The chop got my attention. A toddler in the seat ahead whimpered. He’d fussed and cried for much of the two hour flight. Over tired, I suspect. The last stewardess standing swayed with the pitch and roll of our descent. She buckled in. Soon after, the plane hit the tarmac hard, bounced once, and settled. … More It’s Not Always Rainbows
Early in the winter, successive storms sailed into Oregon. Frigid air stalled their advance and they dropped anchor in the Columbia River Gorge. Walking became difficult. Deep powder clogged the sidewalks and pedestrians were forced to use the street. There, danger lurked as traffic packed the snow and hid slicks of ice. As with most Northwest … More Family Matters …
On the day you arrived, temperatures dropped into the single digits. A winter storm had battered Northwest Oregon for three days. Feathers of dry snow fell in the mountains and throughout the Columbia Gorge. The Hood River Valley, which is named for the town that would be your home, rested under a thick white blanket. … More Notes To My Grandson
Recently, my wife and I visited a U-pick blueberry farm in the upper Hood River Valley. Our son and granddaughter joined us to help with the harvest. Upon arrival, mourning doves crooned in the surrounding forest. A smear of clouds waltzed across the summer sky. An acre of mature bushes, loaded with ripe fruit, beckoned. … More Picking Blueberries
Good Blood, Bad Blood 