Gifts on a spring walk
Why should human beings be any exception as natural gift givers?
The first sign was a fairly decent looking T-shirt carefully draped over a bollard in Council Crest Park. It was on prominent display just in case the owner came back looking for it.
Then, leaving the park, I passed a water fountain (a gift from the parks bureau, I assume). On a chain at its base, a neighbor had attached a metal bowl intended for dogs to slurp from after romp in the park. A nice gesture.
Along Fairmount Boulevard, someone left a stylish pair of reading glasses on the spur of a telephone pole. Again, the finder had hoped the owner might recover the glasses on a return jaunt.
Not much farther down the windy road, I encountered an elderly man picking up litter. He grasped an abandoned plastic bottle and packet of peanuts. He even dumped the peanuts on the edge of the road. “For the squirrels,” he explained after I thanked him for helping keep the roadway clean.
Finally, I got my turn.
A young woman in a pick-up truck slowed to ask directions to West Linn. No small task because West Linn is about 15 miles to the south. She had been visiting a friend in the hills and was utterly lost.
“Believe me, it happens here,” I said.
“My GPS isn’t working,” she said pointing to her smart phone, suddenly made stupid by the hilly terrain.
So I gave her directions from the still functional global positioning device in my head and sent her on her way.
Afterwards I worried briefly whether technological assistance is replacing face-to-face help, keeping us in a cocoon of isolation.