The veggies are still exploding with growth. It's too much for our small family of three to eat on our own, and we are "forced" to give much away.

It makes me feel rich. And spoiled. We pull in heaps of dark red tomatoes several times a week. I'm plucking deep red and yellow peppers off the bush. Watching the watermelon and pumpkin mature.  Tossing fresh basil into the stir fry just because we can. Best of all, my daughter has been given no holds barred permission to eat whatever she wants from the garden, whenever she wants, so she does.

I am very grateful for the beauty and wealth in my modest, little slice of life.

I was invited to a pre-Gorge concert gathering for friends of the Marcus Eaton Trio. I’m more like a FAN than a friend, but friend definitely sounds better. I’m actually one of those people who gets tongue-tied and goofy in the presence of someone I admire. I hate that. But… that’s what I do.

 

The Marcus Eaton Trio was scheduled to open all three days in George, Washington, for the Dave Matthews Band who had his annual Labor Day concert in the Columbia Gorge.

I know that hardly anyone has heard of Marcus Eaton (unless you are one of my facebook friends, then you are possibly sick of hearing about him and John Ondrasik, another musician I’m always shamelessly promoting). But just imagine that there’s a musician whose music makes you shout euphoric expletives when that’s not something you normally do. Imagine that there’s a musician whose guitar sings to you so powerfully that your mouth drops open – and you’re listening to that track for the 47^th time.

 

Then imagine that you get to go to somebody’s house in Seattle amongst 30 or so other people who have been invited, and you get to listen to that musician play right smack in front of you. Close enough to pick a fuzz ball off his sweater. Like I said, I get goofy.

 

Even though I had a busy week prior to Thursday (picked up Tara from Mom in Pasco, WA, had an hour and fifteen minute meeting at work on how to improve my performance, worked extra hours to earn a longer Labor Day Weekend)… and even though I had a busy week planned for after Thursday (drive to Boise to spend the weekend with my dad, visit my grandmother, and possibly visit my brother and new baby nephew, Tara’s first day of school on Tuesday, spend Wednesday with my friend Charlie Brown visiting from Flagstaff)…

 

And even though I’m getting old and almost never stay up past 9pm anymore, I begged my supervisor to let me leave work early Thursday and make the insane drive from Portland to Seattle in rush hour traffic. I first picked up my kid who had made a dessert for the potluck (she’s so awesome), and we zoomed northward. We zoomed until about Olympia, till we slowed to a crawl… and varied between a crawl and a creep for the final two hours until we made it to the house northeast of Seattle.

 

We knocked on the door and were welcomed graciously by our hostess whom I had never met or heard of. She was fabulous and introduced her parents to me, and introduced her daughter who bonded with my daughter immediately. I was thrilled to finally meet Kitty in person, who was the one that had invited me. I found it easy to talk to everyone in the group. To my utter delight, I met Marcus at the food table, and he threw his arms around me and said, “Hi!” as though I were a long lost friend. Yes, we’ve met, but I was certain I hadn’t made enough of an impact for him to recall my face. I guess I don’t really care if he only recognized that I was one of his fans, because that one-minute exchange was the highlight of my night. (Ugh, I KNOW! I’m so pathetically fan-like)

 

I got to see the Trio for the first time. It has just worked out so that every time I’ve seen Marcus, he has been solo. I finally had my opportunity to hear Garrett and Kevin close up. And we’re talking… like 8 feet away close up. This was like every backyard potluck you’ve ever been to: I munched carrot sticks and hummus and chicken-and-green pea salad and drank Chardonnay from a clear plastic cup. My kid and the other kids and they had been running in circles and shrieking for a good hour and a half. I was kicked back on patio chairs next to a delightful young woman who also didn’t know anyone there. And the Marcus Eaton Trio was making their music right there. On the same backyard deck. The weather was divine, the moon was bright. I was deliriously happy.

Their music is SOOOooooooo good. I can’t stand it. So good. Why hasn’t everyone had the chance to hear these guys? Why isn’t their stuff on the radio?

 

I met as many people as I could, but I was only there a few hours. They were all WONDERFUL and friendly and fun. Finally T and I were too exhausted to hold it together any longer. (I had been up since 4:30 am) We said our goodbyes and made the long trip home to Portland. I had echoes of that incredible music climbing through my brain and keeping me awake on I-5 southbound. Luckily the trip home with hardly anyone on the road was only 3 hours, compared to 4½ hours going north. We got in a little after 1:00 am.

A few hours later, we got up again and packed the car for our 8 hour drive to my dad’s house.

Spent a leisurely weekend at my dad’s house in southern Idaho over Labor Day weekend (yes, I’m late posting this – sorry!)


Man, I love that place for its peace. The Owyhee desert is too dry, too brown, for me to really love. So it’s simply the environment that my dad and his wife create for visitors. Not to mention the incredible food.

While Mark studied for his geologist certification test, Tara and I went to visit Gramilda and Rex on Sunday. They seem to be doing well. Gramilda was active and in good spirits. She’s going blind. She doesn’t say anything about it, but just doesn’t look at stuff. You know how eyes will follow your talk or your hands in a conversation? I found that interesting, since I’ve never been around a blind person. I am really proud of her for being so strong about it and not complaining.

Tara and I drove on the other side of the Snake River to get a look at her Grandpa and Grandma’s house from that side. When we got back, Pa told me that we had passed rocks with petroglyphs, and didn’t we stop to look at them? Arggh! I would have, if I had known they were there!! It’s a long trip, so we didn’t go back then. But now that I know what to look for, I will go back another day.

We swam in their pool, which was an excellent cool-down in the hot weather. I think if I lived out there, I would have to have a pool too. Tara and I tried swimming in the Snake once. In the summer it’s full of muck and sort of disgusting to swim in. The middle is clear, where the current remains strong, but then… there’s the problem of the current.

Each morning, everyone tumbles out onto the deck in the dark with their coffee and waits for the sun to come up. It’s my favourite peaceful ritual there. Pa and Michelle have stepped up their coffee quality since my last visit. Finally, they aren’t drinking that pale, flavorless yuk they’ve had for so many years. But in any case, the quiet of listening to the birds in the dark, waiting for the sun to climb over the ridge across the water, is great therapy.


This time, however, Pa and Michelle could not stop talking. I don’t know if it’s because of age, or if they’re lonely out there, or if they were nervous about meeting Mark for the first time (except for Grandma Haley’s funeral, which didn’t really count as a visit). Blah blah blah. Mark and I are not so much talkers. We tend to prefer silence in the mornings.


I wondered what they thought of him. I’ve been having reservations about my relationship for the first time, and I’m interested in feedback. I am not so critical of Mark, as I am recognizing that I’m not happy and trying to figure out why. Mark is an awesome person. Truly the most modest and spiritual man I’ve ever been close to. He does things that drive me crazy, but doesn’t everyone’s partner drive them crazy sometimes? He can be a giant, needy, baby…but in my opinion that’s a typical male tendency. I am sure my dissatisfaction is due to my own wonky head, and the reason Mark is on the radar is because I see him every day.

So all too soon the weekend was over, and we had to make the loooong long drive back home along I-84. It’s a full 8 hours. More if you stop to eat or explore. We decided that as long as flight prices stay low, it would be worth it to shell out the money and get two extra days to enjoy, rather than drive.

Oh yeah, one funny: Mark flipped out when I told him I wanted to do a road trip on Labor Day Weekend. “Back in New England, on Labor Day you hunker down and hide because the traffic is so bad. If you can, you don’t leave the house.” “Well, we’re heading through eastern Oregon,” I said. “There probably won’t be much traffic. You know how empty those roads can be. There will be increased traffic, for sure.” Mark laughs, “Oh, so instead of four other vehicles on the road… I’ll see, what, ten?”


Sure enough; the highways were empty empty empty. Man, I love the West.

The Columbia River Gorge is famous for the windsurfing and kitesurfing. And cherries. The landscape is truly remarkable, and the river large and deep enough to accommodate barges and ships from the sea all the way to Idaho – our nation’s most inland seaport. (Yes, Idaho. Seaport. I know, huh?) It’s also the route followed by Meriwether Lewis and William Clark on their sponsored trek to the Western shore. Later, it was part of the Oregon Trail, pointing the direction for many young, brave, determined immigrants who sought a better life.

Today the Columbia River Gorge draws people for lighter reasons, much of the time. Our most recent trip brought our paths across those of long-distance truckers, kids driving off to college in beat up old cars with an assortment of oddly shaped containers roped to the top of the car, elderly couples keeping an eye out for a rest stop or a vista point. On our trip, we saw mainly tourists, recreational adventurers heading either to Mount Hood volcanic peak or to the river for water sports. And, many many Dave Matthews Band fans on their way home from the Concert in the Gorge.

It was an excellent windy day as we passed Viento State Park (ha ha), so we were treated with glimpses of colour all along the river surface. The bright splashes of nylon kites practically sparkled in front of the drab yellow hillsides and slate rockslides of the eastern Gorge.

We found a restaurant in Biggs and ate while we watched with great interest as a large family began loading their gear onto their bikes. There were six of them; Mom, Dad, and a whole passel of young ones. And yes, they were all in their safety gear and ALL climbing onto two amazing, custom bikes.

The woman’s reflective vest had this: 6TZEN, on the back, and Mark tapped it into his iPhone while we watched them through the window. Four small children take a long time to get loaded, which allowed us to quickly read up on the family’s adventures. How Amazing the story!

Please look them up, this is wonderful: http://www.6tzen.org/

A kind, caring, beautiful family from Normandy decided to travel from North America to South America on bikes. Their kids’ ages range from 2 to 6, and all of them share in the pedaling except for little Eva.

Once I found this out, I had to speak with them, so I ran to the car and grabbed the camera and came back to chat. Arnaud wanted some help in choosing which side of the river to travel, and I was worthless for it because I don’t know anything about bicycling. So then he said his specific concern was that his guide showed that part of their route should be on the Interstate. They wanted to know if they should ride on the Interstate. I thought that was a bad idea. A woman was standing near and listening, so we asked her. She was also not a bicyclist, but thought that the Interstate was illegal for bikes. She and I spent a lot of time trying to explain that we were pretty sure that in America, Interstates were not bike friendly.

Arnaud finally brought out his map and I realized I had been an idiot. At least I wasn’t talking like a parent to a three-year-old, like the other lady. But I had assumed that I knew more than they did, at least about four-lane highways and bikes. I did not. They had an amazing bicycling travel guide, which showed routes along every major road, distances, elevations, and places to stop. Turns out, the southern route was not ALL Interstate. Mostly the Old Columbia River Highway, and then just 10 miles along the Interstate till they could cross on a bridge to Bingen. They had it all figured out. They already knew that the busy highway was not an ideal place to ride, but that was the route with the most gradual climbs. All they wanted was a second opinion.

They were gracious and forgiving as I stumbled through my embarrassment and offered to go call the police for them and ask. The other woman went as well, and came back first, when she found someone who could confirm that 10-mile stretch of highway was often used by bicyclists.

The kids were obviously not impressed that they were part of something incredible. They looked bored. Very polite kids, but simply not as amazed about the trip as I was. I laughed inside, thinking of how often it would happen to me that I would go out of my way to do something incredible with Tara, and her big highlight of the week would be that she found a penny, or she saw a squirrel.

I asked them, if their goal was to travel from Quebec to South America, why were they so far West? Why not head south from Quebec? Because the flights are inexpensive to Quebec, answered Arnaud, and because their original plan was to visit the Western US. So, save some money and add on a couple thousand miles, why not? Whew. What a family! They said this plan allowed them to visit Yellowstone Park, and they were very glad they had done it.

So the wonderful family completed their packing up, obliged a couple of photos, and faced West with high spirits.

I found my friend Celia on facebook, who is French, and asked her to help me read the one page I found of this family. I wanted to contact them and offer them a place to stay, since they were heading toward Portland. Celia was extremely helpful in translating what I needed to know to create an account on their French site so I could send them a message. I had no idea where they would be when they checked the Internet next. I sent out my phone number and wished them well.

I never heard anything from them, but found a different site later, which I translated to English. Since then, their own site has been revamped to offer translations, and their blog explains that they found very kind families in this region who were quicker to the punch than I, and were able to share their hospitality and some respite to the world travelers.