Jane Week #16 - Back to Oregon
When I think of summer in Oregon, I think of the wavy reflections above the asphalt (the road separating my dad's childhood home from our dear next-door neighbors), going out onto the Columbia River to boat across the coldest water I have ever dived into, and biking miles to Cartlandia to eat to our hearts' content. When I think of fall in Oregon, I think of wet evenings spent indoors as my family prepares what might be the most American meals we consume all year for Thanksgiving, the dewy “Portland” (Gresham, really) air hanging above us all no matter the time of day, even as we go walk the dogs every dark evening.
Oregon brings with it bright yellow-greens and the blues that span across the sky, memories of sparklers and driving a pick-up truck across The Bumpy Road while my unnies and I splay across the back, (probably) ignoring basic safety protocols. The trees look different here, much more plentiful and rich than those back home in my California suburb: the leaves are oh-so green, so much more saturated, with photosynthesis seeming to work overtime.
Sometimes, my dad tells of his tales as an Oregonian, which he considers his true identity over being a Californian. His first job was raspberry picking, during which he would sneak the sweetest berries into his mouth freely—freely, in both its senses. He would go behind the Multnomah Falls to swim in what I can only imagine as a moment of teenage spontaneity, the sound of the splashing water drowning out the existence of the rest of the world.
When I think of Oregon, I think of distant memories of my father that I will never experience: my Korean relatives bearing the great unknown of the Northwest, an immigrant family making do. Their journey shaped mine with the western frontier, where I would not be without them having come here first. Still, Oregon brings with it sunny days, berry-picking, and family, always.
Hi Jane, I loved reading this last blog of yours—it's so immersive and rich with specific details, as your blogs always are. I enjoy the uniquely evocative ways in which you describe Oregon life, such as the part about "photosynthesis seeming to work overtime" and dewy air which seems to hang above. It's certainly true that California isn't the greenest place overall, but I grew up here and wouldn't trade it for anything; so I understand why your dad considers his true identity to be Oregonian. The place where you grow up really does leave its mark on you for life. The anecdote about your father's swimming and berry-picking exploits reveal a side to our parents' characters that are often forgotten by us—they, too, were once mischievous and reckless teenagers, and your description of the splashing water drowning out the rest of the world highlights their individuality beautifully. My dad would also steal so much fruit when he was a boy, and honestly still does when he gets the opportunity. I'm glad your family seems to be keeping up the tradition of taking fun wherever you can.
ReplyDeleteHi Jane! I love the imagery you utilize in this blog, I feel as though I’m actually experiencing the cold water of the Columbia River, or the late-night dog walks. I visited Portland about a month ago, taking a 12-hour-long roadtrip to get there, and to see the true beauty of Oregon was unreal. It’s a different feeling to immerse yourself in a world of green all around, being surrounded by towering trees you don’t see here in the suburbs. Your connections to past memories and other anecdotes really enhance the immersive effect of your blog, and tell such a special story. Swimming behind a waterfall, drowning the world out with the splash of the water sounds like such a peaceful, relaxing experience definitely worth having.
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