REAR VIEW

After that first year of dorm living as students at Reed College, most of us moved into Reed Houses. Throughout southeast Portland, Reedies crammed themselves into houses with names like The Dustbin, The Cosmos, The Center of the Universe. We were lucky, I think, that the neighborhood surrounding Reed sported a number of run-down, four-tofive-bedroom houses. Due south of Reed was East Moreland where some faculty and some fancy people lived but in all other directions, you could find a Reed House sprinkled in among the 1950s middle-class suburbs. You could tell the Reed Houses by the lack of mown lawns and the number of couches on the front porches. The neighbors seemed, mostly, chill with the fact that sometimes up to 8 people lived in a four-bedroom house and that on some weekend nights, parties with kegs and bands went on until 4 a.m. Or maybe those neighbors did complain, but in the 90s, housing in Portland wasn’t the competitive sport it is now. Then, houses in those neighborhoods sold for $100,000 or so. Now, they’re half a million at least. I suspect the neighbors have a lot more to say about couches on porches and how often you must maintain your lawn.

I never lived in one of the named houses like The Dustbin, but I organized renting a house with a few other people. My first Reed House was pretty far east—almost to 82nd Street—about 40 (short) blocks from school. Rebecca, of recent Jeopardy success and who is now a sought-after psychologist in Baltimore, and her friend, Chris, an English major like me who is now a veterinarian in Massachusetts took me up on the offer I posted for rooms for $120/month. My best friend at Reed, Misty, who is now an immigration lawyer, moved in with her ferrets—Asa and Maxine. My then-boyfriend Andy, also now a lawyer, though divorce, not immigration, had his own room although he mainly slept in mine. $120 times five paid the $600 rent no problem. We made ramen like regular students but also feasts of roasted chicken and falafel and lasagna. Misty and I grew tomatoes in between the tall grasses of the backyard. Asa and Maxine escaped their cages and hid behind the stove.

My next Reed house was only a Reed house because most of us had—past tense—attended Reed. My parents helped me put a down payment on a house we called the Big Blue Barn for $93,500. The payments, with mortgage insurance, came to $615/month. I rented out three of the rooms—one to Rhett, a physics major who rode a unicycle and whose cat, Smile, only drank water from the ever-dripping bathtub faucet and to Jonathan, who became my boyfriend after he moved in, who was also a physics major who went on to get his PhD at U Dub and now works as an investment counselor for Black Rock (I think. He’s hard to find on Google). Dating by renting out rooms served as a form of Tin-

der before we even had Match.com. Living in these housing situations wasn’t always easy. We sectioned up the refrigerator but those chilly borders didn’t always last. Dishes didn’t wash themselves, and she-who-wanted-a-clean kitchen ended up washing them herself (still true fact to this day.) She who mopped the floors. She who bought the paper towels. He who complained that if the she (me) bought more paper towels, the he (Rhett) would clean more. We only ever had one bathroom in any of these houses. Sometimes, the lights and music stayed on too late and too loud for the would-be sleepers. Sometimes, the vacuumer started vacuNicole uming before other people wanted to be Walker awakened. This lack of 100% agreement over cleanliness and noise frustrated, but, most of the time, the situation resolved itself. I bought paper towels. Rhett scrubbed the bathtub more often (mostly for Smile, but still). We drank Black Butte Porter and watched the X-Files, the Simpsons and Star Trek: Next Generation. It helped that all the roommates across time were both Reedies and Trekkies. As the housing crisis continues to crunch people’s incomes into tiny crumbs, I’m thinking about how efficient it was, living in these houses with other people. Co-housing sounds like a drag—people love their privacy and everyone has different levels of comfort for cleanliness, but maybe the advantages outweigh the drags. Resource-wise you’re sharing timber and windows, heating and electricity, internet and refrigeration. You’re sharing the cost not only of the mortgage/rent but also utilities and repairs. You also have to practice

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patience and resolve frustrating habits, which, in some truly high-ideal kind of way, might be a path to bridging our country’s great divide.

It’s supposedly the American Dream to live in a house in a nuclear family. And, to some degree, living with your kids and spouse is the same as living with roommates. You will probably still end up washing all the dishes. You will probably annoy your housemates with your vacuuming. But if you have the space to share, why not open up a room to someone? Why not concentrate humans where humans live—close-in to town where even more sharing of space can occur? The desire to live alone is one of those dreams drilled into us by our forbearers like dream of drilling for oil. You think, when you reach black gold, that you’ve got it made—my own house, my American dream. But maybe it is possible to live together, turn my house into our house. And, maybe, if you’re single, you can use your new-found willingness to share like you would use OK Cupid, and your roommate and you can further partner up. Maybe it is possible to share paper towels, timber and warmth. In fact, maybe, by sharing, your house is a little warmer already—you don’t need so much heat or oil or even grass.

Nicole Walker is the author of seven books, most recently ProcessedMeats:EssaysonFood,Flesh,andNavigatingDisaster. She teaches at Northern Arizona University in Flagstaff. The words here are her own and do not necessarily reflect those of her employer.

We’ve been accused of being many things down here in the Masters of Brewtality crypt... Unnatural blasphemers, deviant freaks, remorseless party animals and naked agents of good fun, but we’ve never been called hip. Aspiring for adoration based on our slimy tendrils being on the pulse of what’s mainstream is something that we’ve universally spat upon amongst our unholy crew, but, this month, we did it. We were drinking craft beer with a local craft icon before the blinding spotlight of Reality TV hit and, hot damn, we’re going to share our hideous tale, too.

Last month, we made an epic quest to find the most crushing of metal festivals in Taos, New Mexico, but on the ride back, we realized that we’d made an appointment with none other than local blacksmith extraordinaire Joshua Meyer. We desperately needed healthy sleep and healthy food, but, remembering we get only one quick jaunt through this strange existence, we rallied hard and hit the road yet again, this time destined for a hidden forge nestled in Flagstaff’s Eastside.

The idea had come after a vigorous sampling of some of Flag’s more potent beers while watching Forged in Fire and the question was asked if we, humble lunatics that we are, could find a teacher who would be equally nuts enough to give us access to a forge, hammers, grinders and anvils with the intention of making epic knives? A brief internet search turned up Josh and, when we found out he was in Italy sampling both food, beer and wine, we felt we’d found the right fit because there’s nothing we respect more than a road warrior powered by the finest of boozy beverages down here in the crypt.

The closest point of reference we found for Josh’s forge was Golden Dragon right off Steve’s Boulevard and, being honest, we couldn’t have been happier. That little neighborhood over there between Fourth Street and Steve’s is one of the weirdest spots on the fringes of downtown and we can’t get enough of it. From our favorite personal trainer Brendan Cabral at Flagstaff Fitness Company to Adam Herrington’s High Altitude Brewing Supply, this hidden gem of awesomeness remains one of the last best secrets we have in our rapidly growing town. And imagine our surprise when we pulled up to find that High Altitude had moved in directly in front of Josh’s forge. More on that later…

Joshua Meyer got into blacksmithing through his brother, who upon freeing himself of the constraints of military service, was looking for a new focus. The physicality, the precise science, the personal expression and the rush of it all spoke to him. And his new hobby hit Josh at just the right time in his life as well. As any artist will tell you, there’s a lightning strike moment where you realize you’re going to live and die by your creations because the world thrust upon can no longer offer anything other than subjugation. The nine-to-five, button-down life becomes a cinched plastic bag over your head and, while you’ll have no choice but to abandon any prospect of stability, it’s truly the only path open for

you to follow. When we met him, he was five years into his journey and watching his methodology was nothing less than awe-inspiring.

He walked the humble freaks and geeks of the MOB crypt through every step, from the initial vicious pounding of near molten railroad spikes to grinding a knife’s shape fit for a murderer and everything was done in a manner far more supportive than our blackened hearts could ever hope to attain. We made our own knives, people! It was in-

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credible! Which brings us to one of the top 5 beers we’ve ever had….

A simple Sierra Nevada Pale Ale.

We had a few left over in the cooler and, upon finding out we all had a mutual adoration for those most special of suds, we cracked them open as the knives were being quenched. You don’t get many of the most memorable beers you’ve ever had over the course of your drinking career because, well, you’re drinking, but those that shine like a blood red moon stick with you forever. This was one of those. Running between an anvil and a blistering forge, striking red hot iron with a hammer worthy of Chris Hemsworth, and grinding an edge onto a blade after you’ve managed to grind off a sizeable chunk of your knuckle because you’re learning a new craft and you totally suck was equally humbling and inspiring.

And when we cracked open those ice cold brewskis, it brought everything about this column back home. Beer is the punctuation mark at the end of the most poignant sentences describing your life. It’s a soundtrack to adventures, making new friends, and learning new skills. What a wonderful potion indeed!

In closing, Josh likes local beers and if you’re around downtown, you might just be lucky enough to catch him. He’s booking these wild blacksmithing classes through his new website, The-Quench. com, and if you’re interested in seeing the process, you can view his Forged in Fire episode on Amazon Prime, which he totally won. Also, with a little luck, Adam at High Altitude Brewing Supply will have his back bar open within the next few months, so keep an eye out for a collaboration between the two adjoined businesses. They’re not sure what or how yet, but we’re sure it’ll be awesome. Until next month, keep it spooky, boils and ghouls!

Mike Williams (your titular Master of Brewtality) is a humble tattoo artist, egotistical writer, relentless beer drinker, unrepentant Hellraiser and connoisseur of all things Doom Metal. You can find him slinging ink at Flagstaff Tattoo Company or at some bar downtown.

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Afew years ago, Colorado sculptor Leah Aegerter accompanied some friends on a life-changing trip to the Grand Canyon.

During what she described as a nine-day fast-paced trek through off-trail stretches of the canyon, Aegerter found that her up-close-and-personal introduction to the Grand Canyon was clarifying and inspiring. Unexpectedly, in execution, this inspiration would lead Aegerter back to the famous canyon for an even more intimate encounter.

“I was really inspired by the diversity of geology here,” Aegerter said. “After that trip in the Spring of 2020, I started this process of 3D scanning and then reproducing those scans. ”

Aegerter left the Grand Canyon for the first time and was inspired to capture the “life” in geological features throughout the Southwest, using a scanning technique known as photogrammetry. In the Rocky Mountains surrounding her hometown in Carbondale, CO and among southern Utah’s sandstone structures, the sculptor honed her craft digitally then artistically captured the landscapes as moments in a geological lifespan.

Hoping to capture these natural and not-so-fleeting moments as accurately as possible, Aegerter deploys her background in digital fabrication. She explained that utilizing equipment like a 3D printer to produce something physical first requires the creation of a model. Once she develops a model, Aegerter said she can go along with the other stages of her process.

Typically, Aegerter’s models assist in her creation of sculptures carved from wood and replicated in digitally scanned landscapes. With six years of work under her belt, the artist’s photogrammetry-to-sculpting technique is distinctive.

Now, having started her residency, Aegerter spoke about getting her footing and figuring out what her creative process looks like in the canyon. After all, the Grand Canyon isn’t your typical workplace-environment.

Continuing her work with photogrammetry, the sculptor is also applying the same techniques of her signature process and incorporating an altogether new-toher medium paper. From start to finish, Aegerter has detailed her creative workflow by making her way into the canyon to digitally catalog the rock formations’ shapes and textures while simultaneously noting the “vibes” and emotions of her experience.

Throughout her digital catalog of the canyon’s geology, Aegerter’s phone must be prepared with storage to spare, as she explained how a single hike may require thousands of photos of different rocks.

“I take a bunch of images of [one] rock from all different angles, so maybe 250 images, ” Aegerter said. “Then, I use those photos and load them into a software that generates a 3D model on the computer. Then from there, I 3D print the rock scans—and I haven’t gotten to this part just yet, but the plan is to cast paper into the 3D prints. ”

While she hasn’t worked with paper on her geological sculptures before, Aegerter is enthusiastic about experimenting with the medium. She is making her own paper for the project and explained that her paper pulps are mixed and ready to be casted into the rock-inspired 3D molds.

“I’m really thinking of [using paper] as a way of documenting and cataloging the textures of the Grand Canyon,” Aegerter said. “I haven’t really figured out what the end process will be, but that’s what the residency is for. ”

Consistently taking inspiration from nature surrounding her, Aegerter explained that she yearns for avenues to capture landscapes sculpturally. Without removing or altering natural curves and ridges but also duplicating the structures in a way that’s unique to her, Aegerter takes time to develop closeness to her subjects, deepening her connection to her art.

“I would say there’s something very seductive about seeing the rock textures in new materials, ” Aegerter said.

On her first trip to the canyon, Aegerter said despite fostering artistic inspiration, she didn’t necessarily have an opportunity to connect with the Grand Canyon on that deeper level.

Having begun her residency, Aegerter said opportunities for her to intimately explore the canyon have been populous. Aegerter’s first few nights beneath the canyon rim during her residency were “much, much slower” than what she experienced there beforehand.

“Being alone really changes my perception of the place—my personal relationship to it,” Aegerter said.

She described her process as capturing and developing a relationship with the land at one given moment in geologic history—a present moment, as Aegerter experiences it. The Colorado River consistently redesigns the structure of the Grand Canyon. Because of its continuous transformation, the sculptor explained how the landscape feels alive to her.

Approaching the geology from an artistic and visual standpoint, allows Aegerter to center emotions in her sculptural execution. While capturing the landscape of the Grand Canyon, she incorporates feelings like solitude and wholeness into her work.

The artist explained that not everyone

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can experience moments like the ones she does in the Grand Canyon. For whatever reason art is often a more accessible way for people to experience a place, and consequently, the emotions and vibes that occupy it.

“I would hope that people can kind of feel the tenderness within the sculptures and just be able to put themselves in the headspace that I was in when I was capturing that particular 3D scan or building the sculpture,” Aegerter said.

So far, Aegerter described a few moments that captured her awe—moments that she explained would likely be embedded in her artwork one way or another. She said moments like these are ones that make challenges she faces along the way worth it. Be it obstacles of canyon terrain or digital difficulties, Aegerter said she always finds these special moments beneath the canyon rim.

“In general, a whole day would pass and I’d be super hot and I’d be tired and sweaty and ready to be done with things, ” Aegerter said. “But I always have a moment in the day when I’m outside and hiking that’s like, ‘this is why I do it.’”

One specific example where Aegerter’s physical exertion had been made up in “good vibes” occurred while hiking the Escalante Trail, past 75-Mile Creek.

“The trail skirts around the brim of the canyon and then it drops down into the canyon,” Aegerter said. “You hike down to the water, to the Colorado River, and the [canyon] walls felt like they were made of these folds of skin. It just felt very much alive in a way… Later on that day, I saw a great blue heron from above, swooping down really close to the river for a few seconds before landing on a beach. Being able to observe that moment of silence is important to me.”

Throughout her time exploring the canyon, Aegerter said her goal is to continue seeking moments where she sees and feels how alive the Grand Canyon is. Enchanted by the desert landscape, Aegerter expressed that she is not concerned about the potential for scarcity of such “magical” moments.

Additionally, she expressed gratitude for Grand Canyon Conservancy’s artist in residence program, as Aegerter also explained she will be leaving her residency with scans and memories galore to continue sculpting the story of her relationship with Grand Canyon. Because she knows developing this project as much as she would like is attainable, Aegerter said she will be taking her residency to slow down, appreciate where she is and develop her intimate and accurate sculptures telling one portion of the canyon’s story.

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