Observations

Forgive me for beginning this post with a worn out lead sentence but as a Midwesterner looking into the window of a Pacific Northwest state, I just can't help myself.

You know you are in Oregon when.....

*fish is on every menu. I can die now because I've had the best fish and chips ever at a little hole-in-the-wall establishment just a short walk from our place. It was the sampler option with halibut, albacore and salmon as the featured fish. I'm still dreaming about the salmon, silky smooth and oh so fresh. It will be difficult to order the mystery fish used for fish and chips back home.

*you don't pump your own gas. This is a strange experience for those of us who are accustomed to standing outside during rain, shine, blizzard or sleet as we fill up our vehicles. Also, don't expect to find restrooms at all gas stops. Many stations are just pumps and a little shelter for the attendants to await their next customers. Plan accordingly.

*there are more dogs on leashes than babies in strollers. I'm not a dog lover (due to a series of unfortunate incidents in my past) but I must confess that Oregonian dogs are very well behaved. They dutifully walk beside their masters, weaving in and out of crowds of people without any frantic behaviors. They dash around on the beach with little interest in other people and are quickly reigned in my their owners when play time is over.

*the sun is a precious sighting. We all have the need for a little sunshine but I get the feeling that Oregonians especially like a break in the clouds. The local weather chatter often ends with the phrase, "at least the sun is out today."

And, finally, you know you are in Oregon when you are walking along the beach and a purple sea star wishes you well and I must say, nothing excites a Midwesterner more than a cute little echinoderm.

Jewels

The Farmer's Market culture is a thriving business in this part of the country. One can purchase handcrafted goat cheese, locally foraged mushrooms, crusty loaves of sourdough bread and heirloom tomatoes of all colors and shapes. The real stars of the show, however, are berries, berries and more berries. We sampled real strawberries (the kind that don't taste like cardboard), plump raspberries and blueberries that were just plain addictive. Two new berries for us were marion berries and obsidian berries, both bursting with sweet goodness. We left the market, tapping our toes to the sounds of all the street musicians and licking the last of the purplish red juice from our fingers. Our wallet was a bit lighter but, oh, the antioxidants we enjoyed.

Our next jewel came in the form of a young man at a visitor's center near the coast. Ranger Clameron was brimming full of friendly advice on how to maximize our stay in the area. Best of all, he was from Minnesota so he could translate ocean talk into prairie-ese. Thanks to him, I think we can figure out how to read a tide chart and not get ourselves caught on a land bridge that turns into an island. He also gave us  great recommendations for the best tidepools, hiking trails, birdwatching and restaurants. (We've already warned our daughter we might not make it to the wedding.)

Without a doubt, the crowning jewel of our day was the Pacific Ocean. We made it! We walked along the beach with the ocean waves swirling and churning around us. The sand was spattered with seaweed, driftwood and shards of mollusks. We felt dwarfed by the vastness of so much water and truly blessed to be a part of such a marvelously created world.

The Man Behind the Counter

We are in the heart of wine country so what's a person to do? I was too lazy to take pictures (pressing buttons is such hard work) so you'll have to imagine the rows and rows of neatly cultivated grapevines soaking up just the right amount of daytime heat units and cool evening breezes. Locals say that their microclimate  produces the best Pinot Noir wine in the world.

We stopped at a recommended winery and upon entering, I had the immediate impression that we were going to have to wait awhile before being served, not because of the crowds (there were just four of us in the tasting room) but because of the gentleman behind the counter. The man clearly had an unkempt look with his battered baseball cap askew on his head. His movements were a bit jerky and his speech was halted and flighty. My thought was that he was cleaning up the counter and soon we would be greeted by the person in charge. After a few awkward moments, the gentleman asked us what we would like to taste. From that moment forward, we found ourselves in the very best of hands. Our friend was witty, charming and best of all, unpretentiously knowledgeable and kind. We enjoyed sipping the wines as he shared the stories behind their creation. He also proudly shared that he was a part of the family that owned the winery.

We did not meet any of the other family members of the winery, but I have a feeling that I would like them. After all, they were smart enough to select their finest to be the number one greeter on the estate.

White, Blue and Red

We're back on the road again and in our usual pattern, we doubled our travel time by meandering the back routes. But, oh the the sights we see. We started with the white, snow capped landscape of Mt. Hood. The lodge was crawling with folks donned in ski boots, snow goggles, shorts, sandals and cameras. There were purveyors of necessary goods scattered throughout the multi-tiered lodge. Gift shops. Snack shops. Outdoor wear shops. And I think some folks were actually skiing.

The scenic highway that led us to our next destination was a patchwork of vineyards, fruit orchards and lush forests. Such travels are always a little bittersweet. Visually stimulating but hard on the posterior muscles. We were both relieved when our hotel sign popped into view in the heart of Willamette Valley.

The local community was hosting a 4th of July extravaganza by the river and we were only too happy to join in the festivities. A blues band was playing its strong bass rhythms and we settled in for a great show. It is true that being out of town can inspire a person to participate in activities that would never even blip on the hometown radar screen. Me, outdoors, past 9:00 pm, eating kettle corn, contemplating a blues dance. Intervention time.

The day was completed by an explosion of red singed fireworks. The oohs and ahs were shared by the little peeps, older folks and everyone in between.

One thing is for sure, neither South Dakota or Oregon is afraid to celebrate with a few pyrotechnics.

Happy Birthday, America!

Reset

We took time off from the grind of the road and stayed along the beautiful Columbia River Gorge for a second night. Our minds were incapable of making any decisions greater than choosing between a waffle or a bowl of Raisin Bran in the breakfast room. The view from our hotel was fascinatingly stunning and we had no reason to push ourselves beyond our low energy levels.

We made one short jaunt down the road to the famous Oregon Multnomah Falls, 620 feet of tumbling gloriousness. Apparently a third of the nation also decided it was a good day to visit the Falls as well. We usually travel during off-peak times of the year so the throngs of tourists ravaging their way through a must-see photo stop was new for us. There were kids in strollers, dogs (and cats!) on leashes, Tibetan monks, a  traveling minstrel and many, many smiles for the camera. The one relatively quiet sanctuary was the information center. The reading, thinking and slowing down that is required in such a place thinned the crowds to a manageable level. A very kind, elderly volunteer in her pseudo-ranger outfit cornered us at the fish display and proceeded to give us the life history of the salmon. She was passionate about her little fishy friends and we patiently listened to her presentation, a sobering reminder why it's good not to be born a salmon.

The rest of our day was spent watching the Columbia River move by as we sat still. I would highly recommend this method of renewal. No batteries required.

The Good, The Bad and The Beautiful

Four states in one day. Montana. Check. Idaho. Check. Washington. Check. Oregon. Check. For one with semi-agoraphobic tendencies, it was quite an accomplishment. Along with our marathon day came the good and the bad. The bad was certainly a triple bad. Triple digits that is. At one point our car thermometer registered 111 degrees. As we whizzed by stalled and abandoned vehicles one could not help but wonder who would be next in the roulette of misfortune.

The good was leaving the interstate system for most of the day. Not having to travel in wolf packs of campers, trucks and pickups with suspicious bedliners was a respite from the pulsating, gotta-get-there traffic of the past two days. Our route choice allowed us to stop at the beautiful Lolo Pass visitor's center, complete with free coffee, hot chocolate and rangers who were ready and willing to share their wealth of knowledge. We were inspired by the stories of Lewis and Clark and their travels through this area. Surely, we, too, could make it to our destination with the added bonus of a car, hotels and convenience stores.

Beautiful rivers held our hands throughout most of the day. First, the Snake River with its crystal clear waters, swirling eddies and an occasional tube rafter, desperately trying to escape the heat of the day and the next set of rapids. Next came the mighty Columbia River. It is easy to see why Lewis and Clark used this waterway as a welcome relief for their moccasin weary feet. The steep gorges and expansive, glittering water provided us with many calendar worthy visuals.

The lowest point of the trip happened at a Shell gas station about 90 miles from our final destination. I was beyond benout (Dutch, for crawling out of your skin). The temperature was still well over 100 degrees. Our air conditioner was having its own benout issues and to top it off, the air conditioner at the Shell station was not working at all. I think my dear, long-suffering husband was ready to put me out if there hadn't been a crowd of witnesses nearby. We sullenly crawled back into the car and chugged a few more miles down the road to another convenience store. Gloriously, its air conditioner was working to full capacity and it had french fries available for this addict. With renewed vigor, we gutted out the last leg of our journey.

Just as we pulled into our hotel parking lot, my husband spied a truly beautiful sight, a ramshackle little fruit stand across the street. At that moment we both felt the list of bads for the day start to melt away because nothing says welcome better to a couple of dog-spit tired South Dakotans than a stand of fresh cherries.

Hello Oregon.

Sense Fest

Montana. Big Sky Country. The Treasure State. Land of the Shining Mountains. Whatever you call it, Montana is certainly a land of space and diversity. We chugged our way across most of the state and I can honestly say the sights, sounds and smells were ever changing and ever giving. We saw jagged mountain peaks scraping the sky while we drove through valleys of sweet smelling grass tickling the fickle breezes. The  sounds of jingling cowboy spurs punctured the air as golden meadowlarks swabbed the wind with trilling melodies. The 100 degree heat created ripe smells of freshly cut hay and steaming pavement. Towering pine trees soon gave way to scrubby sagebrush and back again to a coniferous wonderland. Pressure changes rattled water bottles as altitudes climbed past a mile high and just as quickly dropped to the comfort levels of prairie folks. Horses nibbled on wildflowers as turkey vultures soared the air waves scanning from above for their next buffet. A squawking magpie hippity-hopped through the parking lot looking for a morsel left in the wake of munching travelers.

The wheezing of weary ones climbing a steep hill to a bathroom at a rest stop had the thrill of Mt. Everest attached to the final summit. The siren song of coffee in the hotel breakfast room lured the bleary eyed into another day of road cruising. The clanking of gas pumps played like hand bells in yet another convenience station. Harried mothers chided children when they scampered ahead too far and dogs yelped in delight when they were finally released from their cramped quarters. Long hours of traveling were cleansed away by chlorine and happy children in the hotel pool.

Gratefully we experienced an uneventful five hundred miles but Montana made sure our senses were filled with wonder and delight. And if you watch and listen very carefully, you might even get lucky enough to see the elusive purple cow.