Years ago, when I lived in (Conservative Ranching Town Six Hours From Here), I never stuck around. On the weekends I escaped to nicer venues: Crater Lake, Bend, here. I couldn't fathom staying put in a wind-driven, tumbleweed-infested place with no trails, no place to swim, no kindred souls. I used to spot Gary, the only other single person I knew, on our mutual street late on a Sunday.
"They never go anywhere," I shuddered, indicating the neighbors, who labored in their yards, worked on their houses, went to the grocery store. Didn't they know there was a big world out there? That their lives were flashing by at warp speed? Didn't they want to see everything there was?
I would never go back there to live, but now I kind of get it. They liked it there. It was their home. And I was a girl without a home, searching for one.
With that in mind, I decided to stay home this weekend. Jerry is on his
|I ventured over the flume.|
|Pretty nice view from the State Park a half mile from my house.|
|Wallowa Lake, only a month or so until Operation Pink Kayak can begin. Not to mention Swimming with Wetsuit While Others Think I am Crazy.|