"I don't think we're in Kansas anymore, Toto."
Seattle has its quirks. I can hereby announce that Portland is quirkier! Its reputation is all about--how shall I put this?--uh...quirkiness? (If you have ever watched a TV show called Portlandia, you will know what I'm talking about.) What I saw of Portland--which admittedly wasn't much--I can only describe as eclectic, eccentric, hyper-ecologically-minded. Basically, I call it Hippie Culture. The house that was to be our home for the next couple of days was dubbed The Hippie House.
It is difficult to describe the house. It was almost 100 years old, complete with high ceilings and glass doorknobs. (Shades of my childhood home in Oak Park, IL.) There was ONE bathroom, two bedrooms but with a hide-a-bed in the living room and a couch-type bed in another bedroom's closet. The kitchen had been upgraded at one time, but the stove had a burner that didn't work, and the garbage disposer had issues. Also, there wasn't enough room in the freezer for us to put our ice packs to refreeze for the eventual trip home. And, once again, there was nowhere to put our "stuff". Still, it was home.
The entire front yard was fronted by what I would call an adobe wall on the outside, with the cob oven on the inside of the wall. There were tables and chairs in the yard, like for parties, and a niche for quiet sitting/reflection. And all around, inside and outside, were "things"--Tibetan prayer flags over the front door canopy, a children's chalice from the UU church experience, a statue of a Buddha on the steps to the front door, native woven throws on the walls inside with Mayan, Incan, and/or Aztec influence, untended garden boxes outside that were growing strawberries at the moment.
The entrance room was the dining room with a big, round table and four chairs. (We brought one in from the yard to seat five.) I think Meg really wanted to use the cob oven outside but was discouraged to do so by the owner and our own fatigue to be that patient! In short, we did the best we could to make the best of the situation. It was an experience!
That first morning, as we prepared to take off for the day's experiences, I was told that Denis and the children were going off by themselves, by bus--totally planned--while Meg and I would leave with the only car for most of the day. It was only then that it hit me--duh--that this whole leg of the trip was planned especially for me. They all had already done it. I was stunned.
Meg and I departed before the family did. We were headed over the Columbia River, back into Washington State, for Mt. St. Helens. I should probably explain here that I was a geology nut during most of my youth--a "pebble pup" that knew a little about a lot but not a lot about anything. Mt. St. Helens erupted in April of 1980. Megan was barely a year old, but I remember it almost as much as when Kennedy was assassinated and the Twin Towers came down. I had hungrily watched the newscasts about the event, followed the human interest stories, all about a volcanic eruption in the US that changed the land forever, until the next time. I really, really wanted to see that place!
The drive to Mt. St. Helens is beautiful. Totally out of cell phone coverage. When we got close, we stopped at a place known as a visitor's center. Beautiful vistas.
And then we arrived at Johnston Ridge, about six miles from the volcano.
At the time of the eruption in 1980, the Johnston Ridge Observatory didn't exist. It came to be sometime after the eruption as the place where volcanologist David Johnston stood vigil. When the mountain blew, he radioed "Vancouver! Vancouver! This is it!" He was never seen or heard from again. His body was never found, lost to the explosion that killed 60-some others.
We watched the videos. In the on-site theater, there was a curtain over which a screen came down to display the video. When it was over, the screen went up and so did the curtain. Behind the curtain was a wall of windows facing Mt. St. Helens. Directly in front of us was a glorious view of the volcano, a mere six miles away. I wasn't expecting that. It looked so close. I think I gasped!
I have said this before and will say it again: pictures and words do not do justice to what we were seeing:
Pictures of the mountain, both before and after the eruption--a mountain that blew out sideways.
The tree blow-down, consequences that are still visible on the mountain sides for many miles.
The depth of the valleys and the majesty of the surrounding mountains.
The loss of life.
The recovery of the area after 39 years of nature's healing.
Being near Mt. St. Helens was a lot like being in Monument Valley in Utah for me...like being in church. Here, we were in the presence of something far greater than ourselves. There is awe that comes from the sometimes-sudden realization of how totally miniscule and helpless we mortals are. Beautiful. Amazing.
As the Johnston Ridge center was closing, I bought Meg a book that she had been wanting, and we headed back to Oregon. Denis requested a pick-up, so after some figuring, we found them. During our day at Mt. St. Helens, they had gone rock climbing, had donuts from the VooDoo donut shop, played endless ping-pong, and drove all over town on motorized scooters.
Everyone was tired and hungry. Back at the Hippie House, we opened three big cans of Dinty Moore Beef Stew, added Bisquick dumplings, and waited impatiently for the dumplings to be cooked. By the time we actually ate, it was quite late. No one stayed up long this evening!
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