Oregon on fire

“Fire on the Mountains”

            SANDY, OREGON  --  Up until five hours ago, I didn’t know Oregon had a Sandy. Not only do they have one, but Kay and I are staying at the town’s Best Western located behind a McDonalds and Taco Bell.

            We generally don’t stay in a hotel/motel without first making reservations. We were forced to barge into this Best Western unannounced, because we never anticipated needing to stay overnight in a town with a little girl’s name.

It’s perfectly okay to name your child after a city, but cities should never be named after a child – Tommy, Ronnie, Jill, Sandy… How on earth is a high school supposed to come up with a mascot with names like that? – The Fighting Tommy Trains! The Clawing Sandy Crabs!

Try to forget all of that. This story is not about Sandy. It’s about Crater Lake. Tonight, we had reservations at a Lodge in Crescent, OR… home of the Fighting Crescent Wrenches. Crescent is a town near Crater Lake. Kay had booked us a room for two nights, with an option for a third.

We were headed for Crater Lake at the urging of Jim Jackson. Jim is a friend at church. When he heard we were going to be staying in the Northwest for a few months, he told us to visit Crater Lake. Didn’t ask us. Told us. – “You’ve gotta go! Don’t come home until you’ve seen it! Most beautiful place ever!”

Due to Jim’s constant carrying-on, Kay and I incorporated a trip to Crater Lake after our visit with my sister, Susan, and her husband Col. Don in Tacoma. The average citizen of Tacoma owns two cars and drives each at the same time. I’ve been trapped on the Southwest Freeway out of Houston, and I’ve sat in traffic on I-10 at the end of the day on a Friday. Yet, none of that compares to Tacoma at practically any time of the day. Every highway in and around Tacoma is too often in rush-hour mode. Same with Seattle.  

Kay and I had a great visit with Sue and The Col, but after our short stay, everything went all Targaryon us. I calculated that we could travel the 340 miles to Crater Lake in six hours. Turns out, after six hours we were still stuck in Portland. Let it be known that our slow go had nothing to do with the fact that Kay was navigating. Little to do with that.

My wife is a jewel. I love her dearly. Yet, she has two flaws. She will not argue, which makes it absolutely impossible for me to vent. The second thing is that, while navigating, she’s good at telling me what road I missed… but only if I ask. – “What? Uh, oh. You missed the exit a mile back.”

In truth, while navigation was a major problem, it didn’t have a lot to do with my lovely navigator. The major problem Monday was the fact that everything was burning. The first fire encounter had to do with a truck-fire in the middle lane of I-5.  If you’re going to catch fire on the freeway, you need to combust on one of the far lanes. That way the police might allow cars to pass on the opposite far lane. That makes a bad situation almost tolerable. In this case, the police closed both sides of the freeway.

After an hour of inching down the road, we arrived at a point where the freeway was blocked, and the four lanes of traffic had to funnel down to one lane feeder. The problem with the “detour” was that there was no indication of where to go next. The feeder was bumper to bumper, as were all side streets.

The roads going south were blocked because of forest fires. The haze of smoke had been a menace during most of our stay in Washington. Washington, Montana, Utah, Oregon, and California are on fire. Not the entire states, you understand. It just seems that way. The Northwest is experiencing a drought. Seattle hasn’t had rain for at least three months. It’s the worst drought in Seattle’s history of droughts. (Seattle has received rain since the publication of this article.)

After six hours on the road, we pulled into West Linn, a small town a couple of miles southeast of Portland. It was here that we entered Shari’s Café and Pies. We brought our map, phone, and independent GPS device inside the place so we could plot our next move.

While inside the restaurant, I tackled a smart-looking man and begged his help in mapping a route to Crater Lake. He squeezed into the booth next to me, because Kay’s purse was preventing him from snuggling with her. The man turned out to be a meteorologist for the state. He immediately pulled up a satellite view of Crater Lake on his cell, and showed us the fires on three sides of the park. He told us that the entrance to the park might still be accessible, but the lake would be hiding beneath a cloud of smoke.  

He then informed us that it could conceivably rain tomorrow, which might kill the fires, thus making everything right as rain. Instead of slapping him, I chose to shoo him out of the booth. Fortunately, at least one Oregonian meteorologist has a good sense of humor.

 Having no hope for rain in the foreseeable future, we plotted a route back home, and managed to drive 24 miles to Sandy in a little under two hours. Hopefully we’ll go farther than that tomorrow. Not to worry, there’s a Taco Bell just across the parking lot.

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You can contact Mark at hayter.mark@gmail.com. You can locate  articles you may have missed by visiting Mark’s Wayback Machine at  http://markhayterscolumn.blogspot.com.

On aging

Young Old

           

            GRANDVIEW, WA – I was sitting on a wire bench at the Walmart Pharmacy in Sunnyside waiting for someone to call my name. I had my doctor call my drug order into the Sunnyside Walmart, because I didn’t have the phone number for the pharmacy at our Dairy Queen. Did I ever mention that Grandview is a small town?

After a 20 minute wait in the line for pills, I was told to report to the drop-off line. Odd, because I had been told over the phone that my pills were ready, so I had nothing to drop-off. I suppose I should’ve immediately walked to the front of the to assure that I was in the right line. I think only one or two in line ahead of me would've pummeled me. Washingtonians are a generally nice people. They're just not all that gullible.  

After a short wait in the drop-off line, the pharmacy lady asked for my insurance card. I was an idiot not to think that the insurance card goes to the "drop-off" line. The lady then politely told me to wait until my name was called. I had heard no names called during my wait, so figured she was just messing with me.

When I asked her if she was messing with me, she pointed to the waiting-bench. The pharmacists at Conroe's Kroger never told me to sit. When Martha saw me, she would run over, smile, and ask how Kay and I were doing. All the while she’d be checking the computer for my prescription info.  

So, there I was 2300 miles from home sitting on a bench in Walmart, studying shoe inserts on nearby shelves. You would not believe the variety of shoe inserts available in this country. That’s exactly what I was thinking when a lady, pushing a cart in which a youngster was riding wheeled up and remarked, “Grandma’s tired, so I’m going to sit here on the bench and wait.” The boy in the cart said, “You mean you're going to sit next to the old man?”

The old man? My time had arrived. I know I’m old, but that’s the first time I heard anyone described me as such. I would’ve preferred he called me “The man in the green shirt.” -- Kids! Are they cruel or what? Grandma said, “Jackson! That is so rude. Now, apologize to the man.”

Even though I was crying inside, I started fake-laughing. When the chips are down, I can be a fairly convincing laugher. Jackson had no idea why he had to apologize, but he did tell me he was sorry. I told him it was okay because I was an old man. I asked him how old he was, and he had to think about it before holding up four fingers and then adding his thumb. I said, “Five.” He said, “Yes, fife.”

At the age of fife, I could say my age without the use of any appendages. Of course, since I’ve become an “old man” I’ll likely forget how old I am in the not too distant future.

I did some research today and discovered that in Canada they have assigned old people into three categories. The first phase (65 to 74) is called “Young Old.” The second (75-84) is “Middle-Old.” The third (85 and beyond) is called “Old-Old.” When you get on in age, I recommend you not move to Canada. Those people will depress the daylights out of you. 

Even though Jackson's label cut me deep, I’m still glad I got to meet him. He was a good talker, showing signs of near-intelligence. For example, he had a black smudge on the tip of his nose and his grandmother called him Rudolph the Red Nose Reindeer. I thought that odd, because the dirt wasn’t red. I said, “You mean Rudolph the Dirt Nose Reindeer.” The kid corrected me. “No, I’m Jackson the Dirt Nose Reindeer.”

It was during our discussion on superheroes that I heard my name called. Sure enough, a lady behind the pick-up counter was motioning for me to pass everyone in line and pick up my prescription. I imagine she only did that as a courtesy to a Young Old man.

While standing just outside the pharmacy-area waiting for Kay to show up, I heard, “Goodbye, mister!” I turned to see the dirt-nosed kid. “Goodbye, Brandon!” I said. He corrected me. “No, I’m Jackson!”

All of those in the vicinity of the pharmacy heard me holler, “Right! And, I’m Mark!” It was my intention to make Jackson think I was joking about forgetting his name. Truth is I was doing good to come up with “Brandon.”.

 Jackson’s reply was drowned out by Kay walking up with a cart containing most of the groceries on her list. That made me super glad I waited with Jackson, because I got to miss out on the shopping. I have hated shopping ever since I was Middle Young.

end

You can contact Mark at hayter.mark@gmail.com. You can revisit Mark’s articles all the way back to 2009 at http://markhayterscolumn.blogspot.com.

Harvey

“Should’ve being there”

            GRANDVIEW, WA – I feel so guilty for not suffering along with you guys. The area in and around my hometown experienced the worst flood ever, while I’m living in an irrigated valley in the middle of a desert.  

            Had my sister Sue not invited Kay and me to come to Washington for a few-month visit, we would now be living with Jill in LaPorte. At the height of the disaster. I called Jill to ask how she was doing. She said she had enough potato chips to last a good while. Had I been there, that would not have been the case.

Jill told me that her street was flooded, and the water had just overflowed the giant drainage ditch next to her house and was only a few feet from her door. There was nothing I could’ve done for her, but I needed to be there. Jill told me not to worry. She said, “If the house floods, it floods. If it doesn’t, it doesn’t.”   

            Turns out, within the next hour or two, the rain subsided a bit and the drainage ditch was able to do its job. The water receded, never again to escape the ditch. That’s pretty much the story for my entire family. Everyone came out if it with little or no damage.

            Wednesday, Big Al was able to get to the new subdivision where our house is being built. He told me there was no indication of flooding. If you live in a house that didn’t flood during this storm, there’s a pretty good chance it’s not going to… at least for a few years. There is a chance the 500 year floodplain will be demoted to a five year floodplain.

            When the hurricane went past Beaumont, I imagined it would go up and circle around Kentucky and re-enter the Gulf at Apalachicola, FL. It would then circle around again and come up I-45.

Speaking of a hurricane circling, how on earth can the Weather Bureau predict that a hurricane is going to backup, reenter the Gulf and then circle around and then head for Beaumont?  I’m beginning to think there’s more to this science thing than a lot of people believe.

            The only thing Kay and I have suffered up here is a lack of news. We were only able to get the 5:30 national news from CBS and NBC. (By the way, we get the 5:30 news at 7:30.) I hate to say it, but the local channels in this area weren’t big on reporting the hurricane. After the national news, our nearest TV station opened with a story about how the city decides where to put traffic signs around a school zone. You’ve got your hurricane; we’ve got our “Slow Children Walking” signs.  

            I have learned a lot from watching small town local news. In fact, I’ve determined that I could be a good small town weatherman. I've got the facial expressions nailed. I know my geography. I can even point at a map in the general direction of Yakima.

            I just imagine you’ve been saturated with a 24 hour rehash of news. I would’ve tired of all of that during Hurricane Ike, but we didn’t have electricity for nearly eight months, so didn't get any news. (Seemed like eight months

.) Dennis said that he never lost electricity during Harvey, but he did lose his cable provider. With his old antenna, the only channel he could raise was the Walker Texas Ranger Channel. That alone is cause to evacuate.

            Kay and I did get a lot of storm news off Facebook. We learned what was happening with our friends. I don’t know if you read my old friend Brad Meyer’s posts. He had pictures of the water from the small lake in his subdivision. He mentioned that the pier floating in his backyard belonged to his neighbor.

            Brad also shared a list of observations he made during the storm. They were the most candid and worthwhile of anything else I read or heard about the disaster. He posted it on Facebook on August 30. Give it a read.

            While Brad’s coverage was a well-written, serious response to Harvey, I have tried to  tackle the subject in a lighthearted manner. I realize that for some of you it’s near impossible to find humor in anything related to what you’ve experienced.

I wrestled with the notion of using a no-nonsense approach to such a severe happening. But, I thought a lighter view of the time might be slightly uplifting. – What am I saying? If I had been there, and was forced to crawl into Jill’s attic to knock a hole in the roof so we could be hauled up in a wire basket, I would’ve still found some humor in the experience. It’s the same reason we find ourselves laughing with friends at funerals, as we remember the life of a loved one. It’s the stuff that keeps me marginally sane.

end

You can reach Mark at hayter.mark@gmail.com

total elipse

“My Moon Moving Experience”

 

            GRANDVIEW, WA – Back in March, Kay got us motel reservations at a place right in the path of last week’s total eclipse. Every hotel, B&B, rent house, doghouse, outhouse… had already jacked their prices way up there. But due to her due diligence, sticktoativeness, and true grit, Kay managed to find a room for under $200 in a small town outside of Nashville.

            That was back in March. Some of you may recall that since then, the forces that be (Kay) set in motion a scheme that put us here in Washington to wait out the completion of a new house in Conroe. So, stay with me here, instead of driving 800 miles from Texas to Tennessee to reach our reserved room, we would have to travel 2400 miles from Washington to Tennessee.

The question we had to ask ourselves was, “Considering the center path of the total eclipse was now 186 miles south of us, was a 2400 mile-drive to Ruby Jewel’s B&B worth the time, effort and expense?” 

A change of plans is no big deal for a person who is flexible as all get out. (Mark) You cancel the Tennessee reservations and make new reservations for a hotel in Oregon. – Excuse me just a second. – Sorry, I just lost it for a moment. Where was I? Oh, yeah, hotel reservations in Oregon. I’m here to tell you that pandemonium took a two week stop in the Northwest during this entire eclipse thing.

More than a few motels actually cancelled reservations for those who had reserved rooms months in advance and then resold the rooms at 20 times the original price. There is fine print that allowed some managers to do that legally, but many decided that any backlash from their illegal actions would be worth the added revenue.

            Farmers turned their recently harvested fields into campgrounds. Tent-sized plots were going for $25 to $300. No water, roads or other amenities were provided. I take that back. I did see a few port-a-potties in one area. Regardless, the hillsides were packed.

            I heard the story from Bend, Oregon about a guy who lived on a cul-de-sac and leased spots in his driveway for people to spend the night in their cars. I’m assuming all of the 24 hour Wal-Mart parking lots were full. All over the state, gasoline was in short supply. Prices at restaurants and greasy spoons shot way up there. Ruby Jewel’s was looking much better. 

Not to worry, Kay and I would switch to Plan B. A few hours before the eclipse, we would drive into Oregon, see the eclipse and then turn around and drive back. Easy peasy… and just as stupid as it could be.  

The news out of Oregon was that 30 mile long traffic jams were stopping traffic in all directions, and this was three days before the eclipse! Oregon state troopers said there would be no parking on the shoulder of the roads or on the grass. Vehicles on the shoulder would impede emergency vehicle access. Cars on the grass might start grass fires.

            Plan C:  Stay in Grandview and view the 97% eclipse. How big a deal can three percent sunlight be? Kay managed to order 20 pair of eclipse glasses in preparation for the viewing. That was two too few for all of the Washington family that showed up. Hey, you get bed, breakfast, lunch and supper, a restroom, shower and an above ground swimming pool. It’s party time!

            Turns out, we had the best time ever. Apparently, during a solar eclipse people get a little ditzy. I don’t remember if what was being said was all that funny, but we sure did laugh a lot. The things you can do with a pair of blinding glasses. You can play “Guess who just pinched you.” – “Catch the apple.” – “Name what you just ate.”

            During all the fun, we found it necessary to assign one adult as the designated child observer. – “No, no, hold the glasses horizontally! Put ‘em across your nose and use both lenses. And, no, we don’t play who-can-look-at-the-sun-the-longest-without-the-safety glasses. Uncle Mark, I expected better of you.”

            After the eclipse died away, four-year-old Bella asked if it was okay to now look at the sun without the glasses. This inspired some nitwit to respond, “Wait a minute. Were we supposed to use glasses?” Again I got yelled at.

            That night, PBS had a special on the total eclipse. The testimonies of those who witnessed the event were awe inspiring. “You can’t exaggerate the wonderfulness of the experience.” – “I cried. I really did.” – “Everyone must see it at least once. It will change you forever.”

            You know what would change me forever? The thought that I once paid $4200 for two nights at the Clean Beds Inn in Felltree, Oregon, or had to pay a $250 ticket for parking on the shoulder of highway 97 in Oregon, and another $375 for wetting on the shoulder of the road while pretending to check the oil.  

            No question, it was sad to be that close to a total eclipse without getting to see it. If I’m still around in 2024, I’ll get another chance as another total eclipse heads on a path throu

gh Austin, Waco, Dallas and Texarkana. You ask me, between now and then, you might want to flip a house in Waco and rent it, the front and back yards, and the driveway to the people from Oregon who will flock down here to see it.

end

 You can contact Mark at hayter.mark@gmail.com.