My parents live in Ashland, Oregon, a beautiful little town tucked into the pine fur of the Rogue Valley. I forget, when I’m away from here, how stunning it is to be walking down the street in the middle of town and see mountains all around. My parents have lived here for three years and they still, while driving to the grocery store, burst into raptures over the beauty of the place. “I love Ashland,” my mother says. The last time she said it I laughed, because the most recent time I thought to myself “I love Austin” was after I biked back from Café Mundi feeling tired and blah and a one-armed homeless man told me I was looking fine. City living versus small-town living, I guess. In other particulars, though, Austin and Ashland aren’t so different; very hippieish and wacky and sweet. They both have lovely farmer’s markets, so you know I’m happy.
This is one view from our deck in early evening.