This past Monday, September 5th, was our 30th anniversary. My husband and I met on the first day of seventh grade. We had several classes together that year and became casual friends. We remained that through the rest of Junior High and High School. After that, we went on to our post-HS education; he in electronics engineering and me in medical assisting. But when June of 1979 came along I was working at Tower Records. That night I was working the register when I heard a voice say, "Are you ready for a blast from your past?" I looked up and immediately recognized him. We started dating and, on September 5, 1981, we were married. Ten years later we had a daughter. It's been a pretty good thirty years. Hopefully, there will be thirty more -- at least.
For our anniversary weekend getaway, we decided to visit The Dalles in Oregon, an area that had been talked up by a few friends and that we'd never been to before. The biggest problem we have with our anniversary weekends is that it falls on the last weekend of the summer. Somehow we usually manage to avoid the great majority of the traffic. This past weekend was, happily, no exception.
We got a late start and, running into the only traffic of the weekend on our original route, we backtracked and went another way. It took us 3 hours to reach our first stop along Interstate 84 on the Oregon side of the river:
Multnomah Falls is the first great falls along the waterfall highway. There were quite a lot of people there to view the awe-inspiring falls, an impressive 611 feet from top to bottom, 542 of which comprises the upper cascade.
Traffic along the Interstate was incredibly light and we made it to The Dalles in time for dinner and a soak in the hot tub. The hotel was nice but had one problem - a bed that was apparently salvaged from an Inquisitor's dungeon. I've slept in many hotel beds in my life but never have I had to get out of one and sleep in a chair. When we checked with the Front Desk on Sunday morning, they were very conciliatory and put us in one of the recently remodeled and updated rooms. High marks for that.
After an excellent breakfast, we headed off to the Columbia Gorge Discovery Center. As is our habit, the first thing we usually do in any new place is to visit the museum or equivalent. The CGDC had both, as the Wasco County Museum is housed in the same building.
Greeting us at the front desk as we entered was this little guy: Hank is a male kestrel who had been orphaned as a chick. Being raised by humans meant that he had imprinted on humans. Consequently, he preferred to be among people and served as the Center's official greeter.
The Discovery Center has a raptor program and they house several birds. That day, besides Hank, we met...
Jack the Raven who can repeat 2 words; hello and gentle. The latter he says just before he pecks. A raven who understands irony... cool.
Grumpy, Great-Horned owl. He was quite placid and let me very close.
Killer, a female Red-Tailed hawk
Pearl, a female kestrel. Her wing had been set badly by a non-avian vet but she seemed to be getting her flap back.
Our next destination was Maryhill. Here, there is an art museum and a replica of Stonehenge, which overlooks the Columbia in a beautiful setting. We'd long wanted to visit the site and, after stopping briefly at the museum - which was closing - and touring the sculpture garden, we drove anotehr 4 miles to Stonehenge II.
It's quite impressive. If one has been to the original henge, this one functions as a sort of, "Oh, so that's what it would have looked like" example. As it is not on the exact latitude, it doesn't work correctly as a calender, however. Still, wandering among the menhirs in the late afternoon light was an experience. There weren't very many other people there, either. The larger stones also serve as a memorial for Washingtonians who died in WWI:
Another visitor explained that the names on the plaques bore no military rank as Sam Hill, the creator of the monument, was a Quaker and did not hold with ranks or titles. The lady who informed us of this fact was herself a Quaker and we had a brief conversation about the Friends.
As we drove back to our hotel, we looked for a nice restaurant to have dinner. We were surprised to see that none were open. It was only 6:00 PM on Sunday of a holiday weekend. Having grown up in Las Vegas, we were aghast that such an opportunity was being squandered. Oh well, the hotel had a restaurant and their breakfast had been good, so... I judge all "American/Family Style" establishments by their chicken-fried steak. This one passed with flying colors.
The next morning we headed home. At one point, thinking we were getting onto the scenic loop for the waterfalls, we ended up on a winding, narrow road that gradually climbed higher. Now, I have a severe phobia of mountain roads, especially narrow, winding ones. I got more and more tense until it became apparent that this road was going to climb higher. I panicked and my wonderful husband acted immediately, backing down the road until he could get turned around. Luckily there were no other cars nearby. Once we got back onto the Interstate and my heart rate returned to normal, I consulted the map and found the loop we were seeking.
Now we ran into traffic. It was Monday, Labor Day and our official anniversary date. I guess the latter didn't matter to anyone but us because we were only able to stop at one other waterfall along the route. But what a fall!
Horsetail Falls is only (compared to Multnomah) 192 feet but every foot of it is beautiful. It drops into a lovely pool in a wooded glade, as enchanting as any waterfall could ever be. The erosion at the base reveals the fascinating basalt columns, much like the ones near the Gorge in Washington, further north.
We made it home in time for BBQ courtesy of our in-laws. Good thing because were were really too tired to cook. But after dinner I had one more surprise in store for me. Calling me into the living room of my Mother-in-Law's house, my husband reached down to open a guitar case (ah... now the title of this makes sense!). He prefaced his opening of it with, "I can't replace the one that was stolen...." and opened it up to reveal a gorgeous black Les Paul. It looked very much like the one that was taken from me many years ago by an ex-room mate. That had been a LP Custom 50th Anniversary model (worth so much now that it makes me ill to think about it). This one wasn't the same but it was damned close.
To say that I was happy would be understating it. I would never have guessed that I would be gifted with another beautiful guitar so soon after the one I received on my birthday last January. I'm not even that good. But my husband believes I can be. And, after 30 years, who am I to argue?