It’s been a hectic, stressful couple of weeks around here broken up by a few delightful moments. Ted’s Memorial was last Saturday, followed by Mother’s day on Sunday, and Ted’s Birthday on Monday, which seemed a lot like the Devil’s Trifecta to me. Thankfully, Paul and Margaux stayed with us two nights, as did Mira.

Needless to say, Mira wasn’t about to sit around the house for two days remembering Ted, so we found ways to entertain her to and to divert ourselves. She really wanted to walk to the Zoo, but we convinced her that it would be almost as much fun to walk down and see the Rhododendron Garden. I doubt she was entirely convinced, but once we started walking she seemed quite happy holding Paul’s hand.

Nothing like an enthused five-year old to enliven a walk in the sun, even if we couldn’t convince Leslie to totally disconnect from the world for awhile.

It would be hard to imagine a nicer day, cool enough to walk comfortably,

while sunlit Rhodies dazzle.

The next day we spent the afternoon at Cory and Margarets’ house where everyone took advantage of the unseasonably warm weather to enjoy the Sound.

It’s hard to beat a combination of sunshine, water and exercise to lift your spirits.

Though Leslie claims to be an introvert, the last few weeks have shown she’s certainly more of an extrovert than me. I did enjoy getting together with several of Ted’s best friends but I found the memorial exhausting and, no matter how enjoyable each day turned out to be, I needed all the time alone I could find to sort out my feelings or to simply escape from having to think at all.

Every time I think I have all this stuff all sorted out and resolved in my head, the rashes on my hands and feet tell me otherwise and dreams wake me in the middle of the night to discover Leslie laying there awake.

Meanwhile Low’s new album The Invisible Way

serves as background music for much of the time I spend at the computer. I’m not sure if it reinforces or alleviates the sadness I feel, but it certainly resonates with me at the moment and that’s enough for me at the moment.

At two o’clock Wednesday afternoon I decided that instead of spending another night in Malheur at a motel I would start heading toward home, stopping in the Columbia Gorge on the way, with vague intentions of heading out to the ocean to catch the Spring shorebirds migration which was just beginning. Since I wasn’t in any particular rush, I decided to drive home a new way and ended up going through John Day.

Even though I wanted to reach the Gorge during daylight, I found myself stopping by the road several times to take pictures of the surrounding cliffs.

I would have loved to get much closer to these green cliffs,

but the area was private and threatened a $10,000 fine to trespassers, more than I was willing to pay for a close-up shot.

These kind of ridges

are fairly common in the West, but they still remind me of all those Westerns I loved as a kid. It’s easyfor me to imagine a tribe of Indians lying in wait at the top to ambush John Wayne’s small cavalry unit.

I found the geology of this area so interesting that I went online after I got home and discovered The Painted Hills Unit of the John Day Fossil Bed National Monument, an area I plan on exploring on my next trip to eastern Oregon.

Planned or not, I ended up right across the river from Goldendale, the area where my grandfather grew up and where I spent a year of my childhood. I never visit that area without stopping at Sam Hill’s Stonehenge,

a memorial to local men who died during World War I.

I first visited the site when I was five years old and have always associated it with the rock and sod houses found nearby even though I long ago realized that the rock houses were built much earlier. Fake or not, it’s an integral part of mysterious and mystical childhood memories.

As I drove down the Columbia Gorge I was surprised to see California poppies growing on the cliffs. I would have loved to stop and get some shots, but life is already too short to stop on that twisting, narrow road. Instead, I pulled over at an outlook a quarter-mile down the road and took the shot of these poppies.

At first the poppies —and the 75° temperature — made me think that summer is nearly upon us, and I’m surely ready for it this year.

Later, though, more melancholy thoughts overcame me, and I recalled parts of “In Flanders Fields” written by Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae:

In Flanders Fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Take up our quarrel with the foe:
To you from failing hands we throw
The torch; be yours to hold it high.
If ye break faith with us who die
We shall not sleep, though poppies grow
In Flanders fields.

Although the association of poppies and the graves of WWI soldiers came to me, I had to look the poem up on the internet to recall the whole thing. Though not a personal favorite, it continues to reside in my subconscious, resonating with events in my life.

How beautifully
fragile life seems against
ancient cliffs.