Standing Room Only, Part I: Introduction

"Let it rain, I don't care.  I'm waterproof."

- A housed young woman overheard at Golden Gardens Park the night of October 16.

Dear Diary,

You may find this hard to believe, considering that we met the day I went on a long, rainy hike, but actually, I'm a pretty sedentary person.  I do like to pace, especially when reading a book, but still, I spend much more of each normal day sitting than I'm told is good for me.

Unfortunately for me this part of this year, Seattle doesn't much believe in sheltered seating.  Granted, the most concise English word for "place shaded from sun no matter the date and time, and sheltered from rain no matter the wind" is "inside", and inside is where we unsheltered homeless must not be this year, or everyone in the country would die of COVID-19, or equity, or something.  But Seattle does have lots of outdoor seating, and lots of reasonably sheltered outdoor spaces (such as the doorways I've slept in, these past eight years).  What it has a shortage of is sheltered outdoor seating.

Why does it matter?  Aren't we just as waterproof as the young lady I quoted?  No.  We aren't.  Every year, hypothermia - freezing to death - is a leading cause of death for homeless people, both nationwide and right here in Seattle.  And nothing one is likely to encounter in daily life chills one faster than water.  Some water we can't avoid:  fog, no matter how pretty, is always risky, for example.  But rain is usually fairly easy to avoid, unless one is doing something so obviously lunatic as hiking.

The problem is to avoid the rain in some posture other than standing.  Sitting or lying on pavement is problematic because concrete is also a pretty efficient equaliser of temperatures.  (Seattle's sit-lie ordinances aren't meant for our good, and don't apply at the most dangerous time, night, but still have probably prevented some deaths.)  Metal, such as Seattle's Department of Parks and Recreation currently prefers to make park furniture from, is even worse.

I spent much of September and October evaluating my options around UW, and although the search led me for the first time in eight years seriously to consider a tent, today am at the best option, admittedly a concrete bench but with a thick blanket folded under me.  But it seemed to me there had to be some relationship between this search and the parks.  And there is!  Sure, it took me days to think of it, but for most people smarter than snails the answer is obvious:  parks have sheltered benches in shelters, don't they?

In fact the department has a convenient list of the shelters it thinks people will pay it to reserve.  (That list links to maps of the relevant parks, probably a majority of the parks in North Seattle for which official maps are available.)  This year, because the department thinks it's unhealthy, or sinful, or something to have picnics during a pandemic, it isn't accepting that pay.  So many of the shelters are available for our use.  I used my October hikes to photograph all the rentable shelters, as well as a couple so small the department doesn't even try to rent them.

I'm quite sure there's only one picnic shelter among the many parks near the U District, in the part of Ravenna Park near the "upper" restrooms, and it doesn't shelter any actual seating, as we'll see.  But a disproportionate number are near the UW for looser values of "near":  View Ridge Playfield, Meridian Playground, Gas Works Park, and although Magnuson Park isn't actually "near" anything at all, it too is in the southeastern quarter of North Seattle.  So the next page, which I hope to write today, is about those shelters.  Another disproportionate number are in Woodland Park, which will again get a page of its own, and the fourth and last page will cover the leftovers -Meadowbrook Playfield and Carkeek, Golden Gardens and Maple Leaf Reservoir Parks.

All for now, dear Diary, but hopefully not for today.

Hygiene Is a Luxury I Can't Afford

Dear Diary,

There's a story about my hike on October 10, specifically at Bitter Lake Playfield, that I haven't told yet, because it needed a page of its own.  This is that page.

Probably, first I should explain about the title.  See, I have a more or less perpetually runny nose.  Years ago I noticed that in order to live up to proper hygiene - each time I blow my nose, throw away the paper and wash my hands - I would have to own a paper towel company and spend all my time next to a sink.  Hence I developed a slogan, which is now this page's title.

So failures of hygiene aren't new to me, but this one hit a new low.

Surely you remember, dear Diary, from the recent page "Top of the City, Part III", that the restrooms at Bitter Lake Playfield, the only park restrooms for a considerable distance in any direction, were locked when I arrived there shortly before sunset.  This disappointed me partly because I needed to wash my hands and my fork so I could finally eat the salad I'd bought that morning.  After some rather unhappy time reviewing my options, I decided to use the park's water fountain to accomplish these things.

It had been raining, so the pavement near the water fountain was wet.  I was carrying at least one satchel, probably two, in addition to the stuff in my cart.  To put the satchels down so I could wash up, I could use the wet pavement, or the relatively dry area on top of my cart.  As I'll explain in much more detail in another page coming soon, I'm essentially hydrophobic in winter - scared of water, that is, not rabid - so I chose the top of the cart.  The only problem was, my soap, detergent and fork were all in the cart.

So first I had to hold the satchels in one hand while pulling the soap bottle out with the other.  Then put the satchels down, and then wash my hands.  Unfortunately, my current hand soap is really clingy; it takes gallons, ponds of water to remove enough of it that I can use my hands normally again.  And of course without the restroom's dryer, I had to dry my hands by waving them in the cold air.  It probably wasn't actually twenty minutes later when I finally put the soap away, but it sure felt like it.

The logistics so far had gone so well that I tried a variation:  leaving the satchels in place while removing the detergent.  This went OK, given that the detergent was in a corner of the cart.  But the fork was in the middle, and when I tried to remove it, of course the result was exactly what I didn't want, my satchel smacking into the puddles.

My detergent is less clingy, and my impression at the time that the fork washing also took twenty minutes, was almost certainly false.  Though this time the fork as well as my hands needed drying.

When the whole nerve-racking experience - call it, maybe, half an hour - was over with, of course I couldn't find a dry bench, and had to eat standing up.  With my recently immersed satchels back on the cart.

And by then I'd realised that one month later - i.e., now, a week ago - this would have been impossible, water fountain dry and restroom still locked.

It's a slogan I need now more than ever:  Hygiene is a luxury I can't afford.

Good night, dear Diary.  This page is the first I've succeeded in writing in the Blogspot (Blogger) app; we'll see whether the app can publish it too.  Good luck!

Lake City Ain't Big Enough for the Both of Us!

Dear Diary,

From Jackson Park I took 135th St to Lake City.  And this is how, for the first time, I found a mistake in my physical map (Rand McNally, 2016) that Google Maps doesn't copy:  Google Maps knows about the blocking of 135th between 27th and 28th Avenues, but my map doesn't.

Anyway, in the fullness of time I reached

Little Brook Park

Introduced May 28 in "Top of the City, Part I".

As I arrived, the single restroom was occupied, as evidenced by the man in there singing while using the sink, but I was able to verify that the water fountain, which had been running in the dark days when few were, was no longer doing so.  Maybe it was out of order, but given that this is a neighbourhood that only gets one park restroom - not even the usual two - I can't help but wonder if maybe there's water rationing in Lake City, such that the two fountains I found had been turned on farther south required this one to be turned off.

Anyway, I then decided to find out whether the park's namesake brook really is at the bottom of its lawn, and yes, it is:

Returning to the park's entrance, I took a picture of the park from there:

and then got antsy.  Surely that man had been in the restroom for at least ten minutes since I arrived?  Well, maybe, but the time stamps on those two photos differ by only 3.5 minutes, so probably not.  Anyway, I walked up to the door and called out "Excuse me, please".  All I needed to do was check whether there was a dryer, after all, and I could leave him in peace.

Or maybe not.  As soon as I spoke, he switched from singing to a torrent of obscenity focused on his not being allowed to do Number Two in peace.  He came out of the restroom shortly, shepherding a child's bike.  (Maybe he was psyching himself up for a family birthday party?)  He was probably two decades younger than me, somewhat taller, and much more muscular; he was obviously dying to pound me into the pavement, but had enough decency or fear of the law to wait for me to attack first.  So he rammed the bike into my cart and walked away, still ranting as obscenely and insultingly as he could.

The restroom at Little Brook Park does have a dryer; I've already written voluminously about its lack of a meaningful door; I found that the soap was stolen.

This page's title has more meaning than just "two guys who deserved each other barely avoided fighting".  When it comes to park restrooms, Lake City doesn't have room for any "both".  And any time now, or perhaps already, since that restroom is seasonal, it won't have room for anyone at all.

Cedar Park

Introduced in the same page.

This is one of the two parks whose water fountains had been turned on.

It's a school playground, so its basketball "court" is even more problematic than might be the case in another park:

Again, I tried to take a general picture of the park.  As I'll someday explain, I hope, dear Diary, I've gotten less concerned, since the visit to Woodland Park earlier in this hike, about people being included in my photos if they're far enough away.

Lake City Hub Urban Village Acquisition

This was the first of the 'last seven' parks I visited June 27, and again October 11.  It's on 33rd Ave, north of 125th St.  It didn't look like much on either visit, but in June a poster was up announcing a contest to name the park.  Not so in October:

I can't predict the park's name when it gets one, but can predict two other things.  It won't have restrooms.  And it won't have wooden benches; any furniture it gets will be metal, to remind visitors that parks should never be visited in the rain or cold.

I'm pretty sure that it was after this that, fumbling my cart near a bus stop, a gentleman I wouldn't have hesitated to call "older" five years ago offered me his seat in a bus shelter.  I happily refused, but it got me thinking some more about what Lake City's big enough for.

Little Brook Creek Natural Area

This second of the last seven is a substantial area on 35th Ave, roughly filling the east side of the bend between, on the west, 33rd Place and 34th Ave.  Much is wooded, and a sign in a part that isn't promises, as in so very many places in North Seattle, "another future healthy forest".  There is no other signage.

Homewood Natural Area

The third of the last seven is halfway between 117th and 120th on Lake City Way.  It's a much more established Natural Area.  It has one of those Thornton Creek signs:

and also actually has, well along its only trail, Thornton Creek:

Virgil Flaim Park

Introduced in the same page as Little Brook and Cedar Parks.

Its water fountain had been turned on.

I took a picture of the park.  I wanted to photograph the basketball area specifically - it has two hoops facing each other, though with lines around only one.  But it was too crowded.  So only this:

in which you can barely see the backboards.

As I returned to downtown Lake City, I found part of how the area gets by with such neglect of park plumbing.  I did my first splurge from the $500 I'd been given that morning, a meal at the Dick's Drive-In at 123rd, and found that they have not just a "sanican" but actual restrooms, just out of reach of sustained employee observation, and keeping more or less park hours.  Isn't it wonderful when private citizens step up to fulfill neglected public responsibilities?

Albert Davis Park

I didn't pay much attention to the huge encampments in the downtown Lake City parks (introduced in the same page) this time, but did verify that the water fountain at this one remains off.

Then I had to go all the way back to Cedar Park for a stupid reason, after which Pinehurst Playground, already covered in the last page, was the last park I had time to visit on October 11.

All for now, dear Diary.  Good night.

To a Land of Water and Honey

Dear Diary,

When I left Madison Pool on June 27, as yet unaware of any discussion between the parks department and Ingraham High School, I had seven parks left to visit, as far as I knew, in "NE".  Only one has a restroom, which I couldn't find, to make matters worse, and none has a water fountain.  But those seven would only have taken one page in you, dear Diary; instead I'm planning six.

This is because in October I also re-visited every park in "NE" with a water fountain, as well as several others; and because I found out about still more actual or incipient parks.

So let's get started.  The region this page is about, between Lake City and the edges of "NE", is distinctive because it's the only place in North Seattle where I'm reasonably confident park water fountains will stay on all winter.  It has only three parks I'd already visited with water fountains, no "new" (to me and you, anyway, dear Diary) parks (so, none of the seven I first saw June 27), and I introduce only one digression, which isn't a park and isn't really, in my opinion, a digression at all.

Northacres Park

Introduced May 28 in "Top of the City, Part II".  At that time, it had two pairs of restrooms normally open, two winterised water fountains attached to one pair, on, and one regular water fountain, sort of attached to the other pair, off.

The only change in October was that the second pair's men's room was already closed for the season.

But the women's room remained open:

These are the restrooms on the park's playfield side, which are seasonal.  Their water fountain remained off:

Now, I've felt guilty about not photographing this park before (the only photo in May was of signs), since it has made a difference to my physical comfort several times.  So this time I explored a bit.  Mindful that I had then just accused the parks department of "structural sportism" for its "cavalier" treatment of basketball, I started with this park's artistic example:

(No, the playfield side does not have better.  It's basically all baseball.)

This stuff, like the playground, is near the restrooms.  Also near them is an excellent example of neat stuff:

But I also explored the woods a bit; it's something of a nuisance to take the street route between the park and playfield sides, and I wanted to find a trail.  Typically enough, the trail I chose from the park side went all over the place, but I had to do some navigating finally to reach the playfield side; but the most obvious trail from the playfield side goes straight to the park side.  A scene from the first trip:

Oh, well, it seemed interesting at the time.

From Northacres I went via 130th St and Roosevelt Way to 10th Ave, and took that north.  Along the way I encountered a woman, probably rather older than me, walking her dog.  We chatted a bit, she bragging about her garden, I about you, dear Diary.  Then she told me she had something to give me, and went into her house.  When she emerged, she had brought a foil-wrapped packet which she said was steak, and a thick roll of $20s which she said was $500.  She said she'd come into an inheritance she didn't need.

I've been budgeting on the assumption that at some point there would be another $1200.  I still have, I'm pretty sure, more than $500, but it's a relief not to have to be quite sure, as the prospect of that other $1200 seems to recede daily.

Separately, the fact that I had money comes repeatedly into the rest of the story of these hikes.

Not much further on, then, I reached

Jackson Park

Introduced in the same page as Northacres Park.

The main thing I was curious about on this visit was when they'd shut the water fountains off.  They aren't winterised, after all.  To my great good fortune I encountered a gentleman, apparently an employee, whose pride and joy they are, who was practically euphoric at being able to inform me that they stay on all winter.

Now, these two water fountains are attached to the building behind the driving range.  More specifically, they're attached to the back wall of a sort of alcove whose side walls hold the doors to the restrooms.  Now, there's a similar sort of alcove at the Ballard Community Center, if I remember correctly, but the water fountain there is free-standing.

So this is the digression.

Ten park water fountains or sets of them in North Seattle are attached to restrooms or other buildings that stay open all winter.  Six were turned on this year; four weren't.  Rachel Schulkin, communications manager for the parks department, tells me all those that weren't turned on this year couldn't be; I can only hope she's wrong.

You may remember my indignation, dear Diary, that the water fountain attached to the beach restroom building at Magnuson Park, whose men's sink delivers warm water, ever got shut off.  We're told the pairs at Northacres and Jackson Parks don't get shut off.

The other three candidates are a water fountain attached to the Loyal Heights Community Center, two attached to the northernmost restroom building in Green Lake Park, and the two attached to the buildings of the Green Lake Small Craft Center.

The four that did not come on this year are attached to restroom buildings at Dahl Playfield, Gas Works Park, and Maple Leaf Reservoir Park, and in Lower Woodland Park the pair attached to the restroom building on the hilltop.

So far this year, the parks department has varied its routine as little as possible.  Two major variations were harmful to us homeless - delaying by months turning on most water fountains, and never going to peak restroom schedules.  Two were helpful - allowing us to sleep or camp in parks, and opening more restrooms than usual 24 hours.  It would be a significant variation to expose four workhorse water fountain systems to the cold, let alone to repair four others *in order to* risk their freezing.  But I can only urge that it be tried.  The northwest corner of "NE" should not really become the promised land of water and honey.

OK, dear Diary, I'm done digressing only, obviously, not.

From Jackson Park I headed to Lake City, which needs its own page.  And from Lake City to Northgate, ditto.  But between those latter two is one more park that fits better here than it does with the others, if only because its water fountain, like those at Jackson and Northacres Parks, was on every time I've visited.

Pinehurst Playground

Introduced May 28 in "Top of the City, Part I".

This small park has a water fountain attached to a shelterhouse.  It would be great if the latter had heat, in which case I'd urge that the former stay on, but I'd be surprised.

One major difference from my first visit:  a camp, sheltering multiple people, has sprung up under the shelterhouse's eaves.  It wouldn't surprise me if they came there from Licton Springs; the camp was messy, and they were already starting to clutter up the water fountain.

Another difference:  I took a picture.

This is all I can write in you tonight, dear Diary.  Sweet dreams!

Top of the City, Part III

Dear Diary,

Perhaps you remember that we left off, two pages ago, with an account of my hikes June 26 and October 10, resting at the Eddie McAbee Entrance on the latter date.

The reason I needed to rest is that I was about to hike to the city limits to visit the only park in North Seattle more isolated from other parks than Carkeek Park:

Llandover Woods

Each time I've gone there, I've taken the direct route, up 3rd Ave NW.  I've gradually learnt that this was only a terrifying experience the first time because I'm really bad at finding sidewalks.  3rd has sidewalks on the west side of the street from NW 100th to about 115th Streets, and on the east side for all but one block from NW 120th to 145th.  So there's only occasionally reason to risk the traffic.  Wimps could, of course, take Greenwood Ave N, which has good sidewalks the whole way.

Anyway, upon reaching 3rd Ave NW and NW 145th St, one is confronted with a sign:

Here's that sign's map a bit closer:

Now, on June 26 I read that map as clearly showing that the entrance to the trails was west on NW 145th.  So I considered taking a video of the uninterrupted trees along there, but settled for a photo, and went on speculating that maybe the project had run out of money.

On October 10, on the other hand, I noticed that star at the park's northwest corner, which seemed to be reachable via a pretty simple series of winding streets.  So off I went.

Anyone who ever does the same should please compare the map above with, you know, a real map first, so as to know that after NW 137th St and a long trek along NW Northwood Road, one must turn at Alpine Way NW; not knowing this, I wound up in someone's driveway.  Somewhere along the way, I learnt that my destination is in a literally gated community, Llandover by the Sound:

Anyway, though, after shorter stints on NW Culbertson Drive and Sherwood Road NW, one eventually does reach that starred entrance, and yes, there really is a woods there:

Eventually I stumbled onto the path back to 3rd and 145th, and thus discovered that the actual trail entrance is not on 145th, but behind a parking lot that is, in turn, behind this pillar:

which is south of the original sign and its map.

Just inside that entrance is a more useful map:

which helped me as I trudged back to where I'd left my cart, waited out a rain squall, and then climbed back up every one of those winding roads again.  Which is quite enough of my stupidity for today.

Along good sidewalks of 145th and then Linden Ave N, each time evening was nearing as I visited

Bitter Lake Reservoir Open Space

This is an odd park.  Like Froula Playground and Maple Leaf Reservoir Park, it's built on the grounds of a Seattle Public Utilities reservoir.  Unlike those, its pervasive theme is water:  a couple of fitness machines that require pumping motions, a see-saw decorated with dolphins and sharks, a P-Patch, and the gorgeous water play area, turned off this year, that greets people at a formal entrance:

But none of this means there's a water fountain, let alone a restroom.

The park was pretty crowded in June, but not in October.

The next Seattle Department of Parks and Recreation park is down Linden a ways, near N 130th St, but first, it turns out rather more of the reservoir site is parkified than is an official park:

The outer fence, in front, is just because the land across it is well below the sidewalk.  All the way to the inner fence way back there is open to the public, acres and acres it seems.

Bitter Lake Playfield

This is the park I've found most changed this year, unless you count places like Christie and Fritz Hedges Waterway Parks.

The lake is this playfield's most memorable feature; it's on the northwest border.  Along most of the east lies the Bitter Lake Community Center, which unlike the other Community Centers in "N" and "NW" does not contain restrooms with outside doors.  Instead the restrooms are a little southeast of the park's middle.

The first time I visited, there were people camping all along the lake shore (though carefully not blocking scenic outlooks), and a little to the east of the lake, along the park's north edge.  The restrooms stayed open at least until 9:05 P.M., and people told me they were open 24 hours.  The water fountains weren't running.  The park was bustling.

The second time I went, as at the reservoir, was much quieter.  One reason is that the plumbing had flipped:  the restrooms were locked but the water fountains were on.  Everyone had moved their tents away from the lake shore to another location, though tents remained along the park's north edge.  A fence leaned against the shore bushes blocked one of the outlooks.

I talked with two women campers.  The one who did most of the talking said, in response to my imagining that the parks department was trying to shift people to Woodland Park, that the only deal she'd been offered was trash pickup, and that seemed to be breaking down.  She said, and Rachel Schulkin, parks department communications manager, confirmed, that the restrooms had been closed for a construction project.  She also said she hadn't seen any construction for a while; Ms. Schulkin, who didn't believe that the restrooms had been 24 hours, seemed upset that the restrooms hadn't reopened, though by mid-October the writing was already on the wall, the seasonal restrooms uncertain at best.  (The construction was lighting, unfortunately not winterisation.)

So all my new photos of this park are darker than the old ones.  This is partly for personal reasons; those were the only restrooms I'd expected to see between Carkeek that morning and Northacres the next morning.  But partly, I didn't much like the casually negligent way this park's summer activity had been stilled.  Anyway:

Two of Bitter Lake's scenic outlooks:

The geese, this time not on the lake:

Hmm.  Those buildings looked shabbier to me than this photo makes them.

Speaking of shabby, the fenced-in scenic outlook:

And the restrooms, which I couldn't find closed last time, but now:

Haller Lake Street End

This is at the end of N 125th St; across the lake NE 125th St begins.  As this implies, we aren't especially close to the Bitter Lake parks here; Northacres is actually closer.  I don't know whether this park has a formal connection to the street end program; it's practically a model of the concept, but not on any list I've seen.

Each time, I reached this park in twilight.  Somehow, each time I decided that it made sense to shoot a photo facing east across a small lake at sunset.  In contrast to the Bitter Lake parks, this one was much busier at the (much earlier) October twilight than in June; I had to negotiate with fishermen to take this:

And now for something literally, but not figuratively, much darker.  For whatever reason, people living next to the park are waging a duel of positivity.  Despite the limited light, I couldn't resist trying to document a sample of each side:

Next more or less due north to Meridian Ave N and N 135th St, except that on October 10 I took a vast detour to verify where 3rd Ave NW has sidewalks.

Madison Pool and Ingraham Playfield

Madison Pool is both the northernmost and the most approachable of the pools in North Seattle that I've visited in this year of closure; in fact each night, of June 26 and October 10, I slept there.  It is, as a result, where my June notes go away, so I just photographed what I wanted to, starting with where I slept:

See that bench, next to the building name?  There's another opposite that one, hidden in this photo by the planter, and I slept each time sitting up on that bench.

But my real reason for taking this photo is the building name.  This pool isn't named for a slave-owner, but for Helene C. Madison, who moved here as a child and won various gold medals and set various world records in swimming.  I found a site called Olympedia informative in relation to her ties to Seattle.

Although the pool is closed, it turns out that a surprising amount of land is attached to it, even though everything is on the grounds of Ingraham High School, and most of that land is parkified:

Speaking of Ingraham, a line about the Ingraham High School Playfield showed up in the 2020 Seattle real property report as a parks entry.  I assume what's meant is at least this:

Well, that's my report on the top of the city outside "NE".  Next come updates and supplements to the first two "Top of the City" pages, and then a bunch more pages.  I'm sorry, dear Diary, that it's so hard for me these days to get to Wi-Fi to write in you; I know it's silly to have such a lot left in mid-November.

A Problem

Dear Diary,

One week ago, I got an e-mail from the helpful folks at YouTube notifying me that one of my videos had been age-restricted.  I would have to sign in before doing anything about it, and I don't sign into things without Wi-Fi, so there things stood until I got to the Northeast branch of the Seattle Public Library two days ago.

The notice gave no explanation as to how my 27-second video of trees offended, and no way of getting an explanation, so I appealed the decision, explaining that the first thing I wanted was an explanation.

Yesterday I got a notice from YouTube at 11:20 A.M. saying that my appeal had succeeded and the age restriction would be lifted.  Mind you, my appeal had *not* succeeded:  I still didn't have a clue what about my video had been deemed offensive.

Anyway, at 11:31 came a third e-mail, announcing that the same video had been age-restricted.  This was just like the first e-mail, except that I'm no longer offered the chance to appeal, because any appeal has already been rejected.

One important effect of age-restriction is that the video can't be played embedded in another page.  Since all my videos are uploaded specifically to be embedded in your pages, dear Diary, this is a problem.  I think we can safely assume that over time, they'll all get treated this way, since the number of bored children in the world is unlikely to decrease.

As it happens, I'm not especially satisfied with the video in question, which is about the fact that the uppermost greensward in Ravenna Park is surrounded mostly by conifers.  It turns out that to a first approximation, much of Ravenna Park can be understood as a series of greenswards, each ringed by trees, with the trees alternating coniferous and deciduous as you go along the chain.  So I'll see if I remember, dear Diary, to go to Ravenna Park and take a much longer video documenting this, maybe this winter when the contrast should be clearer.

Meanwhile, the following embedded version of the existing video probably won't work:

but people who can convince YouTube that they're adult by signing in can watch it there, at the following URL:  <https://youtu.be/zK3ZM7dGQdU>.

Meanwhile, fans of Franz Kafka should rejoice, because his reanimated spirit seems to be in charge at a major Internet site.

Sorry to make such a mess out of you, dear Diary.

Blue Ridge, Land of Mystery

Dear Diary,

Maybe you don't remember, but I've told you already about the mysteries I hoped to solve by returning to Blue Ridge, a wealthy neighbourhood on the downslope toward Puget Sound of, well, a ridge.  I got there, both times, by climbing 100th St (this page is entirely in "NW"), which is not actually vertical between 10th and 11th Avenues, to 15th Ave, and then switching to Blue Ridge Drive, the area's main connector.  Anyway, I hoped, first, to find out who owned Blue Ridge Beach, and how one qualified to use it, as described in "The Ballard Seacoast", part II, on July 1.  And, second, I wanted to identify Blue Ridge Place #2, as I'd mentioned being unable to in "A Heavy Mile Stone" on June 27.  I only sort of solved both mysteries.

Carkeek Park

Each time - June 26 and October 10 - I started somewhere else.  In June I'd slept in Mineral Springs Park, but in October I had a head start that enabled me to reach Carkeek Park (introduced in "The Ballard Seacoast", part II) and sleep there, which in turn created another mystery:  Carkeek Park's restrooms weren't locked that night.

I asked Rachel Schulkin, parks department communications manager, about this, and on October 12 she told me that the restrooms hadn't been locked nightly while the park's gate was locked, but that the gate would re-open on October 19, at which time the restrooms would, um, re-close.  Some people think, dear Diary, that your readers are my fellow homeless, in which case I should then have informed them immediately of the 24-hour availability.  Well, I don't know for sure, but I seriously doubt my dilatory writing habits in this case hurt anyone.  In October I did find what seemed to be a guy living in the men's room's disabled stall, but otherwise saw no signs of my peers there either time.

Each time I've tried to catch up on my mistakes, I've failed.  In my original report on Carkeek Park, I said its men's room had "a working dryer".  It does not, and probably didn't in June, and in October I even ventured into the women's room for a glance and found none there either.  My notes clearly say "dryer", meaning what I told you, dear Diary, but they were simply wrong.

Both the freestanding water fountain somewhere near those restrooms, and the one a hundred miles away at the Eddie McAbee Entrance, both of which I originally reported as off, were on in October.

Anyway, on June 26 I went from Mineral Springs Park straight to Blue Ridge, on October 10 from Carkeek Park ditto.  Each time the route took me past the Entrance, and sometimes I rested there.

Blue Ridge Circle

If you follow Blue Ridge Drive well down towards the coast, you will eventually come to a small, grassy, round hill on your left.  This, although it bears no city signage (except the unimaginative name "Roundhill Circle" for the road around the hill), is a genuine City of Seattle park.

The parks department page says a Boeing gave it to the city in 1954.  And why did the city want it?  Well, um, duh:

for the views, of course.  Sorry I couldn't get back there on a more view-friendly day.

Blue Ridge Places

Two addresses on Milford Way, which is reached from Blue Ridge Drive via Radford Ave, were also Boeing bequests.  1900 Milford is, in context, obvious, although again there's no signage.  It's a strongly sloped bit of land right in the turn from Radford to Milford.

Again, the point is the view to which my new photograph doesn't do justice:

Now, I don't pretend to have a clue where 1941 Milford is by myself, but on October 10 I consulted Google Maps, which said it's the bit of land in the next turn of Milford Way.  That land does have a view:

But where I find myself doubting this identification is that that land also has a lawn:

which certainly looks like the lawn of the house adjacent.  Here, if nowhere else in Blue Ridge, some signage distinguishing "Private Property" from park land would really help.  Assuming the identification made by Google Maps is correct in the first place.

(Blue Ridge Seattle) Woodbine Park

If you take yet another detour from Blue Ridge Drive, you'll reach this private, but unfenced, park, which I visited only in October.  Google Maps calls it, same as the Beach Park, "Blue Ridge Park", so I hoped it would have a version of the sign, easier to read than the overgrown one at the beach site, that would give me a URL for further information.

Easier to read?  Definitely.  URL?  Not so much.

Fortunately, a young woman leaving the park noticed my consternation and stopped to chat.  I explained about you, dear Diary, and about my trip from Golden Gardens to Carkeek Parks in June.  Having just slept in the latter park, I had a new appreciation for the frequency of trains there, which left me thinking I'd either been extremely lucky, or extremely destructive to train schedules, when I'd hiked the embankment.  She contributed to this sense of unease by saying I'd definitely been lucky in not getting stranded by the tide.

But anyway, she gave me the URL I was looking for, confident that it would answer my questions.  It didn't.  Obviously Blue Ridge Seattle is an organisation of homeowners, but which homeowners, and similar questions, aren't answered in the site's public areas.

As I walked away, a man driving a van paused to take a picture of me, no doubt so as to warn the neighbours.

Right at the start of Blue Ridge Drive is an office named Blue Ridge Realty.  Maybe they know who's allowed, and who isn't, in Woodbine Park, and in Blue Ridge Beach.

The Eddie McAbee Entrance

As I sat here resting from my October visit to Blue Ridge, I realised I hadn't been fair to this kind little place.  It isn't private, nor unsigned; anyone can be there, and can know that it's OK.  It has benches to sit on, and a water fountain that anyway ran for a few months this year.  It may point toward the august inapproachability of Carkeek Park, but in its own right it's a wonderful rest from the shopping centre a block away.  So I took its picture.

Anyway, that's as far as I got, this year, dear Diary, in solving the mysteries of Blue Ridge.  Maybe next year...