Today I went on a ramble through my neighborhood. I do this often; sometimes I make phone calls, or listen to audiobooks as I walk. I didn’t have an agenda or distractions today, other than a sense that the ramble would turn into this Note.
Most of the land I walked through was taken up by homes — architecturally distinct, nestled into more-or-less tended front yards, often with gardens. My house is one of these. Next door there is a large apartment complex. The outdoor space is almost entirely used for parking, and most of the apartments’ porches have little pot-and-planter gardens.
Across from the complex is a park. Part of it is a soccer field; part of it looks pretty wild; part of it is a stand of trees and some play equipment. A sign introduces the wild bit as a restoration area. Apparently this historic stretch of Fanno Creek spent decades in an underground pipe, and was recently daylighted by the Environmental Services of the City of Portland, and Portland Parks & Recreation. The restoration began in 2017, by digging out a new creek bed and inviting community members to fill the banks with native plants. This is a tiny, City-sponsored “re-wilding” effort across a few hundred yards of green space in my neighborhood.
I spent a long time walking, noticing things that are familiar, and making them strange. I passed through a commercial area, and reached another public park. An inscription on the ground announces that this park is the highest point in Portland; that makes it a logical candidate for water tanks and a cell tower. Families, couples, runners and bicyclists and groups of friends enjoy the view, hardly noticing the looming infrastructure.
Even at a walking pace, the surroundings are not at all a smooth gradient. A place can feel abruptly different in a few steps. It’s clear that there are types of land, and that they behave differently.
Multnomah County maintains a webpage on House and Property History that gives an excellent introduction to how land is classified. The goal of the site isn't to be comprehensive, but to join you as a companion. In a charming voice, the site’s author “presents you with starting points for your research.” (I enjoyed how exploratory it feels, more of a periplus than a map. “Begin your search at Portland Maps, a service of the City of Portland. After searching for a property, you will be able to view not only current statistics about property... Another valuable and often forgotten resource is one's neighbors. Long-term neighbors may have stories about previous owners...”)
Portland Maps shows each parcel and lists some basic information, including ownership, zoning code (the type), a land use description, the built square footage, and so on. I’ve assembled a matrix of the types I encountered (including little pictograms from Portland Maps’ zoning code).
In most cases, the land classification is straightforward — the apartment complex is zoning code “Residential Multi-Dwelling 1,” the description is “51 & Over Unit Multi-Family Residential,” and it's owned by EMC MANAGEMENT LLC ET AL — but in others, it isn’t so clear.
The park next to my house is classified as “Open Space,” except for the soccer field, which also carries the description “Calculated Yard Improvement.” Both are owned by the City of Portland. The water tower is also in the “Open Space” of a City park, but the cell tower that stands a few meters away is carved out as a micro-plot and described as “Miscellaneous.” That vague descriptor is also used for the land under the Multnomah County Library branch (which is “Commercial Mixed Use 2”), the Portland Christian Center, and the Congregation Neveh Shalom (which are both zoning code “Residential”). It seems like “Miscellaneous” is public land used for private-ish purposes — like a county library, or a faith-based organization, or a tower that many cell operators put their equipment on.
The food truck cluster feels very inviting and public, with private-ish uses. It’s classified as “Commercial Mixed Use 2,” and according to the registry, it’s owned by AJA LLC (a holding company based in McMinnville Oregon, about an hour away). I saw a different, undesignated kind of commercial activity in my neighborhood – a multi-home yard sale — and a decidedly non-commercial little free library, both happening on “Single Family Residential” land.
The land registry seems to be an objective documentation of what’s here, but there seem to be many and varied things happening in each category. The most interesting thing I encountered on my ramble was tended land. It’s hard to define what I mean by that, exactly, beyond the sense that someone — or, a group of people — care about it. It’s obvious; you know it when you see it.
The exterior space of the apartment complex next door is mostly a parking lot, with a few bushes and hardy plants that are transactionally tended by a condo maintenance company. And many of the units have porch gardens. But there’s an awkward little triangle of space that one of my neighbors has coaxed into vibrant life. I’ve been watching him all spring. Most of the material he uses is scavenged — lumber, big chunks of concrete, logs that become benches and old windows that become mini-greenhouses for seedlings and mushrooms. What he’s doing is probably a violation of condo association rules, and I’m guessing not everyone loves it. But he’s dedicated an incredible amount of work to this little garden; it glows with quirky passion, far more than any of the tidy raised beds in “Single Family Residential” front yards (mine included).
Another bit of tended land is the path between Congregation Neveh Shalom and the Portland Christian Center — yes, these are contiguous, it’s awesome. But that isn’t immediately visible. Between the them is a thickly forested green belt filled with tall conifers. There is a path that weaves back and forth over a little creek, one that flows naturally, without interventions by Environmental Services of the City of Portland or Portland Parks & Recreation. There are wooden footbridges, the path is bordered with well-placed logs, and there are wood chips underfoot. These wood chips are evidence of care. At each end of the path, there are giant piles of wood chips and a few buckets. There isn’t a sign or explanation, but urban wanderers like me understand that we should participate in tending the path.
The food truck cluster also feels like tended land. There are benches, a little stage, and a corn hole set. Several communities are layered over this space. There is the owner of the parcel, who, I guess, put in the basic infrastructure and furniture. The regulars, high schoolers and families, who use the space at different hours, play games or gossip, and who keep it clean. The Hillsdale Community Foundation, which puts together a summer program for the Josh Kadish Community Stage (“Josh was a long-time Hillsdale resident, active community volunteer, much admired attorney and a musician who played many Sundays at the farmer's market”). And of course the food cart vendors. They are the ones who anchor and animate this space every day. They are connected to other, larger communities, through a state-wide cart owner association that works for vendor rights, a Portland food cart listing site, and a festival celebrating the city’s street food.
I don’t have a grand conclusion here. There isn’t a single land type that encourages care. I caught myself hoping there would be; that would make it easier to understand, enable and eventually promote the practice.
The common denominator seems to be the possibility — and ongoing practice — of creating non-financial value. These spaces aren’t all created by “community groups” (a loaded term; lots of baggage), and they aren’t necessarily about value for the broader public. I doubt the dog walkers who spread wood chips on the path know who piles wood chips on either side, or who else hauls buckets. There isn’t an intentional program by the City of Portland, like there was for the creek restoration area. Tended spaces aren’t exactly “public” or “community oriented” or “altruistic” in the conventional sense of the words. They felt exposed but comfortable, purposeful but patient. They’re not about expanding or even demonstrating what's happening. They're about continually adding intimate detail.