Portland's Lost Waterfront

 --This is another in the continuing story of my adventures in the grain trade.-- Into the 1980s the Portland grain docks would occasionally see an old steamship. Only an expert in maritime finance could explain the reasons why these straggling vessels were still at work and not turned to scrap. But I do happen to know that at that time the U.S. Congress mandated that 25% of the grain that the U.S. was giving away to places like Egypt and Pakistan must be carried aboard American vessels. I assume that many a mothballed ship waiting for the scrap heap was brushed and polished and put into action at that time. . That was before Jimmy Carter embargoed the U.S.S.R. over its invasion of Afghanistan, when the Soviets and all the rest of the world were beating a path to Pacific Northwest ports to load up with grain. Wheat, barley, sorghum, corn (but mostly wheat) was coming into the elevators in anything that would carry it. I have seen belt unloading potato trucks and open top coal cars ca

I have been away from my beloved blog for many days. The story of why would be boring for you to hear, and painful for me to tell (involves--among other things--a new, titanium knee). So here, then, by way of apology: On Hawthorne Lane I have left my garden to grow alone, Like the god of the Unitarians, For you see, my dears, I have been away For a rest in the sanitarium. & while I was there I met a man, Who spoke of Joachim Miller, When Mount Hood was just a hole. He was a crazy kind of feller. There was an English lass—a faded rose— She said her name was “Lizzy,”    She had a heart of earth wrapped up in stone, But she’s still God’s little missy. There were dark men on shadowy stairs Ashamed to show their faces. So we kept the gaslights turned down low, One of life’s redeeming graces. The sun outside was mostly veiled, When the weather wasn’