banking
503.445.2155
oregoncub.org/sfreetroots
m edm eades@ albinabank-com
fs f
Join CUB for as little as $10, and help us fight the NW
Natural price increases!
At Albina Community Bank the most ordinary
financial transaction can have an extraordinary
impact on our local community.
You’re going to bank somewhere,
why not let your banking make a difference in
the places where you live and work?
estofttHouwa
LENDER
Street Roots is a proud
partner with the Jesuit
Volunteer Corps Northwest
and Americorps.