Walking Portland’s Great Divide
Far from vegan cafes and feminist bookstores, a longtime resident wanders down the seven-mile stretch of used car lots, cheap motels, and assorted dives that separates the mythical Portland from the real one.
Far from vegan cafes and feminist bookstores, a longtime resident wanders down the seven-mile stretch of used car lots, cheap motels, and assorted dives that separates the mythical Portland from the real one.
A century before Portland became a capital of quirk, the unconventional wife of a congressman shook up Stumptown with her mystical quests and outrageous out-of-body experiences.
Portland is known as the city of bridges—but it’s also a capital of suicides. After losing a close friend who jumped, I needed to find out why.
It started as four college roommates with a hunger for farm-fresh food and a penchant for pet puns. It ended with dead ducks, grumpy goats, and a horrific mercy killing gone wrong.
Every Tuesday morning at a quiet veterans hospital in Portland, the daughter of a World War II airman dons an old Army uniform for a throwback performance like no other.
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