Signs of the Times

 It has been a year—a long year, since the pandemic began.   I have been walking into school to teach my classes online and my neighborhood has reminded me of the Indian restaurant downtown, where they just keep adding layers of decorations without removing the past. Walking to school walks back through a wild and tumultuous time.

There are still bears smiling in windows, especially attic windows, from last spring, when we all stayed inside, afraid of a virus, until we could not stand it any longer and went out for a walk. The idea was, kids would count bears on their walks. Bears and positive signs raised our spirits when we could not talk with our neighbors because we did not even see them. A group prowled the streets, hanging up fliers of collective action and support that read “All we have is each other.” Another group formed to make cloth masks for the community. We were isolated, but also  feeling  adventurous, like we were rising to a challenge that we could meet, together.

As spring went on and we learned more about how the virus spread, people moved outside and began some extensive yard work. Ranchland houses built deer fences and put in raised garden beds for the first time. At least two built in free libraries as well. Those boxes will raise another crop of tomatoes this summer. Others took on home repair projects. One neighbor turned the front yard into their living room, where they drank coffee and worked until the rains came back in the fall. Houses were painted.

In early summer, Black Lives Matter signs appeared in dozens of yards. One group created an entire series, black spray paint and stencils, each with the name of an African American killed by the police, and distributed them. Others went to marches and then placed their signs in windows. Still others bought a sign and planted it in the yard beside the “In this house, we believe…”  Through the winter, the signs reminded us that the fight is not over.

With summer, came the campers. People bought camping vans so that they could travel safely through the mountains, which were packed all summer long. These vehicles are parking on the streets now, waiting. Others moved their old RVs into quiet spots where they could live undisturbed. Ward Five leaves quiet people alone.

In the fall, Biden signs appeared everywhere. OSU created a sign to remind Beavers to wear masks and stay apart, not partying in small apartments. For the first time, there were For Rent signs in September, indicating that not all of the students came back to town when college went online.  Meanwhile, some people transformed their deep porches with lights, chairs, and blankets, so they could still meet friends, outside, as the weather turned. Christmas lights went on right after Halloween and have not gone off yet.

 And then, the long rainy winter. One person wrote “400,000 Corona Virus deaths and you’re hosting a party” on loose leaf paper and strung it across her windows, facing a beer pong table. Masks blew into the streets and gutters. The half finished sheds at school faded in the rain. More people were camping on the streets and the news was grim. Teddy bears felt very far away—we were just trying to get through the week.

It’s been a year. A long, hard, and lonely year.  But, walking my neighborhood—my ward—I am hopeful. This will end.

Amenity or Infrastructure?

 

            A few weeks ago, I was sitting in a council training where the presenter referred the lovely bicycle and pedestrian amenities that Bend had installed in the last ten years. “Interesting choice of words,” I mused, and then went back to considering the topic at hand, which was “stay in your policy lane, city council.” But the phrase rankled. Why?

            An amenity is “something that is intended to make life more pleasant or convenient for people.” I think of hotels  with a fluffy bathrobe to wear strolling down the hall to the soaking pool or fancy soaps in the shower when I hear the word amenity. Or, perhaps, a greenway along the river with an overpass to a row of dining establishments which serve craft beers and local organic salads. Amenities are nice things that we do not have or use every day. There are special, a treat. So, when you install bike/ped amenities you are implying, at least, that bike lanes and sidewalks, curb cuts that do not collect water at the base, and stop lights to make crossing busy streets easier are not things we use every day, all day, but something for casual weekend activity by people with money. On weekdays or when it is raining out, you are using the city infrastructure—roads—to drive your car from work to school to the gym to home.

            I prefer the idea of bike/ped infrastructure: “the basic physical and organizational structures and facilities (e.g. buildings, roads, power supplies) needed for the operation of a society or enterprise.” Just the word—structure—sounds more substantive, more permanent, more significant. Infrastructure is maintained because we cannot live without it. Sewage treatment plants and pipes are infrastructure, as are roads and bridges, the electrical grids, and municipal buildings. And when one of them fails, breaks down because of poor decisions or freak accidents, people want to know why and demand rapid repairs.  Lives depend upon functioning infrastructure. Everyone, rich and poor, uses it every day and pays for it. Infrastructure is a great unifier.

 Our lives, our health and the health of our planet, depend upon improving functional bicycle and pedestrian infrastructure, although we don’t always admit it. We have to reduce our dependency on cars. Therefore, we need buffered bike lanes on busy streets—and signs sending us down the road less traveled as well. We need green painted turning lanes; we need bulb-outs to reduce the distance crossing the street; we need something a whole lot better than the flashing yellow lights that are cropping up everywhere in the middle of long, long blocks to make crossing the highway safe for all. And we need this infrastructure throughout our cities and towns, not just in wealthy areas and inward facing neighborhoods. Not all of this infrastructure needs to be concrete—much of it can be lighter weight, sometimes mobile—but it does need to move us closer to safe, shared streets for all users, in all weathers, not cars on weekdays and the occasional bike ride to brunch on a sunny Saturday morning.