East and West

Vivid Color on the west ascent of the Ochocos-Highway 26

I recall, as a young woman, cresting the Cascade Mt. Range at the Willamette Pass and descending into a veritable paradise of lush green everywhere. I truly felt as if L. Frank Baum, may have patterned his OZ after the green of that corridor down to Eugene, as much a magical place to a kid from Klamath Falls as OZ was to Dorothy. I later found lush greenness everywhere to be too true as I battled the often present mold and slugs. In the Klamath Falls and the family ranch outside of Alturus, our big problems were dust and sowbugs. I grew to hate both. When I graduated from high school, I was over the mountain and working in Springfield before I turned 19. I married several times and raised my children west of the Cascades. But, through all of my years in the valley, I brought home juniper and sagebrush each time I went to visit my mother in Bend.

Looking north from Ritter Butte, on 395 just north of Long Creek

Now, in another lifetime, I find myself willingly settled in one of the most remote places in the lower 48 states, or so someone told me.  Some might call it going home again. I don’t know. There is much that is different and a lot that is the same. But this is what I do know. Once a person drives through Prineville, traffic decreases by the mile until it slows to a rare car passing by  then dwindles to nothing.Each time I crest the Ochocos and my eyes fall on those endless, bareboned hills, I breath a sigh of relief.   The descent into Eastern Oregon is sudden on all levels.

Descent east side of Ochocos

The road descends sharply through rock shedding cuts on the north and a stunning ranch running along on the valley floor below. The ranch road meets the highway at the bottom of the descent, framing a neatly kept orchard. The radio sputters itself to death. And I ride in silence through another kind of beauty: endless, strong under a sky that is often as lush in blue as the green of OZ. Truly, if a modern day Saul were to have a conversation with God, this highway would be the place to do it. I love every mile. Sometimes, I will vear off at Mitchell on 206 to 19, east and off on 402 up through Monument, to Long Creek. Truly, this is a wondrous drive if you can stomach the road that hairpins down along Service Creek and across the North Fork of the John Day where the two join.

view on 206 above Mitchell and east of the Painted Hills

Usually, though, I continue my drive down 26 until it joins 19 at the entrance to picture canyon and the John Day National Monument, Sheep Rock Unit.  I like to stop at the overlook and see what kind of sky there is. The last shot of this blog is one I took upon returning from Bend and trying to recover from the shock of Becca’s death and the worry for my daughter Arwen, down in Melbourne while wildfires raged all around. Always, when I stop at this overlook, I recieve ample reward.

Sunset as seen from Overlook of Picture Canyon and Geological formations

No human, nor any living thing, survives long under the eternal sky. The most beautiful women, the most learned men, even Mohammed, who heard Allah’s own voice, all did wither and die. All is temporary. The sky outlives everyting. Even suffering.*

*Bowa Johar, Balti poet, and grandfather of Mouzafer Ali
as quoted in Three Cups of Tea, Greg Mortenson and David Oliver Relin
New York: Peguin Books 2006