Western Ramblings

I have been searching for a methodology to address the complexities surrounding the importance of the individual within our society however, I seem to have driven down a dead end road. Actually, I've spent the better part of the past week engaging my eyesight rather than spending too much time trying to resolve how to come up with some important social issue to address. Oftentimes, as we vainly attempt to seem important, we fail to observe the beauty all around us. In these turbulent times, as the old adage says, it seems appropriate to "stop and smell the roses." So, for the past week I have been attempting to accomplish this task.

Trucking is oftentimes a lonely occupation; that is, if you choose to view it so. Luckily for me, I enjoy the quietness of the work. This past week I travelled through some of the most magnificent landscapes our country has to offer. Doing so, provided me with ample opportunity to pay attention to the more minute aspects of planetary life.

I started the week in Tacoma, Washington. From there, I travelled north up along the eastern side of the Olympic Peninsula to Port Angeles. Monday was an absolutely fantastic day. Temperatures hovered in the high 60's with only a slight covering of clouds over the high peaks of the Olympic Range. The sea was calm and the coastline of Canada could clearly be seen glimmering off in the distance. A slight breeze was coming in off the water bringing the pungent smell of marine life with it. Well muscled men in black watch caps with well groomed beards perused the shops along the harbor's thoroughfare. Were they locals or mariners on shore time? Ships lay dockside calmly rising and falling with the motion of the sea. As I tarped my load of lumber it was hard to take it all in. The sea lay to the north whilst the rocky promontories of the Olympic's jutted skyward from the other end of my truck. Wispy clouds lazily wrapped themselves around the peaks and much like a flirtatious teenage girl teases a fellow schoolboy, they teased me with an occasional view of the translucent snowfields around their summits. I wonder, would you be able to smell the sea from a mountain peak in the Olympic Range?

After getting my load of lumber ready for transport, I headed south to Tacoma and then I drove due east over the Cascades. Snoqualmie Pass was gorgeous in the moonlight. She still lies mantled with a heavy covering of snow. I spent Tuesday morning watching the sunrise over the agricultural valley surrounding Ellensburg, Washington. The greenness of the farmland was all encompassing. You could almost literally breath it in. The fresh scent of dew rose with the thermals into the high desert region of Yakima. As always, the Blue Mountains of Oregon reaching skyward from Pendleton were beautiful. Pintails, gadwalls, teal, mallards, shovelers, canadian geese, and marsh birds of all types covered the ponds of Ladd Marsh and the valley floor surrounding Baker City. The route from Baker City to Meridian ran through the rugged arid terrain surrounding the meandering Snake River. The region already looks exceedingly dry and we may be in for a protracted fire season this summer.

After delivering my lumber in Meridian, Idaho, I headed due west for John Day, Oregon. The pathway for US26 between Vale and John Day, Oregon runs through the old haunts of Chief Joseph and the Nez Perce. The Wallowas are truly remarkable and if their beauty doesn't reach deep into your soul then, the Strawberry Range most assuredly will do so. I was lucky enough to drop into the long valley which runs from Prairie City to John Day at sunset on Tuesday evening. The John Day River was running strong, seemingly proud of its spring runoff. The valley floor's pasture lands were littered with rambunctious calves and their seemingly bored mothers. Here and there, horses sleek in their new summer coats, lolled lazily about. Meanwhile, high above, the wilderness of the Strawberrys beckoned.

Sunrise on Wednesday morning was equally spectacular. I sat in my truck sipping coffee and waited for my turn to get a load of lumber. Mother Nature provided me with an opportunity to observe the morning ritual of the Kildeer Plover. I am an avid hunter and I am completely familiar with these birds; or at least, I thought I was. As I sat still and watched this breeding pair, I came to the realization that I really had never truly noticed this bird. Their plumage was spectacular and contrary to the usual noisy reception one receives when they feel you've trespassed, this pair was quietly going about their business. The female was preparing a shallow hollow in the dry earth for her nest by busily discarding itinerant pebbles with her beak. Every time that the male approached from his morning stroll she would dance a little jig in his direction, drop her chest to the ground, elevate and fan her tail (thus exposing her plumage color striations), and wiggle her butt. Much like many of the males in our species, he maintained his masculinity by appearing disinterested. Unfortunately, time passed quickly, and it was off to work for me.

My route from John Day to Stockton led me south. The landscape resembles the Great Basin of Nevada. This high desert differs from the Great Basin in subtle ways. There is a lack of tall sagebrush, contrasted by a heavy concentration of juniper trees and large deposits of volcanic red igneous rock. This type of terrain remains your companion until you reach Susanville, California. From there, you begin your climb into the Siskiyous of Northern California. I've never really known where the Sierras stop and the Siskiyous begin. The preeminent portion of this region to immerse oneself in is, the drive through the Feather River Canyon. This grandiose gem lies hidden from the gaze of many. If you take the time to sit quietly along the riverbank and close your eyes, you can sense the presence of the gold miners who toiled here in the hopes of striking it rich.

After delivering in Stockton, I picked up a load of pipe and crossed the Sierras, via Donner Pass, and delivered it in Hazen, Nevada. The snow pack on the Sierras was alarmingly low. This bodes poorly for the mountains this summer and I fear that forest fires will once again be our annual summer nemesis.

On Friday I picked up a load in Sparks, Nevada and I am now heading back north en route to Tacoma, Washington. This past week has taken me in a circuitous circle, much like a mirror reflection of one's life. It has been a week of comfortable reflection. Have I reached any great conclusion? Nope. About all I can figure out is, the true meaning of one's existence will forever remain veiled in secrecy, hidden from earthly detection. If I've learned anything this past week, it is that I need to find joy in the searching for and not the discovery of those eternal questions and their relationship to the development of my psyche as a functioning human being.

De Oppresso Liber