Archive for the ‘history’ Category
I didn’t have directions to the 11th Annual UFO Festival but it was easy to find: I simply followed the highway signs to McMinnville, parked the car, and followed the crowd carrying lawn chairs and wearing tinfoil hats. (At the town border I was disoriented by a guy in a Jeep Wrangler flying an enormous confederate flag stenciled with the word “REDNECK”. I though that was incongruous to the nature of the event, then remembered the rich history of American abductees.)
The UFO Festival is held every May to commemorate the Trent UFO Photographs, taken in 1950 by a local farmer that many agree are among the most credible images of a UFO ever captured.
I rarely use the ATM in the garage entrance to the Portland Main Office of U.S. Bank downtown, preferring instead to step inside the lobby and waste the teller’s time—depositing a check I’m sure they’d prefer I used the machine for—just for the opportunity to absorb the atmosphere in the cavernous old branch.
One weekday morning I took a break from work and walked next door (from the old Wells Fargo Building, built 102 years ago; Portland’s first “skyscraper” and host to the downtown Raptor Cam) to use the teller line at the old U.S. Bank. Afterwards, I approached the guard who stands attentively every day in the lobby and asked if I could take a few pictures; were there any restrictions?
In 1955, a group of 55 avid Airstream owners—mostly friends of founder Wally—became charter members of the Wally Byam Caravan Club. During that year, the largest Airstream caravan in history was launched to Mexico.
Ralph’s Norwegian grandmother Odne and her husband George were part of the historic WBCCI Western Mexico Winter Caravan of ’55. During our visit to Detroit Lakes, Ralph’s mother—Odne’s daughter—dug through a box of keepsakes and produced Odne’s journals about the trip that winter, handwritten in notebooks she purchased along the way.
Update the cultural references and much of her chronicle could be written about an Airstream caravan in 2010 (though hopefully highway conditions have improved by today).
The Utah scenery abruptly vanished when the wind kicked up and created a brownout of smoke and grit from Provo to Ogden so thick we could barely see the huge temple in downtown SLC. People everywhere were apologizing. (“It’s never like this!”) A crusty guy in line at the gas station convenience store reported that “one of the islands in the lake”—what on earth could he have been talking about—was on fire due to a lightning strike.
When a state park is downgraded to a county park it falls into a bureaucratic black hole for a period, making it impossible to find online or otherwise. Such was the fate of Fort Buenaventura, which we finally discovered hidden behind the railroad yard.
When I moved to Portland twenty years ago I thought the Oregon Trail was, well, in Oregon. I’m embarrassed that I was surprised to encounter historic aspects of the trail (and signs of Lewis and Clark) in almost every Western state we visited.
Fort Laramie in Wyoming is (according to the Smithsonian Guide to Historic America, our roadtrip reference bible) one of the West’s most important forts. As a trading post in the 1840s it became a popular stop on the Oregon Trail, one-third of the way to the promised land and the first place to swap an ox in 300 miles. Today, it’s restored to appear the way it looked back in the day and “provides a glimpse of a bygone military era”.
Viewed a lot of faded, listing old buildings that would be condemned if they weren’t in a historic guidebook. Seriously. Who did they blow? This excursion required a lot of steering around in the heat looking for unmarked abandoned buildings and nonexistent cemetery headstones. Always a nervous driver and/or passenger, Ralph exclaimed “uh oh!”, “watch out!” and “godammit!” for 14 hours until my nerves were shot. We fought from Wasco to Fossil to Shaniko.
The jewel in the crown was supposedly Hardman, which we drove three hours out of our way to see and was revealed to be an unmitigated dump that the guidebook called “one of the most scenic and charming” places to visit in the Northwest.
The state park in Hammond Oregon is near yet another old coastal fort, built to protect the entrance to the Columbia River (sister to the fort on the Washington side at Cape Disappointment). It was bright and clear when we explored Fort Stevens, the little military museum, and rusted shipwreck on the beach. Ripley tirelessly chased seagulls up and down the sand. We vowed to go back next year, and bring our bicycles.
Ralph made a seductive picture starting a fire at the campsite, brandishing a ball peen hammer and using a screwdriver as an awl (“Look at me honey, I’m f’ing Abraham m-f’ing Lincoln!”), cigarillo dangling from his lower lip, bourbon in a plastic cup.
I heard a Fred Meyer ad on the radio, suggesting gift ideas prior to Father’s Day. “What do dads like?” began the announcer, implying that the listener should start a checklist. “Playing sports, and especially watching sports. And watching historical epics.” (Master and Commander or something was just out on video.)
Given. But, why do men love history? And women can take it or leave it (in my case, absolutely leave it)? Yes, of course, some women enjoy history, but even the blog for the American Association of University Women acknowledges this stereotype in a post that fumes about the gender bias of bookstores that sort the history magazines in the “men’s interest” section.
Spent the afternoon walking in the footsteps of the Great Armistice Day Wobbly Massacre or something like that. This is what passes for fun when you date a Master of History. Actually, enjoyed looking for an old hotel front—from which the “famous” first shot was taken that fateful day in 1919—and chatting up the geezers in the American Legion Hall where there is more flag decor displayed than Fourth of July week at Fred Meyer. Later, ate burgers at the historic Olympic Club and got some new Nikes at the outlet mall. Really roughing it this weekend.
Operative word: WET. We were lucky to secure a site at the Cape Disappointment state park, formerly Fort Canby state park. We stayed snug in the DWR, looking out the wide windows at the cold wind and slashing rain that suited the landscape; weather that certainly contributed to the name “Cape Disappointment”.
We ventured into the tempest to visit nearby forts (there isn’t a fort that Ralph doesn’t love), the Lewis and Clark interpretive center built on top of part of Fort Canby, the giant oyster shellbeds in Wilapa Bay, and the Cranberry Museum; the kind of infinitely informative and satisfying activities you never make time to enjoy unless you’re camping.