The view to Mt. St. Helens

I was determined we see Mt. St. Helens even if we didn't see it. We hoped the 50-something-miles uphill to the Johnston Observatory would be worth the effort even if we'd find the volcano shrouded in misty clouds.

If not for the helpful insights of the people who worked in the center, especially, Gerry, a forest service volunteer, our experience wouldn't have been all that interesting. I expected the center to be packed with exhibits and media presentations, but it was, in actuality, pretty sparse. We got more information through our conversations with the rangers and Gerry (pictured left.)

There was a large screen film that dramatized the explosion and its terrible aftermath. At the film's conclusion the screen retracts and curtains behind the screen open to reveal giant windows to Mt. St. Helens. The affect is supposed to be very dramatic, but in our case, the view was of: ta-da! Clouds. That got a chuckle from the audience.

Down the Columbia River Gorge

The drive along the Columbia River is spectacular especially westward from The Dalles. We stopped for one night in a remote campground near Trout Lake. Our campsite backed up to a beautiful meadow. The leaves are turning and the temperatures cooling and everywhere the campgrounds are thinning of people. The only person I encountered at the park was a man hunting mushrooms. I asked him how he identified the poisonous from the edible and though he gave good tips I would never venture to risk it. Next morning I encountered him again, this time he carried a shotgun to his side. "So now you plan to shoot the mushrooms?" No, he was down the road to shoot a grouse we'd both heard clucking in the woods.

To get to Trout Lake you must pass through the towns of Bingen and White Salmon that sit along the Washington bluffs of the Columbia River. This are towns that seem lost in time. I find myself thinking a lot about early settlers, those brave Oregon Trail pioneers. The land along the Columbia Gorge must have looked promising enough for them to drop their bags and call it home, but then, maybe they were just too weary to continue passage down the cascades and the narrow gorge. The climate is wet, the land subject to mudslides, and the winds harsh so maybe that helps explain why the area is so underpopulated today.

We made stops at the Columbia Gorge Interpretive Center as well as the Bonneville Dam. The salmon were long gone from the fish ladders and there was not a soul in sight except for the government employee that inspected our vehicle at the gate. We felt like the last people on earth in such a strange place. Inside, we could look through the enormous glass wall to the hydro-power generators. The rumble of the turbines vibrating beneath us contrasted eerily to the absolute stillness in the powerhouse.

Downstairs we wandered around opening doors and exploring staircases to discover an underwater fish observatory. There we found a few straggler fish trying to hold steady against the turbulent water of the fish runs. We'd come too late in the season to see the multitudes of salmon and other fish maneuver through the run upstream to spawn.

Some other time, Walla Walla, Washington

We kind of disappeared for a couple of days into the Yakima Valley. We had no strong inclination to visit the region other than to head east away from the rain in Seattle. From a quick search online I decided on the town of Prosser, reportedly in the heart of eastern Washington wine country. I admit I was disappointed as to the charm of this wine region--nothing like Napa/Sonoma, but being near ignorant of wine culture I figured why be judgmental on a thing as trivial as appearances? Still, a strip mall setting does take away some of the allure of the wine tasting experience.

There certainly was plenty of sunshine along with plenty of wineries and tasting rooms. Our first day there Robert and Allison enjoyed lounging in the RV park: Robert caught up on Sunday sports; Allie tackled the playground. Me, I walked the asphalt to the closest batch of tasting rooms. I can't say I fully enjoyed the wine. Vino at noon doesn't sit well with me. But I did enjoy my conversation with the owners of the Thurston Wolfe winery. I caught them behind their building hosing down the patio looking totally unglamorous in yellow Playtex gloves and rubber boots. They'd just finished a crush and were cleaning up. We joked about my look behind the curtain. They weren't hobbyists, but the real deal. Typically, I imagine the life of a wine maker to look like the spread in a luxury lifestyle magazine: a late afternoon sun setting on people gathered around an expensive linen-covered table surrounded with wood chairs pulled from the dining room and a bounty of cheese, artisan breads, and other delectables arrayed in rustic ceramic platters.

I considered leading us into Walla Walla for more wine excursions, but it's not really the best activity for a family so we began heading southwest towards the Columbia River. Now we would refocus on scenic drives and historical sites. We left the arid Yakima Valley for a dip into the forested moist landscape of the Columbia River Gorge. It seems we are continually passing through one diverse climate to another. It may be what sticks in my mind the most: How amazingly diverse the geology and climate of the North American continent. Well, any continent for that matter. It's just that this one is the first I've ever traversed across. And we only have something like 38 more states to visit.

Seattle is Super!

Seattle is behind us; we left this morning and headed west. Chuck and Deandra loaded us up with apple pie filling and best wishes for our continuing journey. I was hoping to stop in Issaquah to watch the Salmon Days festival, but we couldn't find an open RV park and the state parks nearby don't allow camping. Plus, it was raining, and Robert wanted to get to sunshine.

So, I researched online and landed us in Prosser, in the Yakima Valley in the heart of wine country. We are at, "Wine Country RV Park" on Wine Country Road which is a joke because the road is basically the access road off the highway and not as scenic as the name would suggest. However, it is a very nice facility and close to the numerous wineries in the area. We'll spend a day or two here before heading to Mt. St. Helen's and then to Portland, Oregon.

Seattle was a lot of fun. We spent more time visiting with friends and family than actually sight-seeing. On Thursday we met with my cousin, Christy at her home in Laurelhurst. We tracked down her college-age sons at the University of Washington who were kind enough to break away from their activities to see "family." The oldest gave us a quick look-see of the beautiful campus. The younger went for a walk with us through Green Lake Park where we could watch row teams glide through the water. He also escorted Allison to the playground where they romped around. Allison now adores Michael, who reminds her of her brother, Ryan, who also likes acting like a kid. Our geographical distance has kept Christy and I from being close, which is a shame since she is so terrific and has two sons the same ages as mine.

I missed out seeing my other cousin, Joe, who is a longshoreman in Mulkiteo. Next time. And there will be a next time, because Seattle is a place I look forward to returning to.

All Shook Up in Seattle

We are not the only ones with friends in Seattle; Allison has her buddy, Liana, in Mercer Island. When I dropped her off to play, the two of them hugged and then ran upstairs so that all I ever saw of Liana was the back of her head. Liana's parents, Don and Jaymi are also homeowners in Loreto Bay. There are quite a few LB homeowners in the Seattle area since Baja California is a popular winter destination for them.

Don had complimentary tickets to the Seattle Museum of Flight which he graciously gifted us with. Today we visited the museum which is similar to the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum in Washington D.C. We got our first glimpse of a Concord (much smaller than I imagined) and a walk-through of an Air Force One jet. Robert and Allie rode inside an aircraft simulator. Here's the movie:

Note to our friends: If we visit, you must make us pie

After disembarking the ferry from Bainbridge Island, we went straight to the home of our friends, Chuck and Deandra (more Loreto Bay homeowners.) They live on a hilly section of Bellevue where the houses lie in terraced rows, each with a panoramic view of Seattle and beyond. Chuck directed Robert to back our Airstream into the drive behind his house. I don't know how he managed since the narrow path was about 1/8 a mile long.

For all their other interests and accomplishments, Chuck and Deandra will always be the "pie people" to me. They produce speciality pie filling for William Sonoma. Even they admit this association has overshadowed their lives. Now all anyone wants to talk about is their William Sonoma connection and the process of producing pie filling--me included. I find the subject fascinating--and tasty. We got to sample their test-batch peach pie filling, and incredibly, were asked our opinion on the balance of the cardamon to lemon flavoring. Yeah, yeah, tastes great to us...can I have another sample, please?

And the number one reason to live in Bainbridge Island is...

Bainbridge Island is someplace I never thought I'd visit. Until we met our friends, Vicky and Dave, (also Loreto Bay homeowners) I'd never even heard of it. Now I'm marking it on our list of favorite places I'd like to live. This little island directly west of Seattle is just adorable with it's cape cod cottages and cute main street near the ferry landing. Even with the rain and clouds, the island seems cheery. Vicky tells me the schools are in the top ranking for Washington. Horseback riding is popular, so Allison would be thumbs-up about it. And, of course, boating is part of the culture, so Robert would be happy. I liked the overall picture: cafes, shops, adorable houses surrounded in lush vegetation and tall cedars on skinny dead end paths, and the delicious feeling that all this good stuff is practically inaccessible to the rest of the crazy, bustling world. People who live on Bainbridge Island must feel pretty satisfied.

To get to Seattle you must take a ferry. Or if you're Dave, you walk down your private dock and take your own boat. This morning I watched as Dave, suitcase in hand, kissed Vicky goodbye and walked through the back door, and down the long skinny pier to his aluminum-clad Safeboat. He had a plane to catch in Seattle. I went with Vicky to her yoga class while Robert readied us for our departure via the ferry to Seattle. Yesterday, she insisted I tag along with her to aerobic class. I think I declined her invitation four times before giving in. We ended up having a great time together watching each other karate kick across the studio floor. I'd forgotten what silly fun hopping and lifting three pound weights to music can be.


Now that we were fast friends, she guided me through her town, eyeing real estate. Too bad that my favorite pick was a 1906 cottage on the bluff looking toward Seattle for a mere $1.5 million. Really, I think I could be happy living in Vicky's garage apartment overlooking the vegetable garden and the water on Port Madison. I could come to the main house for dinner and a stroll through her wine cellar and then disappear to the guest house till she calls me for aerobics in the morning. Life with Vicky would be so heavenly. Not only is she super smart and interesting, she cans her own preserves and makes pies. And she sculpts in stone. She's a good mom who drives her kids to the bus stop in her bathrobe so they don't have to get wet in the eternal Washington mist. And she doesn't care if you have to step over dirty laundry in the hallway or a pile of shoes in the mudroom to get to the door. And if she added too much salt to the pie dough, oh well--we're just friends, not company.

I may never live in Bainbridge Island, but if I did I'd have a great friend already lined up.

A Bunch is as Big as You Make It

According to all accounts it should have been a rainy day in Sequim, but we woke to a beautiful, sunny day. So we went exploring. We walked along the John Wayne Marina and up the main road till we reached a dead end. Then we drove to Dungeness Bay for lunch at 3 Crabs. Then on to a lavender farm because lavender is the top crop in Sequim. The purple blooms have been harvested and the plants pruned, but the gift shop was certainly well stocked with all things lavender. Next, we drove to the waterfront where two fishermen were unloading their catch. Things like this fascinate Robert, so we stopped so he could talk to them. He came back with a 20-pound Silver Salmon. It's still in a bucket on ice in the Tahoe, until tomorrow when Robert will fillet it into more manageable portions for our freezer.

All day we kept looking up at the sky marveling at the ring of clouds around Sequim, proof that the "blue hole" really does exist. Because of the way Sequim is situated behind the Olympic Mountains, rain clouds apparently are diverted away. The phenomenon is called a rain shadow. Whatever it 's called, it is a fortunate characteristic of this small seaside town.

Our last stop of the day was to cut flowers at a home on the roadside. A sign on the driveway said, U-Pick Flowers, $2.00 a bunch. The yard was loaded with rows of beautiful dahlias, mostly. It seemed like robbery to offer 2 bucks for our idea of a bunch, but the gentleman on the lawn-mower said a bunch is as big as you make it, (a phrase that has tickled me all day) so Allison grabbed for the scissors and ran. Whoops. We had so much fun selecting the best blooms for our bouquets. It was the best $4 dollars we've spent this whole trip.

I Ponder Peace

Because the morning was chilly I pulled on my sweater that has the peace sign on it. Not that I'm an activist; I just bought it because I thought it made me look hip. It took on an odd significance for me, however, when we took a stroll through Fort Casey while waiting for the Keystone ferry. As we explored the fort I became conscious of the irony of traipsing through the military ruins wearing a giant peace sign on my chest. I really wasn't trying to make a statement-- well only a fashion statement.

Though Fort Casey has long been abandoned as unnecessary, it is still a formidable sight with its long stretch of concrete gun batteries aimed into the ocean. It was built in 1908 along with two other forts on the Admiralty Inlet as defense against possible invasion by sea. This leads me to ask, "Who were we protecting ourselves from in 1908? And the answer is, anyone and everyone.

To someone of my generation who was watching cartoons during the Vietnam War, the idea of a concrete fort, circa 1900, on the U.S. pacific coast seems so odd. I grew up assuming America was so bad-ass that nobody would dare mess with us on our soil, except for those insanely foolish Japanese bombing Hawaii, which is an island way out in the Pacific and hardly seems part of America. Forts, in my mind, were relegated to early-America when the threat came from Redcoats and savage Indians. But walking around the concrete batteries and parapets and underground magazines of Fort Casey I realized I was looking at the physical manifestations of man's desire to protect his ground. Though I'm never aware of it, someone else, someone running things, feels this defense is necessary. Even with no threat, the presence of defense to deter foreign invasion is something we don't appreciate.

Later, on the ferry we struck up a conversation with a local WWII veteran who became a missionary in Japan after his service. For 38 years he lived among the Japanese whom he had fought against years earlier. He didn't express any opinions on war or peace, for that matter, regardless of the statement I wore on my sweater. But that wasn't the end of my brush with the subject: When we were driving though Port Townsend, Washington we saw that someone had mowed a giant peace sign into a field which I made Robert circle the block so I could get a decent photo.

Tonight we are camping in Sequim (pronounced, Skwim.) Robert made us come here because someone told him Sequim was paradise, a magic spot where a blue hole opens to the sun over the Puget Sound. That we are staying at the marina named for John Wayne, the film-star known for rugged westerns and war movies, and his pro-Vietnam war politics, is another odd occurrence for me to ponder. Which I'll do to the sound of rain pouring from the skies above Sequim.