pittock mansion – Britt Skrabanek

The Love Spy

Maybe it’s because spring comes so early here in the Pacific Northwest, but lately, love has been happening all around me.

Just this past week, I saw two different puppy love scenarios.

At the local pub we visit often, there was a young couple across from us at the bar. They were nose to nose, talking and laughing, genuinely into each other.

The petting was tasteful and they only had eyes for each other, like they were the only two inside the crowded bar—and, to hell with the rest of us.

Mr. H and I couldn’t help but smile at them. With love contagious in the air, we moved our barstools a little closer to each other and stayed that way.

Then the other day I went for my usual long hike up to the Pittock Mansion and ended up behind another couple the entire uphill journey. They matched my speed perfectly—and, I haul ass—so there was no way to pass them without sprinting suddenly like a weirdo.

I was annoyed at first, because hey, it gets really old staring at the same asses for an hour when you’re climbing technical trails, trying to enjoy nature.

There was a lot of hair flipping and giggling coming from her, while he strutted up the hill with his hands in the pockets of his baggy basketball shorts. Mr. Cool Guy.

They were heading to the same place I was, so I stopped being a cynical asshole and decided my fate was tied to the bouncy cute couple until I reached the top.

At the top of the hill, where Pittock Mansion is, lies the lovers bench many of you have heard me go on and on about for the past year. If you need to get up to speed, you can check out The Fate of the Lovers Bench.

I thought I could peek at the new bench to see how many love carvings had come about since last fall. Back in October, Portland Parks & Rec replaced the beautifully battered bench from before, because its old wood was unrecognizable from the romantic “vandalism” it had endured over the years.

As it was a Saturday, I assumed the bench would be taken. And, it was.

He matched the trees and she matched the roses next to the bench.

I felt a little guilty taking this picture, but like the couple at the bar earlier in the week, nothing else existed.

The bench was their world. Me and the other thirty or so people wandering around the grounds were invisible.

I didn’t stay long. I wanted to go home to my man. To be looked at, to be kissed, to be loved.

The Fate of the Lovers Bench

I didn’t have any master plans to write this particular post on Valentine’s Day.

To tell you the truth, I’ve never been much of a fan of the holiday. As a young girl, Valentine card rejections and those gross chalky hearts made a cynic out of me.

Some might actually see this as a cruel story to tell on a romantic holiday, but it depends on how strong your belief in love is.

For some, love is about happy endings. For others, the true romantics, they know that real love never ends.

The story about the lovers bench began last year in May, when I wrote The Bench Where Lovers Had Been.

This spot with the bench is my favorite place to rest after a long hike. The view of Portland is absolutely stunning.

The whole city—slender streets, busy cars, shiny buildings, expansive bridges—is surrounded by sleepy volcanoes and undulating mountains.

On a clear day your eyes hardly know what to do with themselves. It’s that gorgeous.

And the bench, worn by Pacific Northwest rain for many years, was covered in love carvings.

I used to touch these carvings, imagining stories of the lovers who decided to boldly tattoo their initials and hearts into the wood in this public place.

Perhaps these couples were still together, or perhaps they had grown apart, but the lovers bench allowed their tender moment to live on.

Until one October day, I walked over to the bench and my heart fell. There were no more professions of love embedded in the wood.

The wood was blemish-free, devoid of the beautiful scars which told so many stories.

When I wrote The Lovers Bench Is Gone, many of you were as heartbroken as I was. And like me, you all wondered what had happened to the old bench.

Had they repurposed it somehow, turned it into a piece of art for someone’s home? Or, had they done something else?

Well, I found out.

It took me about a month and I was thrown around to some different people before I got my answer. I have been sitting on this information for some time, but today I have decided to reveal the fate of the lovers bench.

Hi Britt,

Due to a combination of overzealous carvings and wear n’ tear on the bench you mention, Portland Parks & Recreation had to replace the bench with a new one. We reused the metal parts that were salvageable.

Hi Britt,

My colleague in maintenance just asked me to clarify. We actually re-installed the same, refurbished bench. Not a “new” bench. What you see up there is the same bench just with new boards, and we had the leg irons freshly powder coated. History lives on!

Hi Portland Parks & Rec Guy,

Thanks for the info. We writers are a curious bunch, so we were dying to know. Did anyone keep the carved boards, do you know? Seems like they would make neat art decor. Perhaps they were too beat up and ended up in recycling though.

Hi Britt,

The best guess is that the old boards were used for bark dust in our system. Had they been salvageable our guys would have repainted them and replaced ’em.

So, there you have it, folks. The bench is still there, but the boards of love carvings have become part of the earth.

Instead of being sad over the fate of the lovers bench, I remembered something that made me hopeful. On that October day when I discovered the new bench, I looked down and saw this on the shiny new armrest…

I haven’t seen the bench since last fall, but I know that new love stories have been created and carved. When I see it again, I will trace the carvings and smile.

Because love doesn’t have an ending. It lives on.

“The minute I heard my first love story, I started looking for you, not knowing how blind that was. Lovers don’t finally meet somewhere. They’re in each other all along.” – Rumi

The Lovers Bench Is Gone

The other day I learned some sad news when I went on my favorite hike. At the viewpoint, the lovers bench was gone. Forever.

Back in May I wrote a post called The Bench Where Lovers Had Been.

I usually do the same hike every week, about two hours round-trip from my house. Toward the end of the uphill hike, there are countless switchbacks to really make you work for it.

But at the top of the hill is the greatest reward, a downtown Portland and Mount Hood view enjoyed from the comfort of a weathered bench. The lovers bench.

I played a little fiction game each time I went up there. I’d pick out a couple carved in the bench, then make up a boy meets girl story in my head before heading back home.

Over the past few months this bench even inspired me to consider writing my first short story. (Consider, meaning I haven’t started a damn thing. But I intended to after more quality time with the bench.)

Anyhoo, this was the bench then…

This is the bench now…

So many professions of love tattooed on the decrepit wood had vanished. This strange, smooth wood no longer held stories of romance, foolishness, and hope.

The fresh and shiny bench didn’t woo me at all. To tell you the truth, this guy was kind of a son of a ~~bitch~~…um, bench.

Yep, he was a real son of a bench.

I preferred the refreshingly true one from before, all genuine and battered, even if it was a splinter in the butt waiting to happen.

Reluctantly I sat down on the impostor and sipped my water in silence. The city continued on below, as if it never had a single thought about that bench on the hill above.

My fingers ran across the perfectly even surface, searching for the charming grooves that were once embedded in the wood. Craving those carvings of love.

Then I looked down at the brand new black armrest and smiled.

There it was…the very first one. And, a new lovers bench was born.

The Bench Where Lovers Had Been

Living in Portland seamlessly translates into spectacular vantage points. Tourists and locals alike wander around—to stare, to photograph, to be romanced.

It’s no wonder there are so many artistic people here. I feel like I’ve been injected with an inspirational serum myself.

We had one of our first crystal clear, summer-esque days last week. I had a little vendetta with a stunner of a view I tried on a hazy afternoon, so I repeated the 6-mile hike with determination.

To get to the view this way, you’ve got to work for it, uphill along narrow muddy trails. Once I reached my destination, a place called Pittock Mansion where visitors can roam freely on the grounds, I was not disappointed.

Suspended in the air was snow-peaked Mount Hood. Colorful downtown decorated the ground like a set of Legos. All around bright blue skies were intersected by cotton clouds.

A cool breeze soothed my flushed face and quieted my adrenaline. I sat on a bench, one where lovers had been.

I pictured different types of couples sitting side by side, holding hands, their heads resting against one another. Some of them became bold and tattooed their professions of love on the wood.

There’s no telling what became of these couples after they left this bench.

Yet beneath the sun and the rain, until the bench is too fragile and must be replaced, that beautiful moment lives on.