Day Seventeen: Seattle, Washington, to Portland, Oregon

Demand refund for lack of view.

Wednesday 9 October -- On day 16, I fell asleep in a tenth-floor room overlooking lovely Lake Washington, with a view that stretched for miles, covering lake, villages, docks and trees.  On day 17 (the 9th of October), I awoke to a view of absolutely nothing at all.  White, white fog covered the windows as effectively as the most expensive blackout curtains.  I may have been able to see my hand at the end of an outstretched arm, but I couldn’t see my balcony railing.  Seattle is fun!  Spoiler alert:  all clear before noon.

D.N., happy the fog is lifting.

After breakfast with my godmother, I was back on the road, the giant interstate route 5, headed for Portland – the one in Oregon, not the one in Maine (funny story about that, but not my own).  I drove into the Madison Park neighborhood and stopped to take a look around the park, which includes a botanical garden or arboretum, and the upscale little shops.  The leaves had barely started to turn in Seattle in early October.  The shops were almost all non-chain stores, including Oh, Chocolate!, where I stocked up on thank-you gifts.

Their dad encouraged them to pose for a picture,
so I snapped one.

They seemed to be luncheoning together.

There is a restaurant called Café Flora in Madison Park whose menu sounded wonderful.  I was about two-thirds through it before I realized there was no meat on it.  It’s a vegetarian restaurant that doesn’t fuss about it’s vegetarian-ness.  This is my preferred style, and they had a sandwich described thus:  “Grilled Tieton Farm Halloumi cheese and Martin Family peaches served open faced on Columbia City focaccia with almond arugula pesto, Marcona almonds, fresh basil and a drizzle of Rockridge Orchard wild flower honey.”  I realize that at least two of the reading audience are making retching noises about now, but this sounds 100% wonderful and delightful to me, so in I went.

Café Flora had not yet changed the summer menu posted in their window for the autumn menu served in their restaurant.  So I had a black-bean burger with yam fries, which was excellent if not nearly so original as peach-and-halloumi.

The fog, as mentioned earlier, had cleared entirely by the time I finished lunch.  So as I drove steeply up Madison to Summit Street, and crested that hill, I had a great view of the plunging downhill toward Puget Sound.  The giant interstate 5 was less picturesque, and I got boxed in by trucks! which is a weird sensation after a week and a half of driving in western prairies and the Alaskan interior.  Still wanting to keep an eye on the lovely sound, I ducked and wove through the traffic, but by the time I had a clear view from the highway, I was by the airport.  I know some people find airports lovely, but I far prefer clear blue water, so boo.

Except – a few exits later, glancing east, I know that has got to be Mount Ranier, shrugging off the clouds and rising above.  I demand a scenic overlook from the universe, but it does not respond, so I take an exit and wend and weave through what are probably not the highest-rent parts of Tacoma.  After a few auto-body shops, I notice a set of stairs at the dead-end of a side street.  One perhaps-not-perfectly-legal u-turn and a steep climb later, and I’ve got Ranier in front of me, gorgeously forbidding.  I understand entirely why people feel compelled to climb that mountain, but I am perfectly happy to leave it alone, as the Athabaskan of Alaska did with Denali (according to the Museum of the North), avoiding walking on it or even saying its name.  Sacred things were best kept quiet and undisturbed in their culture.

How about you?  Any urge to start climbing?

How about now?

Moving south, the foliage seems farther along than it did in Seattle.  I’m also moving inland, so that’s probably a factor as well.  By Olympia, the hills are bedecked in harvest colors, and the small city looks very nice, with its capital dome surging above the tree line like a miniature mountain.  The southern part of the state is generally beautiful, and mixes cows, uncultivated land, cultivated fields and the occasional industrial complex.  At Mount Saint Helens (you remember the eruption of 1980, right?), there’s a sign indicating a tourist attraction somewhere off the interstate, with directions to “inquire locally.”  I picture hordes of out-of-state cars rolling down some Main Street, windows open, with tourists poking out of each one calling, “Excuse me...”

Getting closer to Oregon, there are fewer signs of cultivation, woods and wilds predominate.  I cross over the Columbia River to enter Oregon, then turn west for Portland, and a mile or two later cross the river again, this time via a huge, multi-layered bridge crossing a vast rail terminal and river port.  Then the GPS instructs me on how to get to K.B.’s house in a residential neighborhood several miles from ‘downtown,’ and I’m into the friendly havoc of a household with five kids, from nursing baby to about 12.  They’ve got no pets, though, so the havoc is a lot friendlier than it was in my childhood home.  She claims the no-pets is because of an allergic kid; one takes leave to doubt, given the beauty and tidiness of her home.  I love dogs, and I’d be reluctant to let one in to that comfortable and ordered space.

When I mentioned to my godmother that K.B. has five kids, she said something to the effect of, “Goodness, so many.”  I noted that both she and my mother had five, and she answered, with absolute sincerity, “Yes, but we didn’t know any better.”  I couldn’t stop myself laughing.  She was so genuinely astounded to think of anyone who could prevent it having as many kids as she’d had.  (Note:  I was my mother’s fourth, and I’m pretty sure she was thrilled to have a large family.  I mean, theoretically thrilled, if not always actually delighted by the havoc and the adolescents and everything that went with them.)

The Demon Baby of Bethany loves him some havoc.

K.B.’s BFF, another K., had parked her eldest with her friend for the day while she celebrated her wedding anniversary.  All of these kids are wonderfully well-mannered and sociable.  I honestly do not believe I behaved anything like as well as they do when I was their age, or was as gracious with guests.  My parents held vestiges of the belief that children should be seen and not heard, and we got put to work when people came over.  Those might be factors.  I also think my friends are more likely to treat their children, with allowances for developmental stages, as full members of society, with the privileges and responsibilities that pertain thereto.  When I was a child, I definitely felt that I was, by dint of my age, less important and less valuable than adults were.  I also tended to feel a bit like a performer:  see how tall I am, and what long hair I have.  I am in whateverth grade and can read and spell and dance.

However... K. grew up in Montana, and K.B. and I had been discussing the prevalence of casinos there, so K.B. said to her best buddy, “I never knew you were reared in a den of iniquity.”  K. told us all Montanans celebrate their 21^st birthdays at the local restaurant/gas station/convenience store, playing computer slots.  I celebrated mine at my parents’ house, with a roast beef dinner, because my brother was there with a male friend, and men need red meat.  Later I made my own birthday dinner, with a cheese soufflé, whole wheat baguette and asparagus.

K.B. made dinner for all of us.  She baked potatoes, first rubbing them with olive oil and then rolling them in kosher salt.  This is an excellent potato-baking technique.  We topped them with butter and cheese and sour cream, and dished up a big green salad on the side.  An excellent feast.  One of the kids said grace first.  I don’t usually say grace before meals, but I’m trying to get in the habit.  Offering thanks for what sustains ones, to whomever or whatever one offers those thanks, seems a sensible thing to do.

K.B.’s husband and I made up my bed on the living room couch.  I love sleeping on couches, especially one this generously-sized.  It makes me feel like one of the family.