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.