First, for this quilter, there’s Fabric Depot. Take a building the size of your average Target. Or football field. Fill it with fabric of all sorts (although about a third of it is all quilting cottons) and notions and tools and patterns, and it is a seamstress’s or quilter’s paradise. Plus they have these periodic sales… Anyway, I now have the yardage for the last four fabrics for my flame quilt. Among other things [wry g].
Then there’s Powell’s. People dream of visiting Powell’s, just once in their lifetimes even from half a world away. Well, hardened bibliophiles do. The flagship store occupies an entire city block, five stories high. They hand you maps when you walk in the door, and color code the rooms, but I still always feel like I need a trail of bread crumbs to make it out safely again. Hours later, usually, although I was good yesterday (for which I was amply rewarded, see below). Powell’s sells new and used books, side by side on its many shelves, a laudable practice I’ve never seen anywhere else. They also bought two bags of books from me yesterday. I try not to go to Portland without at least one bag of books to sell there, which helps keep the credit card from getting too hot.
But, as I said at the beginning of this post, there’s more to Portland than stores on steroids. After I pried myself away from Powell’s, I headed up to Washington Park, on a hilltop to the west of downtown. Now, I knew Portland is known as the Rose City (so is Tyler, Texas, where my mother lives). But I hadn’t really thought about it all that much. Well, now I know why. Washington Park is home to the most enormous, gorgeous rose garden I think I’ve ever seen (and I’ve seen a few). Here. See for yourself: