Mt. Tabor

I approach the park from the West and am struck by the defensive posture of the gatehouse and iron fence on the hill, but the fortress becomes a cartoony farce once I ascend the first flight of stairs and see the public warning signs posted on and around this braggadocios little castle. It's menacing and mighty masonry requiring reinforcement from routine city ordinances designed to prevent middle schooler's and drunks from chucking objects or urinating into the water supply.  

The sight elicits a sigh and a smile.

On the far side of the reservoir is a forested embankment and another gatehouse sitting impressively on the hill, perhaps less laughable from a distance, it again boasts defensive prowess as a watchtower with a view of any would be attackers seeking high ground.

To the right and left of the reservoirs are paved and unpaved trails winding up the mountain. Tennis courts and neighborhood homes line the border of the park. Chilly and sunny, the perfect Portland weather invites it's residents for an outing in the park and they accept in number.  I find people jogging, cycling, skateboarding, hiking, yoga-ing, face-timing, snapping, and photographing the scenery. Life abounds and feels full for an absurd moment.

Taking the steepest trails, I attempt to achieve the highest elevation as rapidly as possible over the objections of my racing heart. A well placed bench provides timely respite and I want to doze underneath the giant Sequoias, but resist and continue the ascent.  I reach the summit and find a serene circle of shade. One can't help but be observant and mindful as the cool air gently moves the trees. People are everywhere but still distant, all engaged in their own activities: dog-walking, frisbee, hand-holding, reading on benches and beneath tree trunks, sleeping, conversing, necking, baby stroller jogging and even some ignoring the splendor of nature for another few minutes on their smartphone or laptop.

Summit

A big bronze statue of a forgotten statesman points toward Portland and leaves me with mixed feelings: imposing in the negative, it exists halfway between grand and unassuming, indecorous he stands wanting to be more than he is. Probably commissioned, it finds the artistic equivalent of unwanted homework, minimal effort, yet satisfactory. I imagine the commissioning family signing the check reluctantly, quizzically looking it over and handing it to the sculptor with a sigh, wondering if the honored dead would consider it a waste of money.