If you want to know how I got here, I recommend reading through this post 🙂
…Okay, not really.
But still. The Mexican food there was awesome.
In the spring 2014 I moved back to Oregon to take a baby step towards my giant, sweeping dream. In my ideal life, I’d live on a big ranch out in the Oregon countryside, freelancing as a photographer and cookbook author. I’d have a Jersey cow, named Henrietta, and she would look like this:
I’d have a garden filled with flowers and heirloom fruits and vegetables, along with a special plot dedicated to the plants whose seeds I received from my parents, who have been carefully selecting, harvesting and drying only the most prized seeds from their immense garden for the past 30 years, and those plants would make the other plants look bad if they were all up on them.
There would also be olive trees, too. The cold Oregon winter would most likely destroy them, but I would plant them anyway on the off chance that they would survive. My Greek side won’t let me listen to things like reason. And this is my dream, after all.
The house would, of course, be a true-to-life recreation of Thomas Jefferson’s Monticello because A) It is incredibly beautiful, and B) I am a huge nerd for the founding fathers, Thomas Jefferson in particular.
But alas, I am instead living in the Portland suburbs with my boyfriend fiancé husband, Jeremy, my cat, Gabel, our dogs, Sequoia and Ralph, and our chickens, Daphne, Bebe, Lillith, Gertrude, Diane, Alice, and Maris. Jeremy is from San Jose, California/Missoula, Montana. This means he likes hiking and eating seafood. See him doing one of these things here:
Sequoia is the sweetest dog I’ve ever met. We got her from an animal shelter in Inglewood, and she’s some combination of beagle, jack russel, chihuahua, and/or pit bull. She’s loves all dogs and all people and almost never barks. Ralph, however, is the opposite of Sequoia in nearly every way. He is terrified of all dogs (except Sequoia) and all new people, and he barks at everything. But, he is the most loving loyal little chihuahua I could have dreamed of. If there is lap space available, he wants to lay on you. The pitter patter of his little feet follow me around the house all day every day, and I love it.
I currently reside in a 1937 English tudor in north Portland with hardwood floors and one of those cute little metal mail flaps in the walls in place of a mail box. It’s a big old house and it needs a lot of work and elbow grease, but I love every ridiculous square inch of it. Even the parts of the basement with mold.
The yard here is wonderfully huge compared to our old LA garden; we dug up the front lawn and turned it into an enormous vegetable garden complete with a drip irrigation system. After tilling these large areas of the yard by hand, I realized that there are lots and lots of rocks on our plot. Almost a suspicious amount of rocks. My theories are that 1) the land used to be at the bottom of a riverbed or 2) settlers decided to make this plot of land a giant rock dumpsite. Either way, I have a long season ahead of me.
After much remodeling, I now have a beautiful long galley kitchen to cook in with a ton of countertop space and a rockin’ vintage gas range from the 1950’s. We’ve slowly been renovating our whole house since we moved in, and it’s been a roller coaster of a journey; but with every wall we knock down and wall I plaster, it feels more and more like our home.