SLABTOWN WALLS

 

I stood looking at the wedge shaped piers that held the Fremont bridge in place. Only the industrial land beyond. You could hear the traffic above and feel bridge moving to balance it all. It was the farthest place you could walk in Portland, Slabtown they called it. Laying between the tree lined NW district and the river, west of the tony Pearl District. The long walk from downtown left one tired, but happy for it. The Cities unfinished edges were here. The walls not yet sanded and painted nice into restaurants and shops. The name, Slabtown, coming from the discarded pieces of wood after the sawing of timber.

The city left unfinished space here, perhaps to sort out what it had done. Space to pause, reflect and think. There were already the first signs of development attempt. The Montgomery Ward building, came and went quickly. The rest of the district still just torn edges. The walls carrying half messages, scrapes and it’s own form of art. I turned to look at the bridge again and then back at Slabtown. The bridge flowing from downtown with riches. It would come here with time. I wondered though at what loss. Where would the city grow from here. Slabtown was waiting to make sure the city got it right.