A neighborhood blog designed to share just a few of the many treasures that lay buried in the soil, along the streets or in the memories of the folks of South Tacoma
Blanketed in white the park looked mystical, magical and, as it turns out, a bit mysterious
Blanketed in white the park looked mystical, magical and, as it turns out, a bit mysterious
Waking up is hard to do, and never more so than on a cold, dark morning. I felt especially lethargic one morning last week when the day ahead was full of “to dos”, “haven’t dones” and “don’t want to think abouts”. It was cold and dark and windy, only a rainy horseman shy of the apocalypse.
The late author and holocaust survivor Elie Wiesel once said that “God created humans because he loves stories.” One gift of my profession is getting to hear these stories. But to do so, it often takes some work.
“What is the Wapato Hills Nature Walk?” my wife asked me a few weeks ago. Google calendar may have saved our marriage, but occasionally it causes some confusion.
I grew up in Athens, Tennessee, a somewhat rural town nestled in the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains. Each summer my wife and I take our three urban kids and dive into this land for a few weeks. We spend most of our time keeping cool in the pool or at the lake, but reserve at least one day for hiking.
“Free trees!”proclaimed the flyer. In an effort to increase the arboreal canopy of Tacoma, the city was offering trees, free of charge, to residents who agreed to plant them in their parking strips or, as the flyer called them, planting strips.
I blame it all on Jeff Graves. It’s his fault I’m sweaty palmed and anxious sitting in a circle of strangers. I hadn’t seen or heard from him since High School. Then there on my screen was his frozen image underneath the title “Fox on the Run.”
It was winter when I first encountered the murder. We passed by as I drove my daughter down 74th to school at Mount Tahoma. It was quite a shocking site. Bodies were everywhere, scattered across the gravel parking lot of the seasonal fruit stand, stacked upon the branches of the surrounding Gerry Oaks, and perched perfectly upon the power lines. T
I met Kay during a South Tacoma neighborhood walk. As our group headed east on 56th Street, she pointed out the two-story Victorian she shares with her husband. “1912,” she replied to my inquiry of when it was built. “In fact, we recently had some curious guests because of its age.” Curious guests? Please continue.
