Washington/Oregon 2021 - The Columbia River Gorge

 A faceless interstate highway lead us to a historic, 2 lane country road which runs high above the Columbia River. The lush green we had become accustomed to lined the sides of the road. Overhanging trees created verdant tunnels. 

Our first stop was Vista House, a lookout point graced by a beautiful Art Nouveau observatory dating from 1915, unfortunately closed due to covid restrictions. The lookout gives you an expansive view of the river and gorge. Even with the observatory closed 2 levels of platforms outside still allows you to experience the beauty of the surrounding area. 

As we drove further occasionally some of the former roadhouses, dating from the 1920's, could be seen set among the thick foliage. We headed for the first of the several waterfalls in the area. They plummet over the tall rock walls of the gorge, cut by the river over the ages, adding their water to it's wide expanse. Some of the falls are thin ribbons, others raging torrents that seem almost boastful of their incredible beauty and immense power. Some fall from the walls directly into rocky stream beds becoming rapids, others cascade, collecting in pools or streams before rolling over another rock ledge taking a more indirect route to the river below. 

As we reached Multnomah Falls, the second highest year round waterfall in the U.S., the number of people increased. From a historic lodge, with the gift shop ubiquitous in almost all U.S, scenic spots, a trail leads up to a bridge which spans the falls providing visitors with an up close view of the roaring waters. The water catches on rock and ledges during it's descent adding dimension and texture to the spectacle. 

Instead of taking the highway from the falls we decided to take the small road back in the opposite direction from which we had come. The sunlight filtered thorough the canopy of trees as the sun broke out giving us relief from the rainy gloom. As the clouds dissipated we were treated with a clearer view of the river below. We stopped at Vista House for a final look, now cloud free, of the Columbia Gorge before heading back to Portland. 

Washington/Oregon 2021 - Portland's Japanese Gardens

 A friend who had lived in Portland for several years had told us that the city's Japanese Gardens would take us half a day to explore. We went through them in an hour and a half. This was partly due to the pouring rain we sloughed through the morning we were there. Though lovely they are relatively small, and, to my mind, not worth the rather hefty admission charge. 

After wandering a bit we found cover from the relentless rain and, consulting the map of the gardens, realized that we had seen everything. The rain kept us from fully exploring the mountain top park where the gardens are located. The park is a lush oasis. In addition to the Japanese Gardens there is a Rose Garden, Portland calls itself the Rose City, and the city's zoo.  

We decided, as we had spent far less time than we had allotted for the gardens, to take in the Columbia River Gorge and it's waterfalls, which we had originally planned to visit the following day. We returned to the hotel and got directions and maps to the gorge from the two lovely, gracious, helpful ladies at the reception desk, they were a delight to deal with the entire length of our stay, and were on our way to the waterfall wonderland. 

Washington/Oregon 2021 - Portland

Perhaps if  I had had the opportunity to visit pre covid. If I had visited before the economic devastation and the weeks of riots and demonstrations had ravaged the city, things would have appeared different.

What we found as we drove through the streets was a city looking as if it was emerging from war. Scores of empty storefronts, blocks of buildings with windows boarded up, a homeless problem that, even city leaders admitted, had reached crisis levels. Tent cities have been created under roadways and vacant lots. The tents of the homeless lined entire city blocks. The inhabitants of the tents, dirty and bedraggled, wander the streets, sometimes converging in groups on corners. Windows of bars and restaurants were covered with paper, closed, some perhaps permanently. Small parks and squares are barricaded, fenced off and graffiti scarred. I heard on the news one local official say that it would take as long, if not more, than 2 years for the city to recover. To me this assessment seemed overly optimistic. The city had a desolate, almost desperate air. 

Like many west coast cities it had a provincial feel. Perhaps, being developed so late they haven't had an opportunity to mature, perhaps they do not care to. They are content to be what they are, not striving for more. Unlike my home town of Chicago, which, despite occasional missteps, looks forward to the future, while respecting the past. Bold, arrogant, aggressive yet well mannered and genteel all at once. 

For a city so rich in moisture Portland lacks the lushness it could possess. It's streets bare of greenery. It seems to disregard it's past. Historical structures are intermixed with bland, unimaginative concrete structures. Form follows function, except the form is missing altogether. I found myself wondering what was sacrificed, what had been lost forever for so little gained. 

Perhaps it is me. Maybe my life in one of the world's great metropolises has made me demand more. I am certain there are those that are content in Portland as I am content in Chicago. Perhaps, even at it's best, Portland is just not for me. 

Washington/Oregon 2021 - Damn GPS

We stopped by my niece's house the next morning to witness the aftermath of the wedding and say goodbye before heading off to Portland. Apparently the festivities had gone on until the wee hours of the morning. My youngest nephew had been up until midnight before rising at 3 a.m. to catch an early morning flight back home to Baltimore, my new nephew in law had forgotten where he had left his phone the night before, finally finding it in his pants from the previous day which were themselves found, crumpled, in one corner of the bedroom. As we left my grandniece had her head in my niece's lap as my niece braided her hair. It is a sweet ritual between them. It brought back memories of my final day at my nephews house 6 years before, the two of them, my grandniece only 6 at the time, in the bathroom, singing at the top of their lungs to the radio as my niece, curling iron in hand, tamed my grandniece's then unruly hair. 

Getting to Portland was easy enough. We took the wide interstate highway this time, as opposed to the more scenic route we had used coming in. Nearing the city we decided to give GPS one last opportunity to guide us through the city streets to our hotel. Once again we found the technology lacking as it began to send us, as it had before, driving around in circles. Once again we switched the damn thing off and went by instinct, eventually finding our destination without her assistance.

Checking in to our beautiful, historic hotel, opened in 1913 it is on the nation's historical registry, we discovered that a sizable number of covid mitigation measures were still in effect. Masks required in all indoor settings, many businesses still shuttered, a combination was needed to access the restrooms in the lobby of the hotel, along with public restrooms in several other places. We felt as in we had taken 2 steps backward as back home Chicago had fully reopened, without capacity limits and dropping mask mandates for the vaccinated. 

We went to the only operating dining option in sight, a sports bar, for lunch, before retiring to our sumptuous room for some well deserved down time. 

Washington/Oregon 2021 - Operation Wet Reception - Plan B

 As the rain fell the bridal party leapt into action. Tables and chairs were carried to the tent set up in the back of the house for just such an event. As I mentioned in an earlier post, my niece's planning was meticulous, rain is commonplace in that area of the country. Food from the buffet was hustled inside from the front porch. I, my husband and youngest nephew, watched the proceedings from under the protection of a large tree while we ate. If anyone had questioned us my husband and I could use the excuse of advanced age for not assisting, my nephew was on his own for an excuse.

Everyone resettled under cover except for one tiny, blonde girl in a pink fantasy princess dress who twirled around in the rain, her curls flying around her beautiful face, getting soaked and having the time of her young life. Toasts were made by the grooms best friend from the age of 14, who challenged anyone who dared say anything negative about the groom to a Indian leg wrestling match, the bride's best friend and maid of honor, who had changed into sweats, her dress from the ceremony having gotten drenched when she was helping to move the wedding to the tent, and my brother, still holding back tears, somewhat unsuccessfully at that point. He spoke of watching the old movie "Father of the Bride" and remarking to his wife that walking a daughter down the aisle was something he would never experience. He spoke, humorously, about the night he learned that they had been gifted with a third child. My niece was unexpected as her brothers were 11 and 13 at the time. He spoke of his respect and affection for the groom and the happiness that he had brought to his treasured daughter. He hugged his daughter and son in law. It was a beautiful and heartwarming moment. 

The bride and groom shared a first dance, including a dip which the groom managed to execute without dropping my niece on her head. My brother shared a dance with his daughter, another of a number of beautiful moments of that day. We left in the rain to return to our hotel promising to drop by the next morning before heading off to Portland.

Washington/Oregon 2021 - A Beautiful Ceremony, Then it Rained

 We arrive about 45 minutes before the ceremony was scheduled to begin. After checking in with my sister in law and my niece in law, who were busy in the house preparing the food, and complementing them on their choice of dresses, which were both lovely, I and my brother, with his best friend, copped glasses from the kitchen, a perk of being family, and headed out to her car for a glass of Moscato she had bought at a gas station mini mart. She complemented me on my lack of pretention as I sell nice wines for a living yet was standing on my niece's lawn enjoying a libation procured at a gas station in rural Washington. My sister showed up shortly and we took a sibling photo. 

The ceremony was beautiful. My brother, holding back tears, and sister in law, escorted my niece across the lawn to a table set with flowers and 2 glasses of sand, whose significance I will get to shortly. Pragmatist that I am, I found myself thinking, in the back of my mind, "They are never going to get the grass stains out of the train of that dress." My niece and her husband exchanged vows. Then my brother, still fighting tears, it was a day he had dreamed of for years, recited a poem by E. E. Cummings, my brother loves poetry,  about people journeying through life together. This is where the sand comes in. My niece and the groom then blended the two glasses of sand into a third to symbolize blending their lives together. The groom the lifted bride off her feet and into his arms for the ritual kiss.

It was time for dinner and dancing. Clouds had moved in and things began to get moist. As everyone filled their plates with wonderful, home cooked food from the buffet on the porch moist turned into wet. Wet turned into steady rain.

Washington/Oregon 2021 - My Special Skill Set

 My niece had the wedding scheduled, on paper, down to 15 minute intervals. All persons involved were given their assignments and the time frames in which they were to be accomplished. Understand she was not overbearing, the dreaded bridezilla, in fact far from it, she was just exceptionally organized. Even I had a job.

At 3 p.m. the grooms party was to report to the lobby of my hotel for me to tie their bow ties. Apparently I was the only person in the small county of 3000 that possessed this skill. They arrived 15 minutes late. I was a little concerned that their tardiness would result in my niece having them lined up and shot for fouling up her meticulously crafted plans, making my tie tying skills all for naught. Apparently she forgave them as they were still alive when my husband and I arrived at the wedding venue, my niece's spacious yard, their ties still tied. 

There was a certain sense of pride in my instructional abilities as my new nephew in law became rather adept at adjusting and tightening the ties of his groomsmen. That is until the reception when they were uniformly untied and eschewed altogether.

Washington/Oregon 2021 - A Morning Stroll Through Cathlemet

 The wedding was not taking place until 5:30 leaving us much of the day to ourselves. We decided that after breakfast we would take a walk around the tiny river side town to take a few photos of the surroundings and late 19th and early 20th century buildings and homes.

The oldest structure we found was a house, listed on historic registers, which dated from 1860. A blue jay landed nearby as we explored it's small public grounds. The two Victorian homes located across the street from it were dated 1895. Several of the buildings along Main Street were from the early years of the 20th century. It was interesting as we walked to imagine the stories that were created as the little town grew. 

We found a small park with a river front trail and, oddly, a locomotive on display. As we strolled along the trail a group of Ospreys flew up from the river bank. With the excitement of children we watched them flit and fly among the ruins of docks which rose up out of the water, the ruins a memory of other times. As we were taking a break on a river side bench 2 young men appeared and launched a tiny sailboat off the sandbar where they had left it as they ran into town for supplies. "Astoria or bust" yelled one of them doffing his shirt as they moved out onto the water of the wide river. 

 

Washington/Oregon 2021 - Dateline Astoria Oregon

 As we exited the ferry and turned toward Astoria the landscape on either side of the road was the lush green we were becoming accustomed to. On that day the rain forest that this area is designated as lives up to it's name. In one stretch thick fog trapped between the hills and forest on either side of the road made navigation almost impossible. 

The town of Astoria is situated close to where the Columbia River empties into the Pacific ocean. It is lovely and historic. The downtown area and ports are on flat land at the rivers edge, a hill above holds residential neighborhoods. Large, ocean going ships sit in a line in the river waiting to load or unload their cargo. A high bridge, necessary so that the large ships can pass under it, spans the river.

In the drizzle and rain we browsed through the numerous antique shops in search of treasures. I picked up a small religious volume, part of a set, I have a collection of antique and vintage books, the other volumes of this particular set have ended up who knows where. The inscription inside is a Christmas message from a father to his child. It is dated December 1957, the year I was born. It resides with me now. 

We strolled thorough streets lined with exuberant jazz age facades. We lunched in a restaurant, masked and socially distant, Oregon's covid mitigations were stringent, a month behind what we had become accustomed to at home, or the more carefree attitude we experienced in rural Washington, that gave us an excellent view of the row of ships waiting their turn to conduct their business before venturing off to their next destination. We drove out to a state park closer to the river's mouth before heading back, traversing the high bridge, the sharp drop of the roadway as the you near Washington's river shore making the crossing a small adventure in itself.

The road hugged the shore before it moved, once again, into the deep, dense wonder land of green, taking us back to our hotel where a good night's rest waited before the wedding festivities the next day.  

Washington/Oregon 2021 - A Ferry Ride

We left Cathlamet's downtown and headed towards the bridge which spans the Columbia river to Puget Island. It is from there that a ferry runs across the remaining portion of the river to the Oregon side. We are on our way to Astoria, a historic town near where the Columbia empty's into the Pacific. 

Puget Island is a pastoral place of small, rich green fields, cows, chickens and ducks and picturesque farm houses and barns. It seems to be a part of the America found in the work of Norman Rockwell and Grandma Moses. A sign at the ferry dock bills Washington  as "The Emerald State". Judging from what we had seen so far it was easy to see why.

The ferry takes a languid trip to the fairly close by opposite shore. As it nears the shore we spot a female bald eagle partially hidden in the dense cluster of trees. Suddenly we see the male, gliding across the water and landing in the tall grass along the shoreline. To those that live in these parts it may be a familiar sight. To city dwellers like us, it leaves us excited and breathless.

Washington/Oregon 2021 - What Families Are

My nephew, his wife and their daughter arrived in the late afternoon 2 days prior to the wedding. We called, then drive over to my niece's home, where they would be staying, to greet them. It is a happy reunion. Hugs are exchanged. The contact is welcome after the year long pandemic that had made us physical strangers, even to those closest to us.

We are invited to stay for dinner. My sister in law moves about the kitchen with the ease one only sees in a matriarch, with years of experience cooking meals filled with care and familial love. We talked and recalled tales in the special way that is only shared by families. My husband made friends with my niece's dog, who washed my husband's face before dinner with his tongue.

My nephew in law invited me to join him in vodka shots, immediately  impressed by my ability in that particular action. My husband took, what he referred to as "blackmail photos", my brother, holding one of my niece's dogs, my niece, the nephew in law and me, heads tilted back, downing the Russian brew. I swiftly share the photos on the internet removing all blackmail threat.

Hugs are once again exchanged as we depart, I somewhat inebriated, my husband, driving, thankfully sober. 

It was a special moment in time. One of those moments that make families what they are.

Washington/Oregon 2021 - Mt. St. Helens or I May Blow My Top

 After a surprisingly abundant breakfast in the dining room of the small hotel and a chat with a couple staying there visiting their kids and grandchildren, who live in the area, we headed off to Mt. St. Helens, the site of the infamous volcanic explosion in 1980. As we climbed through higher and higher elevations the abundant lush, green landscape continued to surround us. I imagine if you were to live there you could become inured to the verdant beauty around you, take it for granted, as I work not to do among the glorious architecture that surrounds me in my home town of Chicago. 

Snow capped mountains rose in the distance. Dark, heavy clouds and gray skies added an imposing air. The volcano is the largest mountain in the area. The collapsed peak was shrouded in clouds, the snow down it's sides resembled wide, white rivers. 

Much of the area is private land owned by timber companies resulting in almost surreal views of groves of trees of a uniform height standing among the more natural forest. The trees grow for over 40 years before they are harvested, the cleared areas then replanted and cleared again in another 40 years.

We took a narrow gravel road off a viewing area and found ourselves in a small, quiet clearing in the dense forest. It was a contemplative moment. The tips of the evergreens were tipped with the new, pale, fresh green growth of spring, birds sang, wildflowers, rising up above the grass, were in full bloom, adding their bright colors to the multi toned shades of green.

This, we discovered, is Bigfoot country. We stopped by a kitschy roadside attraction with a statute of the legendary creature outside a gift shop, the emporiums that are ubiquitous in such places. There are two men also stopped at the attraction. One, rather attractive, has a cocky strut reminiscent  of  the walk I saw frequently among the men in Prague. I found myself thinking that someone with that walk would be expected to wear tighter pants then the baggy, low slung jeans this gentleman was sporting. 

Across the road a small river bubbled over it's rocky bed. More trees lined it's banks, Purple wildflowers were scattered among them standing straight and tall. 

We descended the mountains and headed back on the now familiar State route 4. We saw a turnoff to a beach and decided to snack beside the river on the food we always carry with us on these trips. The beach is a narrow stretch of sand strewn with the fallen remnants of the grand trees abundant in the area. They have been sculpted, by the forces of time, sand and water, into massive driftwood works of art that only nature can create. It is another quiet moment. We allowed ourselves to get lost in the view of the lush growth of the opposite bank and the slow moving river gliding by us on it's way to the Pacific.

Washington/Oregon 2021 - The Charming Town of Cathlemet

 Washington and Oregon are lush and green. Layer upon layer of green. Ferns carpet the ground under thick, dense forests of trees that sometimes spread out their branches to form tunnels over the road. We cross from Oregon to Washington over a bridge that looks like it was made using a giant erector set. The structure is an example of "form follows function" that manages to be, with its spare lines, lovely and  graceful as it serves it's function. The final 20 miles of our journey to Cathlemet, the tiny town where my niece was going to have her marriage celebration, the reason for this trip, is the most lush and beautiful segment of the drive. 

A historical note, Cathlemet sits on a site next to the Columbia river where Lewis and Clark bought provisions from the native tribes of Washington, for what they felt was an exorbitant price, on their way west. The towns small stretch of Main Street, with a couple of exceptions, is a moment pulled from another era. Our hotel dates from the 1920's, the bank next door and the other buildings along the street date from around both sides of the turn of the 20th century. A shuttered saloon is reputed to have been the town brothel, the business being conducted in the rooms on the upper two floors of the building. We can see the river from the windows of the second floor corner suite we had treated ourselves to, as well as the Greek revival county courthouse, which, like the hotel, also was constructed in the 1920s. The town has the unique distinction of being the seat of the smallest county in the state, with a population of 3000, much of it semi rural. 

Next door is a gingerbread trimmed Victorian home. A koi pond, with fish the size of large cats, sits amongst the abundant flowers in front. In it lives a man and his wife. The proprietor of the hotel tells us that the man worked for Warner Brothers for many years and that there is a substantial collection of memorabilia from those years inside. My movie loving mouth waters at the thought. Another Victorian, it's second story shingled, sits on the corner.

We met my niece, her husband, they were already married but had not been able to share a ceremony  with family and friends due to the pandemic, and my brother and sister in law at the Mexican restaurant across the street. There are only a small handful of dining options in the town.

 A margarita and burrito put me to sleep at the end of a very long day,

Washington/Oregon 2021 - Running Around in Circles

 The view from the air changed from the patchwork quilt of farm fields, which cover much of the central part of the country,  to the ridges of snow capped mountains. As we draw nearer to the northwest portion of the U.S., and our destination, the view changed again to a lush green carpet of forest. 

Landing in Portland we grabbed a shuttle to pick up our rental car. We had been upgraded to a larger, more luxurious car than the one we had ordered, a pleasant surprise. As we were leaving we gave an accidental shower to the well dressed, carefully coiffed male rental office manager while testing out the effectiveness of the windshield wiper fluid. We were on our way, or so we thought. 

An accidental wrong turn, caused by a graffiti scarred road sign left us lost in Portland, which sounds like the title of a movie with deep, dark psychological under tones. The car GPS sent us, literally, driving in circles through the city's streets. We were further frustrated by a freight train blocking our path, which, from the length of it, seemed to begin and end in different states. We hoped there was enough of Oregon to accommodate the part of the train that had already past as the thing trudged on and on. 

Finally we decided to ignore the female voices insistent, inaccurate instructions and managed, through grit and moxie, to get on the proper road, albeit going east instead of our desired direction of west. Our thought process was that we would, at some point from the highway, see an off ramp and then on ramp, which would send us in the right direction. We were hoping this would happen sometime before we  reached the neighboring state of Idaho. 

We saw what appeared to be an opportunity and pulled off. Opting to do things the old fashioned way we decided to ask directions of locals at a gas station. The first two people, which worked at the station, were clueless as to how to get us pointed in the right direction. A third, barefoot, straggly haired man, that smelled heavily of marijuana, gave us instructions that would leave us traveling several miles through the streets of Portland before we would meet up with our desired route. As we went off in the direction he sent us we both agreed that it didn't feel right, turned around, and found the on ramp to the highway we needed, one block from the gas station. We finally, after 90 minutes of wandering around, were on our way.

There is a moral to this story, never trust directions from GPS or from a stoned, barefoot, drug damaged man with straggly hair.

Washington/Oregon 2021 - Early Morning Post Pandemic Pandemonium

 We are organized, bags packed and weight checked, our carry ons edited to the current standards of the TSA, cab preordered. There is the final check of I.D.s, credit cards, phone charger and flight information. I give the cat one final peck on the head, this is more for me than it, as it is probably wondering when you are leaving, as you assured her you would, giving it the house to herself. She has been looking forward to this. We lock the door, securely stow the keys, as we won't be needing them until we return, and we are on our way. 

On this particular early morning the sun is bright and the traffic is light making the initial portion of this trip uneventful. 

As we pull up to the terminal we enter a chaotic storm of cars, cabs, airport shuttles and luggage, many of the bags seeming to have taken on a life of their own, moving about at will at terrifying speeds. From the cab's windows I catch a glimpse of a final hug between two friends or family members as one departs. Inside the terminal people fight through a labyrinth of stanchions and counters, checking in or going through the rigors of airport security. Some scurry, luggage trailing behind them, checking flight status, some look over shoulders trying to see the end of the stanchion maze they are currently winding their way through. It resembles, to some extent, like the base of an anthill.

All are masked, a holdover of the recent, turbulent times. Now that I no longer have to wear one to work, the gym or the grocery store, it is amazing how quickly I have become unaccustomed to them. 

On this particular early morning we stop by a food court to obtain desperately needed coffee before proceeding to our gate. Fast food orders are shouted from counter to kitchen, personal conversations are loud, people on cell phones are yelling over the din to make themselves heard by the person on the other end.

On this particular early morning our flight leaves from the last gate in the terminal. We sit, there are not many others in the waiting area yet and we find a somewhat quiet, peaceful moment.