Having arrived at our rest, I sat and watched as smoke and mist curled up and past the multi-hued and verdant trees who stood guard over the deep green river. Evergreens and birches interspersed, rose rank after rank toward the bald eagle who soared away from the mouth of the estuary and up river toward Coyote Rock.
Vespers this night was evensong with a winged choir, all wind instruments and no strings, with God showing up and showing off. An otter popped up his head in curiosity, swimming toward us till I walked closer, my hulking figure appearing behind the willowy girls.
Shall I describe the smells too? No, my eyes are still preoccupied with white egrets and grey herons, with ducks whose wings whisked the placid river’s surface, and a seagull on the pier patiently waiting to see what we might leave from dinner.
This was just our destination. We left Nampa yesterday, and stayed in Burns last night where we saw crows harass a great horned owl off his perch above our RV, and toured one of three tipis with the friendly proprietor.
We stopped at a viewpoint before the landscape changed from red to green where my son caught a lizard with a brilliant azure blue under its neck and striping his belly. Six steps from the road the land fell away into a rocky gorge with gnarled trees clinging desperately to crumbling lava. My daughter commented it could have been the Grand Canyon she’s not yet seen, but I was glad for her wonder and didn’t correct her.
There’s no end of surprises on the road. We stopped to snap photos in front of a shoe-laden tree in the middle of nowhere, wondering who planned a trip to ditch their aging shoes, but glad for their spontaneity, which graced the rugged terrain to travelers’ delight.
The road goes ever on, sun shining in my eyes yesterday afternoon and lighting the tips of a few spindly pines ahead of me this morning as they stretched skyward beyond their brothers blanketing the Western Cascades as we left Sisters, OR in our wake. Now instead of gazing upon vast vistas our eyes peered through a tunnel of trees with beams of sunshine winking through as we whipped past.
Soon rain misted our windshield as we wound down from 4,800 feet toward Salem. Moss blanketed the trees like green snow and some sort of brilliant yellow lilies pierced through a sea of grass as we pushed toward Tillamook county.
I’m lying in bed as I write, watching my wife blow dry her hair; thankful for the convenience of power and water amid the wild beauty around us. As she wraps up the cord, I can hear the burbling of the rivulet breaking out of the steeply angled woods across the river.
Morning Prayer on Sunday enjoyed the same choir, with choristers rarely seen except when they flitted from tree to tree. If you’ve ever been in a sanctuary with the choir above and behind you, it was kind of like that. You don’t see the choir you just experience them; one can easily be transported into the heavenly realm.
We left the Oregon Coast and headed toward McMinnville, OR where so many of my ancestors lived. There’s a park here on land donated by my Uncle Tuck. It’s been a weekend of worship and my heart is full as we head home on I-84 along the Columbia River.
This entire experience was made possible by Rent For Fun RV, and we recommend them to you as honest, friendly, reliable, and generous people. Hop on over to their site and see if you can rent an RV for your next memory creating event!