Thanksgiving

You perceive I generalize with intrepidity from single instances. It is the tourist's custom.
-- Mark Twain

Thursday, November 26, 1998
One year ago: Dine and Dance

Jack was disappointed this morning, when his favorite eating place in this little town was closed on Thanksgiving morning. I'm not sure, but I think what he likes is the name: "Whimpy's" It used to be spelled exactly as the Popeye character, but they changed it after copyright and trademark problems. Oh, well, at least the weather was good!

We took a few wrong turns in the Portland area, but did succeed in getting a drive-thru breakfast at a McDonalds that caught my eye -- it still had an old, orginal-style building complete with golden arches in the parking lot. It looked like they use it for a party room or museum. Notable differences from McDonald's in Seattle: no espresso, and the brand of coffee didn't meet with Jack's approval.

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Jack had divided up this trip so we'd be driving up the Columbia River Gorge (a National Scenic Area, by the way!) during daylight. He was concerned, almost appalled, that I'd never seen this region before! By starting out early in the day, we had lots of time to stop anywhere he thought it was worthwhile.

We drove on the interstate part of the way, and switched over to the scenic, older highway every so often. This was built long ago, and Jack was fantasizing about what the drive would be like if we were in a Model T!

Our first stop was at the Multnomah Falls, not far from Portland (Lucy drove up there during Orycon). It really is beautiful! We followed a short trail up to the upper bridge; you can't go any farther. The restaurant, walls and railings are all made of the native stone, so they blend in very well.

We got one of the other visitors to take this picture of us. Jack told me about a time (in the summer!) when he went swimming in the pool just above the bridge. This is very much against the rules, and I think it would be dangerous!

Our next site of note was "The Bridge of the Gods." This sounds very Wagnerian, but the name actually comes from a Native American legend. According to them, a stone bridge existed in legendary times at the narrow point in the Columbia where the Cascade locks now exist. The modern metal toll bridge in that spot now has this romantic name.

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There is a visible change in the climate as we drive up the gorge. West of the Cascades, it's wet, with fir trees. East of the Cascades, there's a change to pine and scrub oak which like the dryer weather. The basalt crystals in the cliffs are the same, though.

We stopped at one of Jack's favorite places, the Carson Hot Springs, to try and book a room in the hotel there for Saturday night. Jack told me about how, in his early twenties, he and some buddies decided to hike up the Wind River there. They made this journey, drunk and high on LSD, in the middle of the night! They soaked themselves in the natural hot springs (not the ones that the hotel uses), then staggered home in the dawn, bruised and scratched. Miraculously, no one fell in the river and drowned. He does tell me some funny stories about his past, but I'm glad they are in the past! We lucked out at the spa -- they had one room left for Saturday.

Several times during the day Jack asked me if I'd had enough scenery. I thought perhaps I wasn't demonstrating my enjoyment, though I was certainly having a good time! Finally he mentioned that he'd read a travel book where some 19th century traveler described himself as satiated with scenery after a day or two in the Columbia Gorge.

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Our last sightseeing stop for this day was at Fisher Hill, on the Klickitat River, which drains into the Columbia. The Klickitat is a good-sized river, and in this spot it's confined in a very narrow, unnavigable canyon. The Native Americans in the area fish here for salmon, using dipnets and platforms hung from the rocks on the side. Don't tell! but Jack sometimes came down and joined them in the middle of the night.

This area isn't Jack's boyhood home; his parents moved here around twenty years ago, because Jack's dad loved the fishing. They have several acres right on the river, and live in a split-level house designed by Jack's mother. They've survived floods, forest fires, and legal battles. Jack spent time here and in a nearby town after he got out of the military.

Jack's father looks just like him, adding twenty years and taking off the long hair. His mom is tiny, lively, with long hair in a braid wrapped around her head. Also present when we arrived were Jack's sister T----, who lives in Olympia, and her son; and his other sister K---- who lives 25 miles away, with her boy and girl. The turkey was in the oven when we arrived, smelling great! Jack played his guitar and the kids danced around the room.

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Our feast varied from the traditional only by using paper plates (they get them from a friend, so Chinet plates are used almost exclusively here). Jack tried to lay exclusive claim to the cherry pie, but I got him to give me a bite off his plate.

After eating, we sank into the traditional torpor. There were lots of family stories told. When I asked to see childhood pictures of Jack, his sister T--- got out her high school yearbooks (the two are close in age). She was surprised to see that her ex-husband had gone through her own photo album at some time during their breakup and divorce process, and had removed all the pictures where he was featured! She wasn't too bothered by this, since she hadn't looked at the album to find this out in the years since.

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Jack and his father had had the task, during the afternoon and evening, of preparing the truck camper where Jack and I were going to sleep. They rigged up a power line, and turned on the gas heater built into the unit. They also killed a lot of flies. These had crept in there for shelter from the cool weather, and had been revived by the rise in temperature. We thought that they had gotten them all.

We went to bed rather early, Jack with a Seattle-based mystery novel to read, and me with the bio of Robertson Davies I've been working through. It was very cosy up in the double bunk! I wore purple long underwear, and polartec socks. I was on the side further away from the opening to the main part of the camper, in case Jack needed to get down and stretch his back during the night -- which he did indeed need to do.

All seemed calm and peaceful, when -- Buzzzzz! Buzzzzzz! -- the attack of the blowflies began. I had joked earlier that his parent's place had been through fire and flood, and enquired about any plagues that might be coming through. The only light on in the camper was right above Jack's head, so he got the "fun" of whacking most of them, though I did get one myself. Jack didn't appreciate it when I speculated that after the light was out, and the heat turned down, any further flies might creep out and walk on us, as being the warmest things in the room.