PK Park: a Disappointing and Unfulfilling Atmosphere

Looking forward to taking in Tuesday evenings game between the Eugene Emeralds and the Tri City ValleyCats at PK Park, I was treated to a free ticket someone had turned in. I  took my seat in seat one of row seven–the perfect spot. I was near the Eugene Emeralds dugout, close enough to hear their chatter while also able to witness the inconsistencies of the home-plate umpire’s strike-zone. As the clock hit 7 pm–just before the start of the game–the seats on the first-base side of the diamond and behind home-plate were nearly filled. The crowd was big enough to hear the constant conversations, on the subject of the upcoming game, baseball in general, and topics relating to household chores and overall home-life. The contest was about to begin–my first time seeing the Single-A short-season teams play at the new stadium. And I had high expectations.

Those expectations were not fulfilled. I am a baseball purist. I like relative silence when I watch a game so I can study tendencies and learn players names, strengths, and weaknesses. I’m there for what Shoeless Joe Jackson, played by Ray Liotta in Field of Dreams, called “the thrill of the grass.” I was asking for my  dream scenario to take place, but it didn’t. I mean, there was a Star Wars mashup of “Call Me Maybe” played on the screen beyond center-field in between the eighth and ninth inning. That’s just not right.

There was a lot of good that came out of attending PK Park to see the Ems play, however. There were peaceful moments, when I could be one with the batter and pitcher. I was, at times, able to focus on how certain hitters were pitched, what approaches they took against certain pitchers, and how outfielders were positioned, among other nuances of the game. And PK Park is beautifully laid out. There isn’t a bad seat in the house. No view is obstructed, and it’s hard to find a spot that isn’t close to the action. I was seven rows back of the field and I felt so close to what was going on. On top of that, the team is enjoyable to watch, the food was reasonably priced and delicious, and the conversations that could be had were scintillating.

I relished in the time when I could hear nothing but the chitter-chatter of the fans, the crack of the bat, and the roars from the crowd as something went right. These moments were fairly infrequent on this night, though. It was hard to get into the flow of the game, and the game was, for me, almost in the background. That said, baseball–the ever evolving sport–has changed its atmosphere and demographic, which means a new audience is catered to. It needs to be a family affair, and it needs to satisfy sponsors. It’s something I need to get used to, and if I do that, and if you can, too, taking in a game at PK Park can easily be worth the minimal price of admission.

PK Park, Home of the Eugene Emeralds, next to Autzen Stadium off Martin Luther King Blvd in Eugene, Oregon. Here is the team’s schedule. And here is how to purchase tickets. PK Park is also home to the Oregon Ducks baseball and softball teams.

An Arena With A Lot Of History

The Equestrian Arena at Buford Park currently looks downtrodden and deserted, but it was once lively and continuously occupied. The Sheriff’s Mounted Posse held court there, starting in 1988, continuing its long history of equestrian in Eugene, Oregon. The organized Possse began in 1941, started by doctors Melvin Jones and Lester Edblom. This was held at the Lane County Fairgrounds, and continued to be held there until 2000, when an ordinance restricted stabling on its premises.

For the summer, the Sheriff’s Mounted Posse moved to Mount Pisgah’s Buford Park, where I visited this past week. Buford Park is a charming venue for such an organized event, with beautiful scenery, pleasant hikes, and buildings with many stories to tell. The Equestrian Arena is just one of many attractions, an uncovered area compiled of a large, dirt-filled ring and an accompanied building, which I assume was used as a stable. Members of the Posse were required to have their own horse.

What was the purpose of the Posse, which stopped using the Equestrian Arena at Mount Pisgah’s Buford Park in 2000 because of its close vicinity to the Willamette River? According to the historical synopsis of the Posse provided by Lane County, “was originally created to serve as both a Community Service group, and to assist the Sheriff.  Posse members were responsible for helping enforce the blackouts during the war years, and helped the Sheriff with law enforcement in Lane County.  The Posse provided assistance whenever the Willamette and McKenzie Rivers flooded, which occurred frequently.  Posse members helped evacuate residents, dealt with livestock, and made door-to-door searches for people needing assistance.  Due to the trying times, the Lane County Sheriff’s Posse was a valuable asset to the Sheriff’s Office.”

The Posse became intertwined with the Search and Rescue team, and its importance in this respect cannot be exaggerated. The Posse helped the understaffed Sheriff’s department by assisting in the finding of lost persons. Safe to say, it has been much more than night-rides in Buford Park’s arena. Just last year, the Posse used Mount Pisgah as a training ground for finding lost persons. These men mounted on horseback set out to execute a mock search. They were instructed to find explorer scouts who played the role of lost people in the woods. Overall, it appears the mock search was a success, albeit an example of just how much learning takes place on a daily basis by the Posse. Their efforts to serve the community also came in the form of fundraisers, the organization of youth groups, and the implementation of family friendly functions.

The Posse was integral in the Sheriffs Department’s efforts to develop sound public relations in the Eugene area. They served as the PR Ambassadors, attending rodeos and parades to spread the word as another way to make their impact felt.

As I walked around the arena at Buford Park, I got the sense that it had been deserted. Overall, the setting had an unloved feeling, just as many other areas on Buford Park’s grounds. The history attached to this arena sheds an entirely different light on the matter. The arena meant so much in its progression and influence, just showing that going by looks and the overall vibe of Buford Park isn’t useful in gauging just how important it was.

A One of a Kind Block Party

When traveling through the northwestern part of downtown Eugene, Oregon, it is hard not to notice the Whiteaker neighborhood. This borough of the city has a bad reputation of being a dangerous place, but though it has lived up to this perception at times, it is home to some of the more eccentric and creative people who exemplify all that is intriguing about Eugene. And these inhabitants are brought to life through the free-spirited Whiteaker Block Party, an event held annually on August 4th. Taking place on W. 2nd and 3rd Ave., the Block Party features booths selling a variety of food, arts and crafts, clothing, and–in a category unto itself–smoking pipes and bongs. Also featured among the festivities are concerts, as well as a beer garden at nearby Ninkasi Brewery.

This is only the Block Party’s sixth year, but even at its current stage of development a lot is offered. As I meander through the crowd, I can’t help but smile at all that I see. The food booths, albeit limited to four, sell everything from vegan dishes to elaborate chicken sandwiches. There are lemonade stands, too; perfect refreshment for a hot August day. And the arts and crafts section of the venue has an eclectic mix of scarfs, bags, and other hand-made odds and ends. What stands out, though, is the personalities that make up the Block Party.

A man named Rick, who doesn’t live in the rundown Whiteaker neighborhood, felt a little out of place amongst men wearing hosiery and women wearing large, vibrant hats.

“I never feel quite cool enough in this part of town,” he said. “It’s not my style.”

He does enjoy how accepting the people seem to be, however. And there are many reasons why this is his fourth time in attendance. “It seems pretty wide open enough for everybody to be included,” he said. “It’s definitely gotten bigger and better every year,” he said. “It’s a good display of the local talents, a good display of creativity, which is a nice thing.”

There are nine stages at the Block Party, and 49 performances spread across them over a ten-hour span. The setting, overall, is enjoyable to Rick.

“It’s at the level I like,” he said. “I go to the Saturday Market, too, and what I like about there is everyone is relaxing and it’s fun. You never get sick of it. It’s the same with this, but I do think it would be more fun if you were part of this crowd.”

The crowd he is referring to consists of some people dressed in what may or may not be costumes. One man passes by us as we talk, standing well over six-feet with a red beard, wearing short, tight black shorts and fishnet pantyhose. “He looks like he’s the head honcho,” Rick said. “You’d have to be with that outfit,” I chime in.

Like the Country Fair and the Saturday Market, the Block Party is a prime spot to people-watch, enjoy good food, music, poetry, and the many booths that sell all the artsy crafts. All in all, it is a venue that epitomizes Eugene’s culture. To me, this is a smaller version of the Country Fair that is held in Whiteaker instead of Veneta. Solidifying the comparison is the presence of a parade compiled of musicians in costume, some of whom dressed more than others.

Beth, a first-time attendee of the Whiteaker Block Party, enjoyed her experience and doesn’t see the event as one people should shy away from because of the neighborhood’s reputation.

“I don’t think people should be afraid to go down there,” she said of a place that reminded her of the 1960s and 1970s.

“There were some flashbacks,” she said. “It’s been a fun summer with the Country Fair and then going to Faerieworlds to see Donovan and then this. There is that connection. It was like the olden days.”

Music blares as I walk around, soaking in all that makes up the Whiteaker’s version of the aforementioned fairs. More and more people wander by in attire worth a second look, perhaps even a picture or two. I don’t feel at home, but, unlike Rick, I don’t feel like an outsider either. It is comfortable, enjoyable, and a one of a kind experience. This is Eugene, and a grand old time.

Whiteaker Block Party, August 4th, Noon-10 pm. Located on W. 2nd Avenue and Van Buren Street in Eugene, Oregon. No admissions fee, all ages welcome. For more information, including details as to specific events, check out their website:
http://whiteakerblockparty.com/

So Much More Than A Smoothie

The neon sign simply read, “Smoothies” in bold letters with bunches of fruit as their body. This large exclamation was in the back of the Farmer’s Market booth, behind where stand owner Harold Miller stood. The middle-aged man’s eyes moved from side-to-side in an attentive manner, preparing for potential customers. His pitcher of thick, pink smoothie was nearby, as were little sample cups, whipped cream, and sprinkles. He made three or four taste-testers at a time, placed them at the edge of his table, and belted out “Get your smoothies! Strawberries, blueberries, and bananas!”

He was saying this as I approached, then asked if I wanted a free-sample, further inquired if I desired whipped cream and sprinkles on top. Why not? Might as well get the full experience. I quickly devoured his offering, with a content look following the last slurp. Fresh strawberries, blueberries, and bananas were mixed wonderfully, with such flavor that it was clear they were just picked off the vine. The smoothie was thick and filling. I couldn’t resist getting one, and upon spending the $4.75 the big glass–and only size–cost, I lingered to strike up conversation. And was he ever thrilled to talk to me.

“One of the funnest things about this work is talking to customers,” Miller said as he made more samples. “I love that.”

I could tell. He asked about me, and I told him I was an outgoing student looking to pursue a writing career. He was intrigued by that, and proceeded to delve into his life story without even being asked. He said he had never worked for someone until Canby Asparagus, another business with a booth at the Farmer’s Market, hired him. Previously, he spent most of his time on a farm that, until its selling last year, had been in the family since 1980. His tanned, weathered skin spoke of such work.

He was working at Canby Asparagus when, a few years ago, the owner of the Smoothies stand wooed him away. Miller recalls going to dinner with the man and being offered the job of taking over the booth. The then-owner told him he wasn’t leaving the table until Miller had called Canby Asparagus to inform them he was quitting. Miller did so, and he has enjoyed being the guy again.

The middle-aged, outgoing, and soft-spoken man said he dabbled in real estate in his 20s, and was thereafter content bouncing around professionally and enjoying all there was that excited him about whatever work he came across. At the Smoothies booth, he certainly makes a considerable effort to build a report with customers like me. And it is evident that he is similarly passionate about making smoothies. Very good ones, at that.

I thank him for his time, migrate away from his stand, and mingle with friends. As I do so, I hear his routine exclamation. People come by at regular intervals, happily snag a free-sample, and enjoys its sweetness. I thoroughly enjoyed it, too, getting delightful clumps of the three types of fruit in each refreshing sip. After I had drained my glass, I was full from its heft, yet quite content.

I don’t often go to the Tuesday Farmer’s market, but now when I do, I’ll be sure to stop by, talk to Harold, and fork over the money worth such a soothing smoothie. And, I’ll be sure to grab a sample, too, of course–with whipped cream and sprinkles.

Flowers in Hand, a Fresh Start on the Horizon

In this part of downtown, there are plenty of good places to go. For food, there is Poppi’s Anatoli, Cafe Zenon, and Sweet Basil, with Voodoo Doughnuts for treats following a delightful meal. And there is also a lively nightlife in this area, with many bars in just a few block radius, including Jameson’s, Davis’s, and John Henry’s. There is also a much different crowd that patrols much of downtown Eugene, compared to other regions of the city–a crowd tourists are bound to come across.

As I walk through Ken Kesey Square, I see many homeless people dressed in tattered clothing, with everything to their name on their backs. A couple leans against a flowerbed; the woman barefoot, looking worn, and the man wearing baggy green pants and a fedora with a black, white and red feather sewn in. They did not want to speak to me. Others didn’t, either. As I walked around some more, searching for an interview subject, a man approached me holding a bouquet of flowers.

“I’ve just been released from jail,” he said. “Would you like a flower?” He held out a beautiful yellow lily, with such a warm, compassionate look on his face. I took his offering, and said thank you. He continued the conversation by saying that he was heading to Grants Pass to meet up with friends and work at a church, but needed money for the Greyhound bus. I handed him a couple bucks—all the cash I had, which he took graciously—and proceeded to ask him about himself.

Clean-shaven with short brown hair and a summer’s tan, he looked to be in his mid-30s, wearing a baseball cap, green cargo shorts, a gray sweatshirt, and nice black shoes. He was happy to delve into his life story, and he knew he could turn his haunting past into a distant memory with a fresh start. And he certainly has plenty he wants to leave behind.

“Just call me O,” he said. He spoke in a calm, articulate manner as we sat on a nearby bench. O said he was in Springfield Jail for 17 days on trespassing charges, but added that was far and away less heinous than the offense that has plagued the past decade of his life.

“In the early 2000s, I had my wisdom teeth pulled and that turned me on to painkillers,” he said. These painkillers were not to numb the agony pulled teeth produces. These were to mask the pain he felt as a person. He couldn’t stop, and soon they turned into opiates, particularly heroin.

“I was spending 150 dollars a day on drugs,” he said. “My sales background helped me get them.”

He was living on the street, shooting up. The most terrifying part to him was becoming comfortable being homeless. He was stuck in neutral, with no desire to move forward. Now, he has experienced a change in mindset. He wants to shift into drive.

“Luckily I found a guy who can get me a prescription that blocks receptors and blocks opiates,” he said. “The combination makes it so you can’t get high.”

He has been taking this drug, Suboxone, and has been sober from heroin for 21 days. As we talk, homeless people talk nearby, with bags full of belongings. O doesn’t want to be like them anymore, but he knows the road to stay off the streets will be a long one.

“It’s a hard thing to say ‘Never’ –saying never to reverting back,” he said. He added that if sickness didn’t ensue when combining Suboxone with opiates, staying clean would be far more difficult.

He is looking to come back to Eugene to stay after working in Grants Pass. He can’t wait to get a job here, and to get an apartment. It’s a process, but he’s taking the steps necessary to get back on track. And with him, it starts by giving back.

“These flowers help me give something in return,” he said.

We walked towards the bus station, past the homeless people in a situation he hopes to never again find himself in.

“Thanks again for the flower,” I said, standing with him outside the station. The bus was arriving.

He shook me by the hand, looked me in the eyes as held what remained of his bouquet, and said, “No, thank you. I appreciate it.” Maybe he just appreciated being talked to, to being treated as an equal, to being seen as someone who can turn his life around and rejoin society.

I wished him good luck, left, walked across the street towards Café Zenon, and turned to watch him board the bus. I looked down at my flower and smiled.

‘Would You Like Jalapenos With That?’

Many a time, I have walked by The Hot Dog Cart on my way to Barry’s Espresso and Bakery, choosing to go there for a hot dog instead. While hot dogs at Barry’s are addicting, after experiencing the kindness of Shari Chrissis and the deliciousness of her hot dogs I came to the realization that I should have given this place more than just a fleeting glance.

As I approached the hot dog stand that has been on the University of Oregon campus since 1981, Chrissis enthusiastically welcomed me with a “Hi, honey!” As it turned out, this takes place on a regular basis as students attending the university flock to buy a polish frank, with “my friend” and “sweetie” often replacing the term of endearment I was greeted with. She loves mingling with her customers, and her business has its fair share of regulars. Notably, she enjoys striking up conversation with University of Oregon students like myself.

I smiled, said hello, and told her I wanted a polish frank, priced at $3.50. This is when the fun began.

Used to Barry’s and their knowing what I want on my hot dog (everything but onions), I had to adjust to picking ingredients again. And were there ever plenty to choose from. She flew through them, with a list she has rattled off countless times since taking the reigns of 31-year-old establishment in 2006.

“Would you like ketchup?” she asked. “Yes,” I answered.

“Would you like mustard? I have four kinds. Honey, Dijon, brown, or regular.”

“Yes, Dijon,” I answered.

Would you like relish?” she asked.

“Yes,” I answered.

“Would you like sauerkraut?” she asked.

“Yes,” I answered.

All of this was standard enough. Then came the unexpected.

“Would you like jalapenos with that?”

I had never had jalapenos on a hot dog before. I had heard of their inclusion during my travels to Manhattan, New York, but thought unique ingredients such as this was an East Coast thing. To her question, I excitedly said yes, and the smells of jalapenos wafted through the air as she opened the lid to their container. She put four on the already jam-packed hot dog, placed in such a way that, with the size of my bites, I should be able to get one in each.

She asked if I wanted tomatoes next, another foreign topping. ‘Why not?’ I thought. This had become the hot dog of hot dogs; condiments with the polish frank, seemingly, as an afterthought. She handed me my order in a gentle and warm fashion, wrapped in tin foil with steam from the frank somehow rising up through the heaps of relish and sauerkraut that hid the main attraction.

As I bit into my gigantic lunch, I was overjoyed. The condiments meshed perfectly with the surprisingly spicy frank, which was made even more so with the jalapeno’s pep. I have had many a good hot dog in my time, and this, just in one bite, had become a serious contender for the top spot. I could taste each ingredient. I am usually a very fast eater, but this I wanted to savor, and so I calmly chewed, taking my time. The frank fit the size of the bun perfectly, and was pleasantly hot and delicious. And though the condiments appeared overwhelming as Chrissis scooped them on, they were delightfully manageable and increasingly flavorful with each ensuing bite.

As I ate nearby, customers came up to her cart in bunches. Chrissis conversed with every one of them, which she says she likes most about her job. “Hello, sweetie,” she said to a young woman. Chrissis proceeded to ask her about school and concluded by scoffing at her leaving a tip, knowing just how much money means to financially constrained college kids. Chrissis’ deserved it. After all, that hot dog was worth every penny and a little extra.

The Hot Dog Cart, Kincaid and 13th Street, on the University of Oregon Campus. Hours: 11 am – 3 pm, Monday through Friday.