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E-mail StorySchultz column: Greens, water make Oregon foreign to us
| Friday, Aug 3 2007 11:30 AM
Last Updated: Friday, Aug 3 2007 11:30 AM
Oregon, our neighbor to the north, is a beautiful state. Of course, I can only speak of western Oregon: I have never been to eastern Oregon, which I am told is drier and browner. But the parts of Oregon I have visited are fantastically, riotously green, a full spectrum of green, from lime green to forest green, green in a way that a person from a drought-suffering, fire-threatened area of California can hardly imagine.
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We recently visited my brother, his wife, and their two young daughters, and my sister and her husband, in Portland. One of our daughters is currently living with my brother and his family as she gets organized, and so we thought we’d move in for a week, too. For a week, the world was green and sweet and damp. I think my skin actually unwrinkled.
There is an abundance of water in and around Portland. Bridges span several rivers that form natural boundaries. As our gracious relatives apologized for the wet weather that greeted us, we turned our parched faces to the rain and laughed. What could be more unusual for us central Californians than summer rain? It is so wet in Portland that moss grows on the tree trunks. Later in the week, my sister and brother-in-law took us on a hike through a lush forest next to a rushing river, where blackberries grew like weeds. On our last day, my best childhood friend, who now lives in Portland, took us on a tour of the Columbia River Gorge waterfalls. We walked among smooth stones and greenery and mist, as water poured from the cliffs above us. We ended at the famous Multnomah Falls, which cascades and then cascades again, a two-part waterfall that plunges for 620 feet. So much water! I was again amazed, but, to my friend, the falls seemed a bit meager. “You should see them in the winter,” she said.
Oregonians seem to revere the outdoors, and who could blame them? The state’s effort to preserve its natural wonders is evident. Oregon is the American mecca of Lewis and Clark, a land of great and wild beauty that ends at the Pacific. Even a major city like Portland is respectful of the land, offering many parks and trails for its citizens’ enrichment. People walk and run and hike and bike in great numbers, and seem less impressed by cars than we Californians are.
I also noticed, just from reading The Oregonian for a few days, that an obsession with salmon exists in Oregon: types of salmon, habits of salmon, numbers of young salmon, problems encountered both by salmon and their fishers, the economics of salmon, and even the politics of salmon, meaning who messed with what rule of nature, and who will pay. Salmon were on the front page of the paper every day, which seemed an oddity to me.
A lovely Oregon treat was watching my sister-in-law, an accomplished horsewoman, working with my two nieces in preparation for a horse show, from which they later returned triumphantly with blue ribbons and prizes. I am always struck, when watching people do something they are passionate about, by the purity and purpose with which they approach their work, and by the ease of their expertise. I know nothing about horses. I only know that I was moved by the girls’ and their mother’s connection and devotion to their horses.
Our copy of “Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows” will always remind us of Portland’s famous bookstore. “Procured at Powell’s Books/Midnight 21 July 2007,” proclaims the stamp on the flyleaf, which is also autographed by Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall. Our friend Dave waited in line for hours with my husband and me and our transplanted Oregonian daughter, a testament of true friendship, since he has no interest in, or knowledge of, Harry Potter. (“Is that the book where Fredo needs to get the ring?” he asked, mixing together “The Lord of the Rings” and “The Godfather.” We hardly knew how to answer.)
I find many things to love about Oregon (even if some Oregonians aren’t so fond of us Californians. We seem to have a bad habit of moving there with our inflated home equity proceeds, and driving up the prices of their houses. Is the name “Calipooyah Creek,” which I noticed along Interstate 5, to be taken personally? I think so.) In Oregon, I have family whom I dearly love, and whom I do not get to see often enough. I have a gem of a girlfriend whom I’ve known for 42 years: longer than I’ve known just about anyone besides my parents. When one goes shopping in Oregon, a pastime I dislike but that my two younger daughters adore, the unexpected bonus is that there is no state sales tax. There is a wonderful selection of vegetarian places to eat in Portland, to which my brother and sister and daughter brought us and forced us each to gain about 10 pounds in a week. There are berries of every kind growing in Oregon, black, blue, boysen, Logan, rasp, whose size and sweetness are peerless, not to mention the Bing and Ranier cherries. There is, in Ashland, which is just over California’s northern border, an awesome Shakespeare Festival, where we stopped for one night and attended a production of “Romeo and Juliet” in the open-air theater.
There is a lot to love about Oregon, but mostly what I love about Oregon is that my daughter lives there. As I sat in my brother’s bright kitchen on the morning that we left, I had the feeling that when I got home, missing her would explain the unlikable thing about Oregon: It’s just too far away.
Valerie Schultz can be e-mailed at spring22@bak.rr.com.