Category Archives: travel

Saturday began warm and gradually gained ground on hot as the day waxed. Michael was only too happy to awaken and begin exploration.

Outside, in the weeds, approximately two hundred thirty thousand grasshoppers leaped randomly about the hills surrounding grandma K’s home, which is perched upon the knoll of a terminal moraine past the northwest corner of Wallowa Lake.

Michael did his best to catch the little creatures as they frantically fled his footsteps, despite my requests that he try a less damaging activity such as merely following them. No, he is wired to catch what runs. He must be part cheetah. “You’ll hurt them,” I said. “I don’t want to hurt them,” he replied. “But you are, just by picking them up.” “But then the juice will come out, and they’ll be all better,” he reasoned. I could only shake my head and look elsewhere.

After a morning full of discovery, which included a ride in Papa B’s tractor and an up-close bovine encounter (including an all-too-tactile inspection of that cow manure I mentioned earlier), lunch time rolled around followed by our trip to the mountains.

We headed into “town” (and by that I mean a small village by the lake) and up to the tram that takes folks in groups of four up to the top of Mount Howard. It’s billed as the steepest tram in North America.

This fact was not a welcome one to my wife, or to my mother, or to my eldest daughter. Their plan was to huddle together, clinging on to me and keeping their eyes closed until we reached the top. Michael and I thought it was going to be great. The five of us got in a gondola and in minutes were quickly whisked up the mountain.

The ride was wonderful. It was preternaturally quiet, almost eerie. We simply glided up the mountainside, only a few feet above the treetops, only jostling a bit when we passed by a support tower. The view was breathtaking, though unfortunately marred by the distortion of years-old Plexiglas.

My mother was not as much enamored with the view as she was eager for the ride to be over.

Finally at the top, we regrouped. Grandma K (my wife’s mother) rounded up the troops, having already assigned roles for the older kids to buddy up with the younger kids. She handed them bags of seeds to give to the fat squirrels and chipmunks, which had grown entirely blasé about humans feeding them and were perfectly content to run right up into your hand to get any food you might be offering.

With the little ones sufficiently corralled, we were free to give great grandma the ceremony she deserved.

The day couldn’t have been more perfect, sun and breeze and view from mountain top.

We hike along a path to a suitable location, and then I heard grandma K mention my name.

“Tom is our resident engineer. He can tell us which way the wind is blowing,” she exclaimed. Feeling both proud and a little nervous, I made my way up to the front and said “Okay, everyone. I’m going to do something very scientific.”

I reached down, scooped up a handful of dirt, and tossed it into the air. The larger particles dropped immediately, but the dust remained suspended in the air and drifted slowly out over the hillside. Exactly the right direction.

“The wind is blowing that way,” I said proudly, as though it was my action that caused the wind to blow that way.

Grandma K began the ceremony by reading a poem:

Miss me a little–but not too long,
And not with your head bowed low.
Remember the love that we once shared,
Miss me–but let me go.

Many of us did bow our heads, despite the words. We were all saddened by her passing, though happy for the life she led and how she was a part of ours.

Grandma K tossed the first ashes, releasing her mother to the wind and to the mountains, as was her wish. She explained that she’d requested some ground mica be included in the ashes to provide some extra sparkle, and the effect was magical, as the dust drifted off and glistened like tiny diamonds in the afternoon sun.

One by one, relatives from the closest to the most distant and youngest to oldest had their hand in scattering. Some were more successful in getting some distance than others. And when the wind mercurially changed direction, we all got a nice coating of sparkles. My father-in-law (Papa B) grinned and told me I looked like Elton John. I retorted that he was similarly coated in sparkles, but he had bigger glasses than I did.

Once we’d set the last handful adrift, we hiked on to a higher point to take in the view. Signs there asked that we stay on the paths to avoid damaging the tundra. I never though I’d have to worry about damaging tundra, but there it was, right at our feet. The squirrels were roaming around freely, and ignoring a scattered mess of what appeared to be cat food in preference of the seeds being handed out by the kids.

We stopped by the café before heading down the tram, in order to get Michael some needed nutrition in an effort to head off a possible meltdown. My mother took the opportunity to get a glass of wine in order to head off a possible nervous rigor, facing another ride on America’s steepest tram.

Grandma K treated us all to a few hours of riding go-carts. My oldest daughter took this as her first opportunity to drive an actual motor vehicle, something upon which she’s completely fixated. The fact that her younger sisters and cousins were also driving go-carts was notwithstanding. Michael enjoyed the rides as well, just being a passenger. The girls made new friends from step-cousins they’d never met, exchanging emails and cell phone numbers. The grown-ups made new relationships with cousins, aunts and uncles I’d never met and most hadn’t seen for ages. Emails were exchanged all around. It was truly wonderful to see what new connections were made from this otherwise somber occasion.

After the go-cart rides, we were all treated to a steak dinner at Vali’s, a local restaurant famous for its amazing Hungarian and Austrian food. The owners had escaped the Nazi occupation of Hungary, met in the United States some years later and both realized their dream of opening a restaurant here in 1974. Michael was relatively well-behaved during our dinner, though I did have to fetch his Leapster videogame so he’d have something to do while the rest of us chattered and lingered over our various dessert choices. Eventually he chose to do some random pre-schooler dance steps with his cousin E, which the waitress skillfully avoided with each tray she brought out.

We were the first group to arrive back at grandma K’s home, late at night. When I stopped the car and we piled out, we noticed something we had not seen before. Stars. Because we’d arrived first to a house in the middle of a mostly-unpopulated country hillside, there were no lights on anywhere. You could not see your hand in front of your face. We’re not used to that kind of advanced darkness in the city.

But here, where no lights intruded, the stars came out in force. Even the faint, gauzy band of our own Milky Way stretched across the sky.

“Here! There are more over here!” Michael shouted, utterly amazed. He stood, neck craned completely back, staring up at the speckled night sky. “It looks like Wall-E,” he said at last, implying that in his mind, he was now looking at outer space the way it should appear.

As we stared at the vast display of sparkles in the sky, I couldn’t help but be reminded of the sparkly way in which we let great grandma go into those hills. May you be with God, great grandma.

My poor mother. She picked the wrong car to travel in.

My sister-in-law, aunt M, drove her own car out to Joseph, since we didn’t have enough seats to hold everyone in the van. To keep them happy, we had Michael and his cousin E (who turned three this spring) ride with us in the new van. Mostly this is because we have the built-in DVD player, and a front seat passenger (AKA Michael’s Mommy) who could dispense snacks and headphones and bottles of water as needed to keep the kids hydrated and relatively comfortable. My mom rode with us.

She had envisioned traveling blissfully with her granddaughters flanking her in the back seat, chatting and catching up on their lives and times. They would have pleasant conversation, in comfort and ease, as they watched the scenic Oregon countryside roll by. Yes, that would do nicely.

Unfortunately, she didn’t get to visit with her granddaughters in the back seat of the van; they rode with aunt M (in the car “without kids in it” as they put it).

Instead, she got to visit with Dora the Explorer. And Dora didn’t let her get a word in edgewise.

“Dora, Dora, Dora the explorer! Boots and super-cool exploradora! Grab your backpack! Let’s go! Jump in! Vamanos! You can lead the way-hay!”

See, cousin E had a few Dora the Explorer DVDs along with her, to keep her happy on the trip. We were a little concerned about how well cousin E would behave on this long trip, away from her mom. As it turned out, she was a perfect little doll the entire time. Michael, not so much. But I digress.

Her favorite show is Dora the Explorer. This show is expressly intended for little kids, to burrow into their brains and take up residence. It’s designed to grab their gnat-sized attention and clasp it in its vice-like grip. Unfortunately, it has very nasty side-effects for grown-ups.

For one thing, Dora screams through her dialog. Nothing is at a normal conversational level in this program, it’s all shouting. This is to make sure you can hear, and that you won’t get distracted by things like toys that might be nearby, a family pet that might accidentally wander in between you and the TV, your parents calling you to eat lunch, raging fire consuming the curtains and breakfast table, a stampede of bison, things like that. Must. Keep. Watching.

And she stares at you with those big, brown, half-moon eyes. She doesn’t blink. And her head is always turned toward the camera, so she can keep her eyes on you. To make sure you’re watching. I believe there are subliminal messages broadcast through her staring eyes. I also believe that if you turn off the TV while her show is on, she would emerge from your television and turn it back on.

Did I mention she’s loud? Seriously. If Billy Mays and Ethel Merman had a love child, it would be Dora.

“DO YOU WANT TO BE A STAR-CATCHER? GREAT!”

Also, the characters have to repeat things ad nauseum. The map tells us that we need to look for certain landmarks to get to our destination. He provides his navigational assistance by continually bludgeoning us directly in the brain pan:

“We have to get to the giant star! Can you see where we need to go? Steps, diamond, giant star! Say it with me! Steps, diamond, giant star! Steps, diamond, giant star! Steps, diamond, giant star! Steps, diamond, giant star! Steps, diamond, giant star! Steps, diamond, giant star! Steps, diamond, giant star!”

I hear grandma pipe up from the very back: “All right! All right! I’ll talk, I’ll talk! I’ll say anything! Just make it stop!”

At one point Dora starts counting stars and naming the color pattern. En Español: Roja, Verde! Roja, Verde! Roja, Verde! Roja, Verde! Roja, Verde! Roja… what’s next?”

What’s next is me letting go of the steering wheel and swerving off into the Columbia river as I claw my ears off.

We did get a brief respite when both kids fell asleep for a time… but it wasn’t long enough. An hour before we got to my mother-in-law’s place, cousin E woke up. Shortly after that, Michael woke up.

“Can we watch Dora?” Michael asks.

“I want to watch Dola!” Cousin E says.

“Me too! I want Dora!” Michael chimed in.

“I like Dola!” cousin E confirmed.

Grandma is once again heard from, weakly: “Can I have bamboo shoots run under my fingernails? I think I’d prefer that.”

The entire trip is six and a half hours of driving, if it’s done straight. Factoring in stops for lunch, potty breaks and a leg-stretching at the half-way point, we’re talking more like eight hours.

And most of that time, we were treated to episode after episode of Dora.

“Do-do-do-do-do-Dora! Do-do-do-do-do-Dora!”

And those clever little songs:

“Backpack, backpack. Backpack, backpack.”

“I’m the map. I’m the map. I’m the map. I’m the map. I’m the map.”

When we finally arrived at my mother-in-law’s place and stumbled out of the van, grandma said “There’d better be a stiff drink waiting for me.”

We were done. For now. There would be no more Dora. For now. We could rest easy and enjoy family time. For now. Si se puede.

But it was too late. My wife and I were infected with ear worms. For the rest of the weekend, my wife and I still had Dora playing inside our heads. At any given moment, one or both of us would be silently mouthing the words to a Dora song: “I’m the map. I’m the map, I’m the map, I’m the map, I’m the maaaaaaaaap!”

And I thought The Wiggles were bad.