Portland is Awesome

You’d think that two women carrying around well-hatted babies and unfinished, knitted socks — and obsessively taking photos of them, and each other — would cause discomfort, if not outright consternation. But when Larissa and I participated in the Yarn Harlot’s ‘Inexplicable Knitting Behavior Scavenger Hunt‘ we were not once turned down for an extremely strange photo. We were welcomed with (largely) open arms and several eager smiles. And of course, some great one-liners. Such as:

• “This is not the first time I have held The Yarn today” — Pioneer Square snack vendor
• “I used to knit. When I was a logger. It was either that, or drink.” — Jimmy, who’s on his fourth step of NA, on the #75
• “Whose turn is it again?” — Office of Neighborhood Involvement receptionist, upon being presented with a sock (”held by a City Hall employee”)
• “Are you going to BUY it?” — Voodoo Doughnuts employee, when asked if he could ice “SOCK” on a Cock-n-balls doughnut. We did.
  
• “Did you take your photo with the windup toys, too?” — Leo, who runs the windup toys station at Finnegan’s, and was worried we might miss out on points. Leo is the best windup toy station employee EVER.
• “And she was handicapped!” — enthusiastic fellow knitter at the World Forestry Center, explaining why Larissa and I should have won prizes for our 5th- or 6th-place point totals, given we did the whole thing with babies and on the bus.

The thing is: in Portland, strange behavior is commonplace, encouraged, even. That the city can open itself to the possibility that strangeness might actually be worthwhile: that’s awesome.

It is a Sunday, and of course I am going to the Chicken Fest at Livingscape Nursery. I have volunteered to help, I am, after all, That Chicken Lady. It is early, and it is cold, and I wonder if maybe I am too early. There are no chicken banners. There are no chicken-y greeters. I wander around, a minute, finding all the lovely hens who have been loaned by local chicken people. I say their breeds to myself. Banded Rock. Ameraucana. Rhode Island Red. Australorp! Cochin.

I see someone who is wearing a chicken hat. Ahh, I’m not too early. When he stops buzzing about, I approach him.

“I’m Sarah Gilbert,” I say. He is wearing worn jeans and a yellow felt hat with a chicken, and looks like he hasn’t shaven for a day or two. Like the sort of person who would run a nursery focused on sustainability and native plantings. “Are you THE Sarah Gilbert?” he asks warmly. He seems vaguely familiar. “Of course you are!”

We know each other, he tells me, and I can’t place him. I blame the chicken hat. “I’m your patent attorney!” he says.

Steve Adamson is very probably my favorite attorney, ever. His patient and careful explanation of the patent and trademark process for one of the startups I worked for was key in developing my own geeky love for intellectual property. I think my boss was very, very slow in paying him, and Steve never got angry or sent me to collections. I find myself hoping that he was paid in full. I went on maternity leave with my second son before that had been wrapped up.

And now he’s here, on N. Vancouver Avenue just around the corner from Pix and SCRAP, running a nursery. Where they sell chickens! I bought two babies, an Ameraucana and a Columbia Wyandotte (”I saw a picture of this chicken and I knew we HAD to carry them!” Steve said excitedly.) They also have blueberries, and huckleberries, and all kinds of great plants and seeds. You should really go there for your baby chicks and your native grapes. And maybe if you are an IP geek too, you could kvetch with him about the state of the USPTO. That’s just the kind of place Portland is.