Living in Oregon

is kind of magical.  Now that the rains are back, the moss has regained its green voluptuousness after having desiccated over the summer into a brown and crunchy version of its usual glory. When Dave and I came out here last November to look for an apartment after he got his job, Oregon and Washington were in the middle of a kind of typhoon - seriously, there was terrible flooding - but we didn't realize it at the time. We just thought, oh, it's true what they say - it is really rainy here in the Pacific Northwest. It was a pretty grim introduction to the state for me. It poured, literally POURED, for four straight days while we were trying to find our way around in a rental car, looking at more and less dreadful potential homes. Empty apartments with horrible carpeting looked downright suicide-inducing under the strange, greenish, underwater light. I think maybe one of the main reasons we were so instantly hopeful about the house we ended up renting was because it is painted a nice cheery yellow. Anyway, my anxiety about finding a home was strangely exacerbated by the lush moss which seemed to grow on everything. Because I thought . . . what if we don't find anywhere we can live? We have to find shelter from this all-pervading wetness! Because if we don't, moss will grow on US!! It gave me a sinister feeling, as though anything that stopped moving would be engulfed by its damp devouring tendrils.


What a difference a year makes! Now I'm in love with my adopted state, and find the moss romantic and lovely. Only here would you see something as ridiculously picturesque as this:


It's just somebody's garden shed, with probably rakes and bikes and various jumbled stuff inside. But it looks like something out of a fairy tale. 


Who would answer that little door, if you knocked?