Eastward, Ho the Wagons!

I traveled to Eastern Oregon on Monday and Tuesday to visit with some of our Credit Unions. I was looking forward to some drive time (I love to drive as long as no one is screaming in the car) and seeing Eastern Oregon.

I certainly had a lot of time to muse, and musey thoughts filled my head during the 700 or so miles I traversed in two days.

I was delighted to find myself in the midst of Oregon Trail country. I have always loved reading about pioneers and their journey West. Maybe it’s because my family, within the last three generations, arrived in California from places beyond. It reassures me to know that in my blood runs the spirit of adventurers.

Today the world is available at the literal click of a button, and it's hard to remove that programming from your brain and consider how truly monumental it was for people to leave settled territory and risk all to venture into the vast unknown with a wagon full of goods and their families, many of which did not make it across unscathed. It certainly puts today's travel plans and annoyances into perspective!

The country at this time of year is still ripe and golden, a month or so away from being tired and worn. Huge fields of green and gold stretch out over rolling hills and abrupt bluffs. I saw a modern-day cowboy rounding up his cattle astride his trusty A.T.V., and in town, a small tractor tootled along patiently in traffic, not looking a bit out of place.

I always wish I could see how the landscape looked before the land was cultivated and highways were poured out like concrete ribbons, endlessly looping into the next curve, or over the next hill. There are tree plantations here and there, and I don’t know if the terrain was bare in the 1800’s. There is certainly an abundance of sage and rough weeds that choke the hills that surround the farmland.

For some reason I feel like it must have felt lonely to finally ease out of the Blue Mountains and into the high desert, knowing how far you’ve come, and knowing that there were still hundreds of miles to go. Hope, I’m sure, takes on a new significance through the eyes of a weary traveler.

I stopped at a nicely done Oregon Trail Interpretative Center, just outside of Baker City. The vantage point allows visitors to glimpse actual portions of the trail, still etched into the landscape after all this time. How many thousands of wagons must have gone over the same ribbon, to create a memorial that has weathered the rough winters and blazing summers.

Having emigrated, in a modern way, to Oregon myself, I can certainly see how easy it is to fall in love with this place, and it’s overall spirit of independence and vitality. Even in the oft-assumed barrenness of Eastern Oregon, there is something in the air that makes your heart say, "I’m here," and here is a good place to be. Especially when a certain little someone greeted me with a hug that knocked me over.