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. 

Coronavirus19 Diary - Epilogue

 When I started this blog my posts were memories and recounts of my travels. Over the past year I have stayed in place. Next week we will be celebrating the marriage of my niece, in person, on the west coast.

Even though I have not left home I have still traveled. I have gone from full time to part time work, a liberating experience. I have explored my thoughts and desires, a result of the private time afforded us by the pandemic. I have come through this life experience, as I have with others before it, wiser, gaining wisdom though both trial and joy.

There will continue to be lingering effects. Many are people and families are physically, emotionally and financially stressed. Others are searching for a new path, the one that they had been traveling disrupted, as was mine. Physical signs of what we have been through remain. Masks are still worn in some settings, social distancing still in place in others.

Post pandemic we will move to a new normal. One we each will need to explore, experience and find our individual place in.