For the last year or so, I have been aware that my paternal grandfather was likely to pass away due to a variety of health conditions. He passed, but luckily I got to see him just before he did. I decided to take that opportunity to take his ashes on a quick little road trip to the Oregon coast. He loved to travel, and I wish I could have known more about all his adventures before he began to lose his memories.
On the drive, I made sure to pull up some old classic country music just to get in my granddad's headspace a little. Why would he and my grandma leave the beautiful Oregon coast and move to the high desert of Eastern Oregon, I wondered.
To my understanding, he met my grandma in Florence, Oregon. I had him tell me about this before he died because I knew I wasn't going to have the chance to ask forever. He told me that he was hitchhiking through Florence after getting out of the Marines, post Korean war. She pulled up in a--Chevy(?) and asked him if he was looking for work. He said yes, and she told him to get in. My grandpa and I pulled out Googlemaps and together we looked at where the family farm was back then. He showed me, I marked it, and he told me that my grandma's dad (great-granddad) personally moved the stream on his land by physically digging it from its original location. I knew my great-grandparents as a child, so it was wild to think that my great-grandad had done such a task. I have no idea if this is true, but its a cool story anyway. Ralph Friedman in Oregon for the Curious says this of Florence circa 1973: "...a Suislaw River-mouth fishing town and a trading post for farmers of the narrow Suislaw Valley. In spring and early summer, rhododendrons run riot over the hills and lowlands and are celebrated in the showy Rhododendron Festival held the latter part of May. Sand dunes rise to heights of 100 ft. between Florence and the ocean. "
Those dunes were present on the beach where I attempted a quick plein air watercolor at sunset. The shadows and sun moved quickly, and by the time it was said and done, I ended up with beautiful photos and a lovely sunset with my granddad's ashes. My grandma's ashes were poured into the ocean in the town north of Florence, which is Newport. It may sound weird, but me and my family aren't exactly the religious type, but certainly I wasn't taking this trip without acknowledging some kind of spiritual significance to the journey.
I tented up at a near by RV park and was next to a nice young couple with sweet doggies. They were very nice and friendly, it was such a welcome experience. This was my first trip camping/traveling alone. It was scary sometimes, but these folks helped remind me there are good people in the world. Even while the world is scary, people can be kind. I left them with the painting and a nice note. I hope they enjoyed it. This trip was a huge milestone, as it was the first time I felt the joy of traveling alone; making my meals and coffee with a Jet Boil whenever I wanted. I could stop whenever I wanted. Just exploring my surroundings on my own terms. I was responsible to no one. No one expected anything from me. After two nights of travel and rest I made it back home.
At last, I understood my grandpa's desire for Eastern Oregon and the high desert, as I pulled through the highways between Juntura and Burns. Breathtakingly beautiful colors and wonderful unique smells of the sagebrush and the musky clay earth. Hard to compare, really.
コメント