The Way to Oregon Caves

After romping in the forest a few days, it was time to head back north through Oregon but to new destinations. I picked out the Oregon Caves National Monument just west of Junction City, which is off Highway 199. The drive became more prairie-like, a much dryer climate with sparse vegetation and tumble weeds. Dusty gas stations stood along the small town road with locals fueling up with gas and cigarettes. The earth and nicatine drank years from their skin. This place felt untouched from the world around them and I wondered how they survived in a town without a pulse.

"Junction City!" my man announced, "Want to stop for anything?"
"Naw, I want to find a place to camp before it gets dark. I hate parking in the dark," I replied.

We arrived at a state park seven miles from the caves. It was near dusk and the camp hosts quickly welcomed us in. Overly thin, neither husband or wife had enough combined teeth to eat a cob of corn. They smiled broadly as they asked us what our needs were for the evening.

"Just running water will be enough," my husband inquired, "We can make way without sewer or electric hookups for the night."

"I'm sorry, man," said the man, "but lets ask our neighbor if he's got a hose."

An older, shirtless man came scurring through the dry dirt pulling a hose to our camper as we idled in the check in lane. I felt a little embarrassed. I was afraid to look at his teeth, or lack thereof. A circus of help and soon our camper had water.

That night the children waded in a creek, built a campfire, enjoyed a rustic dinner followed by gooey smores afterward. There was no sound or site of traffic for many miles. We were at the base of the mountains. Home of critters, crawlers and mountain folk.

The next morning we unhitched the trailer for the seven mile drive up the mountain to visit the Oregon Caves. It was a gorgeous morning, sunny and 70 degrees. A light breeze stirred the tall canopy of conifer trees. All the children were excited to see their first cave. Bono sat in his car seat next to Keegan in the first row. I sat with them to monitor Bono's activities with the baby...Bono, our two year old, is known for slugging, biting, kicking and being a terror to the other children.

The road turned and twisted in and out of every part of the mountain. Sean was anxious to get to the top so he drove at a quicker speed. Bono was quiet. Very quiet. I watched ahead to the road so not to get dizzy as my head was already pounding for the day. I could hear some strange noises from Bono, kind of like he had too much spit in his mouth and was trying to swallow it.

Now I don't know what it is about that kid, but the few times in the past when he had the stomach flu, he would refuse to throw up. If he did, he wouldn't open his mouth. He would swallow it back down through locked jaw. This half hour trip up the mountain felt like an eternity of nautious hell. Bono's face was gray. His eyes rolled around and his head drooped from one side to the other.

When we arrived, all the other kids jumped out with a big, "Hooray!" while Bono oozed out of the van and held onto the door while he upchucked into his stubborn cheeks.

"Oh my god, Bono! Are you okay?" I held him and rubbed his back. He was too young for words but he looked up through his sour face and swallowed hard some more.

The breeze set him straight in a fast moment and with that, he marched forward to claim his walking stick that his brother held for him. We were off to find ourselves a cave!

Malibu Barbie and the Redwoods

I perhaps have not mentioned the constant headaches of which I suffer. I live on pain killers and am sometimes disabled by them. Much of it is contributed to hormones and some to stress, but Migrain Excedrin is always part of my morning ritual.

So I was laid out in the second row watching the sand dunes and the new appearance of Crescent City. The ocean mist was heavy and the fog shorted the coastal views. For August, it felt like November. My head lay sideways bumping along the backseat while my eyes peered open now and then to take a glimpse of scenery.

I felt my body sit up when I captured a glittering female's ass riding past my window with the words, "Malibu Barbie" sparkling as she and her colleague road their bikes along Highway 101 toward California.

"Did you see that?" I laughed up front to my husband.
"Yeah!" he turned and gave me a smile.
"Drive up along side of them! I want a better look!"

I had to see what a female bicycling tour team looked like. I had secretly wanted to do the exact thing, but never had a female partner.

We pulled up along side and I watched their cadence and inspected their level of fitness. These girls were made up of granola and unshaven legs. I frowned with puzzlement wondering why the claimed name of Malibu Barbie with glitter. These girls resembled Ken dolls more than Barbie. I shrugged and laughed it off.

"Good for them!" I said after a moment, "Glad to see their freedom and humorous outlook."

We saw them many times throughout the day. It was impressive how much distance they were able to cover, still laughing and talking with each other, eating snacks and sipping from a water bottle as they rode.

We came along the Redwoods and pulled off to the side. They were within inches of the highway and their girth was impossible to measure. We took some nearby paths and walked along the understory of native ferns and brush. The filtered sunlight through the moist coastal air gave the forest a mysterious and surreal appearance.

We spent two days camping and hiking through the Redwoods. The native Indians thought of the place as haunted. I thought it simply beautiful beyond description.
Take time with someone special and get out for a walk in the woods. Find some glitter and write your name. Wear it on your ass, if so inclined. Everyone needs to feel a little special now and then!

A Last Hurrah

We signed the 12-month lease to our apartment and moved what little we had into it. Air mattresses flooded the bedroom floors and clothes were stacked into closets along with cherished toys that made the trip west. The living room and dining room were bare, only paper plates and plastic spoons filled the kitchen cabinets.

"Don't unpack anything more," Sean said, "We're blowing this joint as soon as we find a house."

"Great," I answered back, "I've been living out of a box for the last three months and now you are telling me I can't unpack?"

"Yes! Don't get all comfortable and attached to this place! We're not staying here long!" and off he went carrying boxes to a corner that would remain closed.

Sometimes you have to trust your spouse with things that are really touchy. This was touchy. I missed home and even though I really loved everything I was finding about Washington, the attachment to our home was still very strong, if not too strong.

So, we sat around on the empty living room floor and took a good look at each other. Within an hour we were in the van and heading to the rv storage to pick up our trailer. We were hitting the road.

"We have two more weeks until school starts," I began, "Let's go see the Redwoods!"

We drove through Washington down to Oregon. We were kind of gitty with feeling like we were escaping the pressures and schedules of life again. Watching the open road for hours is oddly theraputic. Just like life, nothing stays the same--no matter how you try to keep it so. The miles pass and with it bring new soil, foliage, air and micro cultures.

I called my brother who lives in Corvallis, Oregon. He was camping along the sand dunes with his wife and kids and riding his off-road dirt bike for the weekend. We had already passed that area and were south of him. The sand dunes run along the coast from mid Oregon all the way to the border to northern California. We were on Hwy 101 and there were areas where the sand blew into the road, making sand drifts of tan/pink crystals.

"Too cool!" I yelled up front, "Let me see if I can find a place to camp out around here for the night!"

I called ahead to a few places but everything was booked. After I had given up hope, Sean found a place and pulled us in for the night. Sand dunes were everywhere and the night was cold. We grabbed the children and gave them their headlamps.

Out above us a spectacular night sky. The big dipper so simple to view. The children gazed and observed the clusters, so full and bright. We turned off our lamps and we could see nothing, not even our hand in front of our face. A sound of moving brush sent us quickly back to the camper. Snuggled in our sleeping bags, our children slept a deep sleep, safe and free amongst the dunes.

Where You Belong

Rarely does one live in a place by choice; most of us live in a place by default, a place where our family grew up or where there was a job available. Many of us have a dream place tucked away that never becomes a reality. Pulling the plug on a life that was working in chase for something better... grander, even, well--that's just suicide.

So, here we are driving around Washington looking for that place in our minds, a place where we belong, and after town after town, I kept bringing up that damn grocery store in Olympia.

"Sure would like to stock up on some of that produce at that Top Foods in Olympia...remember that place?"
"Yep," Sean quietly drove looking at the farmland and day dreaming of owning one.
"Well, you want to start heading back that way? It was really nice there..." I trailed off thinking of the exotic plums and nectorines.

We drove south I-5 hitting every town that was recommended and wondered why anyone would recommend it in the first place. Sure they were nice places, but they were either too far from SEA/TAC or had no shopping/downtown area or had no views of the mountians, etc. We had kids with many needs of good schools, sports, dance, bike paths, nature at their fingertips, and I needed to be near business so I could resume some line of work once the economy picks up. We wanted to be around people like us, outdoor enthusiasts and into healthy living.

We headed back to Olympia and stayed at a campground in Tumwater, WA--a suburb of Olympia that took us in for three weeks at a good rate. We belonged there. The people, the views, the lifestyles, and nature galore. We found an apartment complex high on the hill overlooking the Olympic Mountains, Puget Sound, the State Capitol, and Mt. Rainer--all in one sweeping look out our belcony. It wouldn't be ready for another few weeks for us to move in, so we hit the road and headed to Long Beach, WA. Twenty-eight miles of unobstructed beach just north of the Columbia River outlet into the Pacific.

A beautiful place to rest and explore for the week!

Stuck

There we were, on top of this steep, stupid hill with no turn around. The incline grade was more than 10% and it was impossible to go back down in reverse. Sean got out and looked around. Imagine a huge steak on a small plate. That was our van and camper on top of this big hill.

To the left, the metal gate lead to a grassy area near some kind of city power structure. Sean swung it open and I felt my heart leap with hope. Ah! If we could somehow go in reverse about 20 feet and then drive into it, we could then attempt to turn this thing around.

Problem was, the top of the asphalt was chopped up; bits and pieces were missing and deep grooves in the exposed dirt were where we needed to back up the camper. It was a no go. We would bottom out. I suggested we drive it into the bushes and then reverse it in a small clearing to turn it around. Sean disagreed.

Acting like it was no big deal, "Okay, just bring it over there through the gate and then back it up over there," he said matter-of-fact.

"'Just,'" I muttered, "Whenever you say 'just' I know you are trying to minimize something. Turning it into there will get you stuck." I was pissed but couldn't be. We had to work together and doing the blame game wouldn't get us out of this mess.

"I would turn it into there," I said pointing, with the same chipper voice like he used.

"No, that's no good."
"Yes, it is...you'll need to jack knife it real hard though."
"Driving through the gate will be easier. I'll guide you," he persisted.
"Fine."

I hopped in and the kids were quiet. I explained what we were going to do and that I would need it real quiet so I could think. The kids didn't make a sound.

I backed up the camper straight about 20 feet to pull forward so I could pull in through the gate. The weight from the trailer pulled the van back and my wheels started slipping. We went sliding down the hill a couple feet and I locked the breaks. We still slid.

Growing up in Minnesota gave me some advantage: I knew how to drive on slippery roads.

I put it into first gear and held my position. The wheels caught traction and slowly we heaved up to the top again and made the turn. My heart was pounding and my legs were shaking. I pulled into the grass and hopped out to look at what we had to maneuver next.

A chain link fence ran along the right-hand side of the van. Straight back was a big dip and then further back a deep ditch. If I could go part way out and then jack knife it to the right, drive the camper into the bushes, we could clear the gate and the other ditch and make it down the hill.

Sean hopped in. It was his turn to give it a go. He carefully began to back it up but then began some weird turning that made the camper nearly hit the fence.

"STOP! STOP!" I yelled, waiving my arms, "You have to turn it the other way!"

He pulled it back forward to give it another try. This time he made it through the gate but then went into the deep dip. The bike trailer in the back of the camper dug down into the dirt and then hit the asphalt lip bending the frame and making a loud scraping sound.

"STOP! STOP!" I screamed up to him, "DO NOT MOVE!" Sean jumped out to inspect what was going on.

"The dip is too big. You drive it and I will try to lift the bike trailer to clear the lip," he said.

I watched in the rear-view mirrors as he tried to lift the 200lb bike trailer and four bikes up as I backed up. It was no good. We were now stuck further on this damn hill. I started muttering to myself all the things I had to get out like, "If you see a big hill and you think that it looks too steep, STOP DRIVING!"

Over and over we tried to back up. Two hours went by and we were still stuck. The children still silent with fright. Finally, I said,"Sean, let me go back down the way I got in here, I'll pull forward again where I wanted to, and then I'll jackknife it into the bushes."

We cleared the asphalt with a different angle and slid down the hill a few feet until I finally regained some footing. Pulled it up into the bushes, jackknifed it into the bushes while scraping the paint through the wild blackberries and through a few more forward and reverse maneuvers we were facing the right way: looking down the narrow street in front of us.

I jumped over to my seat and looked at Sean as he climbed in. We did it. He slowly made the descent. He made a few chuckles of relief then said, "Now! Let's go look at that house!" I looked at him perplexed how he could be so flippant. I watched the road finally level out. "Okay...but park here. Don't drive up the street."

Trailers and Hills Don't Mix

So finally everyone was feeling fine and well rested after a night of camping nearby the hospital. We were excited to get to Bellingham located just south of the Canadian border. I had researched some real estate and had some listings written down for us to drive by. The drive in was gorgeous with a narrow road with a forested cliff immediately to our right with a 2-inch shoulder and then the Sound to our left with breath taking views.

An upscale neighborhood with craftsman style homes overlooked the water, all ascending along the hillside. Yards were uniquely landscaped and well kept. We were diggin’ it. We looked crazy driving our camper all over their stylish neighborhood. Our van and camper had not seen a wash or a speck of rain since the Midwest, some 1,700 miles ago and we had every bug from Minnesota on west all it.

Some homes were for sale and Sean would jump out and grab a flyer. I am sure the neighbors that saw us were praying, “Oh no! Please, no please, do not buy this house!”
Sean had not cut his hair in a long time nor shaved. I wasn’t any better.

We took a drive down to the marina but it had a lot of industry. Not the place for strolling. I mapped out the properties I had found and we took a drive to see the areas. The first four we saw had too much inconsistency of pride of ownership. If we were to sell in the future, we could face the danger of having the nicest house on the block. In real estate, that is not a good thing. So, we had one last property to look at but it was high on the hillside.

The drive was rather straightforward and it led to a neighborhood less congested with nice views. The voice prompt on our GPS said to make a right turn with our destination 500ft on the right. Sean slowed to take the right but the road ahead looked as if it were a dead end with no turnaround for towing a camper. He drove to the next right hand turn as our road was now ending and was not a turn around. This road was a gradual incline for about 400ft but then made a very steep incline the rest of the way. It was narrow and no homes bordered it.

Now, I have to make a note to all of you that Sean is excellent at driving through small roads, busy towns and scenic narrow roads with no shoulder. He is not, and he agrees, that backing up a trailer is something he is good at. He avoids it if he can.

So avoid he did, and within a split second of thinking it through, he drove up that road that made its steady and ever increasing ascent. Careful not to harm the engine, he climbed the road slowly. The wheels started to slip. They skipped and skidded. I looked back at the children. Their eyes huge with fright. Sean slipped it into first gear. The van tugged upward through the wooded road. A car was parked at the top of the hill. The road ended with little clearance. A deep ditch followed each side.

I looked over to our left and saw a grassy road that was closed with a metal gate. There was no place to turn around and it was impossible to drive in reverse all the distance Sean brought us. The road was just too steep and the ditches posed too much of a danger.

We were stuck and I knew I was going to have to drive us out of there.

The Peanut Incident

There are times, when as a parent, one has to respond in ways during a crisis that puts aside anger and fear. I punched in “Hospitals Near Here” on the GPS and Sean drove following its verbal prompts. I went to the back of the van and sat by Liam.

His breathing was wheezing and short. His stomach was trying to breath for him and it caved in and pushed out with every breath. He was white and the blue ring around his mouth became very dark. We had about ten miles to the hospital. Too far. Liam’s allergy to peanuts is so severe he could die from a heart failure by that time.

“How are ya doing, Liam?” I asked quietly.
“Not so good,” he quietly responded, his voice strained.
I watched him for a few more seconds then went up to Sean, “We need to give him the shot. The Epi-Pen is in the camper in the medicine cabinet. You need to pull over.”

We were on the shoulder of Interstate 5. I had never given the shot myself. I practiced on my leg with the dummy pen out of sight from Liam. Sean held Liam on his lap and held his arms and wept into his back. He kept apologizing to him over and over. I whispered into Sean’s ear to hold him tight and gave a calm smile to Liam, “I am going to give you some medicine to help you breathe, ok?”

He didn’t know it was going to be a shot. If he did, he would kick. He had to stay still for me. I held the pen in my hand and removed the cap. He watched with puzzlement. “Click” went the pen and it shot into his leg. He screamed with pain and he looked at me with the face of “why?”

Sean wept. We held Liam and watched to see how he reacted. In a minute he began to breathe with more ease and we continued on to the hospital. Within ten minutes, Liam’s skin had broken out in hives. Even his eyes were swollen with hives. We arrived at the emergency entrance and I brought him in to the nurse, “Peanut allergy. I just gave him the Epi-Pen.”
“Right this way,” she escorted us immediately in. No one wastes time with peanut allergies.

Liam’s breathing seemed stable at the moment, but his skin was like an elephant’s. The nurse was to administer an IV. No chance. Liam fought and wouldn’t hold still. No matter what we said, we couldn’t get him to cooperate. The doctor came in and stood in front of Liam. He was a thin man around 60 years of age with white hair. He stood silently with his finger to his temple, thinking and watching. I asked if there was any other way to give Liam the medication. I was fearful that if they got the IV in, that Liam would yank it out.

The doctor sympathized and reluctantly gave him the medication via mouth. Liam seemed to be stable but then suddenly within a few seconds had great difficulty breathing again. The nurse came in quickly and gave him another shot in the arm. Liam sobbed and I held his hand. He asked me in a small voice, “Am I dying?” I couldn’t hold back my tears. I held him to my chest so he couldn’t see my face.
“No, honey. You are not dying. Your body just really doesn’t like peanuts, that’s all. We just need to calm your body down and then you’ll be okay.”

His breathing was restored after a few minutes and I stayed in bed with him rubbing his body that itched so terribly from the hives. I knew Sean was worried in the waiting room. I knew he was feeling terrible, too. Liam wouldn’t let me leave his side so I asked the nurse to forward an update to my husband.

I sang songs and held him for hours. His hives started to disappear and he became elated to see his skin heal. He wanted to leave. You always know how sick a child is when they ask to see a doctor and when they ask to leave. He started sitting up and getting antsy. He was hungry and the nurse fed him Jello and ice cream. A perfect dinner.

He was finally discharged and the family greeted him with happy shouts of, “LIAM!!!!” They all hugged him and told him how much he was missed. Sean held him and felt his son strong and breathing again.

For all of you reading this, for the safety of children with peanut allergies, please do not feed the squirrels or any animal peanuts. They carry those nuts into other yards and children often find them and touch/ingest them. A child can die quickly from this type of allergy. It is becoming a common allergy and the reasons are unknown. No one in either side of our family has this allergy, yet two of our sons have it. So, please, keep a safe yard.