I don't know Latin. I've never been religious. Translated, deo volente
means "god willing," as in god willing, you'll see a rainbow in the
falls at sundown the week surrounding the solstice. The clouds weren't
quite right to see that tonight, but I was there to see it if it were.
Today I had the fortune to traverse the Columbia River Gorge with historian and Professor Emeritus Charlie W. I had a great photo of him standing atop Cape Horn that didn't make the download, so just imagine a spry 85 -year-old gentleman who smiles impishly and often, speaks intelligently and with humor and catalogs facts like nobody's business; the sort who kisses your hand when he greets you and says goodbye.
With Charlie as our guide, we completed a very full day rife with history and facts and information that for the most part never reaches my nether memory regions. What I like about his narratives are what I call hidden gems, the things that I probably should know as a life-long Oregonian but for some reason I don't. The Sandy River was originally named Quicksand River. No joke. Lewis and Clark named Rooster Rock something shorter, more phallic and less agreeable to the Ladies of Crown Point who eventually renamed it Chanticleer Point, the French for Rooster. In Charlie's words, our pornographic rock is uncircumcised and better than Hawaii's rock at Molokaii. The London Plane trees you see planted throughout downtown Portland are cousins of the sycamore; they are planted there and in cities (and at North Bonneville) because they purportedly withstand pollution better than most trees. Incidentally, I must have visited North Bonneville dam several times over as a young Girl Scout, and I wonder how they have managed to keep their bright orange carpet all these years without upgrading to something more forgiving of all their visitor foot traffic. River rocks have water in the middle, so if you want to build a fireplace with them be prepared to x-ray each one for water content so you know it is dry and won't explode when heated. Such was done for the hearth at Skamania Lodge. BPA brought Woody Guthrie out here in the early days of publicizing the development of the Columbia River Basin for electric power; they gave him hotel stays and a car and he wrote 17 songs plus Roll on Columbia in fulfillment of his month-long job. We sang it on the way home - Charlie had the lyrics for us.
The tidbits go on and on.
It's a good job. What's not to love?
Multnomah Falls, the second most visited place in Oregon - 2nd to Spirit Mountain Casino
I
was also at Coopey Falls, probably one of those gorge waterfalls you
haven't seen unless you have a connection to the Franciscan Sisters of
the Eucharist or have visited their 5 acres and Italianate 1916 house at
Bridal Veil abutting the private falls. Coopey Falls was named after
the homesteader who first owned the land. The Sisters are about the
eighth property owners, and I am here to tell you now that if I hadn't
been in utero in 1975 when they purchased it for 60K, it's exactly the
sort of villa I should be situated in. Can you believe it had been
vacant (and in considerable disrepair) for eight years prior?
The House at Bridal Veil
Your rare glimpse of Coopey Falls, complete with me imagining I'm the caretaker
I
like my job. Jobs, to be more precise, but this one in particular I
keep because of the fun factor. I log my efficient hard and fast work
hours in a small office like any good worker bee, and I do this for the
days I get to spend out in the field with the old folk, variously
visiting places and people of interest. The less obvious perk of this
specific job happens to be ongoing exposure to the kind of old person I don't want to be. Look me up when we're truly aged to find out how this benefited me or not!Today I had the fortune to traverse the Columbia River Gorge with historian and Professor Emeritus Charlie W. I had a great photo of him standing atop Cape Horn that didn't make the download, so just imagine a spry 85 -year-old gentleman who smiles impishly and often, speaks intelligently and with humor and catalogs facts like nobody's business; the sort who kisses your hand when he greets you and says goodbye.
With Charlie as our guide, we completed a very full day rife with history and facts and information that for the most part never reaches my nether memory regions. What I like about his narratives are what I call hidden gems, the things that I probably should know as a life-long Oregonian but for some reason I don't. The Sandy River was originally named Quicksand River. No joke. Lewis and Clark named Rooster Rock something shorter, more phallic and less agreeable to the Ladies of Crown Point who eventually renamed it Chanticleer Point, the French for Rooster. In Charlie's words, our pornographic rock is uncircumcised and better than Hawaii's rock at Molokaii. The London Plane trees you see planted throughout downtown Portland are cousins of the sycamore; they are planted there and in cities (and at North Bonneville) because they purportedly withstand pollution better than most trees. Incidentally, I must have visited North Bonneville dam several times over as a young Girl Scout, and I wonder how they have managed to keep their bright orange carpet all these years without upgrading to something more forgiving of all their visitor foot traffic. River rocks have water in the middle, so if you want to build a fireplace with them be prepared to x-ray each one for water content so you know it is dry and won't explode when heated. Such was done for the hearth at Skamania Lodge. BPA brought Woody Guthrie out here in the early days of publicizing the development of the Columbia River Basin for electric power; they gave him hotel stays and a car and he wrote 17 songs plus Roll on Columbia in fulfillment of his month-long job. We sang it on the way home - Charlie had the lyrics for us.
Evening
dessert in the garden; that fellow is Fred, a gentleman who comes out
often on trips, served in two wars, and brings me copies of fictional
stories laced with historic anecdotes that he has written inspired by
the places we go on trips
The tidbits go on and on.
It's a good job. What's not to love?
Flora on old Hwy 30 at Multnomah Falls...
Almost like you're trekking down the Alps and there's a Mediterranean hideaway...
first published June 2011
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