Oregon: The Final Chapter

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It was quite dark, although rather warm, when I made the last leg of my journey a couple of nights ago. I could just see the lights of downtown Seattle from my corner of Hwy 509 before turning up the hill into West Seattle. I was trying to decide whether I felt exhilarated or deflated as I wound my way along streets I knew all too well, stopping at the appropriate corners for lights almost without noticing. This was home—or at least as close to it as I was going to get for now—there was no doubt. The last bit of highway, the three hours from Portland to Seattle, were the last leg of a very long journey, and suddenly there was no further destination. Well, perhaps this is not entirely true. I still wouldn't be able to get into our house for another four days, and that was really the end of the line, but in terms of the driving being done, this was it. I am staying with a friend not far from home for the remaining days until I can be at home. And, despite the cohesiveness of our new status, Lance and I did not make the last bit of the journey together. I have re-entered the world of the working, while Lance still gets to play for another month, and as such he decided to go surfing while waiting for the house to be ready.

The last big excursion of our trip was a backpack in the Wallowas. Can it really seem so far away already? Unfortunately, yes. At the time, I was day-dreaming about regular showers and not driving long distances, and now I am day-dreaming about those forest-filled days. That old green grass over there always gets you. It was a bit of a haul making it all the way to the northeast corner of Oregon from California, but in the end, we enjoyed the trip. It was a great way to see the high desert of Oregon, emerging on the historic Oregon Trail itself. The one snag along the way was that I somehow managed to collect the worst array of mosquito bites that I had had at any point on the trip. Despite the unyielding swarms of mosquitoes in the southern Sierras, the bites themselves were not too bad. We may have gotten numerous bites at once, but they didn't last particularly long, and our itchy condition was kept to a minimum with the help of mosquito armor. Somewhere on this big drive, however, we ran into some very vicious bugs. They didn't swarm enough to be very noticeable, but then suddenly without warning, I had tons of bites. They seemed to like my ankles best, and by bedtime one evening, my feet were blotchy with angry red bites. As the itching went on and on through three nights and four days, I would count them, just to arouse more sympathy from Lance. I was clear to point out that I had at least twelve on each foot, and that didn't count the ones on my arms, hands and legs. I did try some sort of ointment at one point, which offered some relief, although mainly recovery consisted of waiting it out. Several days later I was recovered enough to relax again, but they were truly the worst bites I had ever gotten, and the sneakiest mosquitoes I had ever encountered. Just before getting to Baker City to meet Gillian, we made a quick visit to Painted Hills National Monument, a tiny park which boasts hills dusted with amazing coloring. Rounded and undulating, the painted hills are aptly named. The coloring, which is actually caused by varying mineral contents, is part of a dried mud surface on the hills which looks like maroon, ochre, rust, or black sand from a distance. The colored mud is arrayed in long vertical streaks or horizontal bands which bend with the shapes of the hills. Beyond, the landscape returns to more recognizable desert, but in this one pocket it's a miraculous desert dune world.

The Wallowas was another lovely backpack—somehow (without trying) still fitting to our now-standard schedule of four nights, five days out. Swooping Eastern Oregon farmland was the foreground to the sunset dusted view on our drive into the trailhead, many miles down the proverbial twisty gravel road. The Wallowas are a unique mountain range in Oregon, more like the uplifted and long ridge structure common to the Washington Cascades, so our hike in was a long line up a narrow valley. We reached a lovely lake basin in the heart of the wilderness area the following day, and camped on our personal promontory jutting into the water. We had visions of a long luscious swim, but that turned out to be a bit of a wistful vision—at first toe touch we determined that it was rather too cold. We spent another day hiking to a more remote lake, one filled with the most amazing aquamarine water and perfectly scattered personal-sized islands, a wall of granite rising up behind the lake to a craggy razor-backed peak. Indeed, a rare and lovely Oregon landscape—although I would not go so far as to describe it as being "just like the Swiss Alps," as one man commented to me when I told him of our plans to hike there. While I tend to think of this area as a little visited corner of Oregon, and it probably is by some statistical measure, we actually saw more people (surprisingly) while hiking the Wallowas than any other backpacking of the summer. We were also happy to have Gillian along, for the expanded opportunities in conversation (alone, Lance and I often lapsed into long silences by this point in the trip), as well as the addition of a new topic of conversation: what kind of wedding do we want? Pondering this question really did provide hours of unexpected discussion while tramping down the trail. Our final feat of the trip was to climb to the top of Eagle Cap, one of the highest peaks of the Wallowas, which offers sweeping views across the range. The next day we reunited with Van-gogh, this time on the tails of a thunder and rainstorm, perhaps a fitting end to our year-long outdoor adventures—an intense weather experience which made us happy to reach our vehicle rather than longing to turn back onto the trail.

From Northeast Oregon it was a straight shot on a freeway the whole way across to Portland—the straightest piece of road we had been on for some time. It was great to finally see the lights of a familiar city come into view, just before falling into bed exhausted after our long drive. We had timed our return to Portland to coincide with the wedding of a close family friend, and we were just in time to attend the bachlorette barbeque. It was a great way to see many important people in our lives, and have a bit of pomp to go with it. The wedding itself was in a lovely location near Hood River, with a view of Mount Hood and great bluegrass music to dance to at the reception. We were very happy to be well-showered, well-fed, and well-entertained, although it was certainly a bit of a change from our months of only hanging out with each other. After visiting family, and especially Amanda's grandfather at his swanky new apartment in downtown Portland, we headed out for a few days of R&R (yes, we needed a vacation from our vacation) at the family vacation house in Central Oregon. It was absolutely wonderful. We spent four days exercising very little, eating quite a lot, cooking what seemed to us newly exotic food, reading, watching a stack of movies, and organizing pictures from our trip—all things we hadn't had quite enough of on the trip. It was very peaceful too, and on our few brief strolls, the views of the surrounding Cascade peaks were stunning.

And finally, it was time to return to Seattle. After a mad-cap day of packing, trying to find things, and reorganizing, I loaded up to come north with a car full of random items I hoped would be the right ones for a few days in the city before being able to be in our house. Lance decided to take Van-gogh, heading for a few days of surfing before meeting me in Seattle. Just as we were trying to arrange the final details, as if to keep me from actually making it home, my get-away car would not start. After several aggravating tries to start the car and tinker with the battery while the car alarm blared at top volume, we decided it was not worth it; it would have to wait for another day (and a tow to a repair shop). So, I left my VW, took Lance's car, and made it to Seattle just in time to be ready for going to work. It is now several days later (life has gotten amazingly busy since I started working.....) as I am finishing this letter. My job, which (much to my consternation) remained a mystery to me for so long, has finally solidified—a good thing since students have already arrived! I am teaching at a new school in my district, Evergreen High School. For now, I am happy about the move, the chance to meet some new people, and the chance to teach Language Arts again. For the first time in many years, I am not teaching Ceramics, although I am teaching an Arts Corp class for a special arts program where all students will study dance, drama, music and visual art. Our house is finally starting to look homey again (although it has been a bit of a treasure hunt to find certain things), and the yard will take some special care to return to its former self. Aisha is cautiously optimistic about being able to remain in her home. Lance has taken to his role as house-husband, vowing to make cookies, work on house projects, and meet me at the door as I return from work. We are rather pleased to find Seattle as beautiful as we remembered it, and don't mind not being on the road too much (we may reconsider mid-winter, however).

So I now must close this last letter, and I do so with a bit of wistfulness. It has been quite wonderful being able to write for and share our adventures with such a wonderful audience all these months—it has in fact allowed me to feel closer to many of you more regularly than I am used to. Thanks for sharing this part of our lives! We look forward to seeing everyone again—and you can now find us at home, at least for now.......

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Photos

The Wedding
Amanda and the Bride