Sherrill & Simone at Butchart Gardens, Victoria, British Columbia The little poodle that lived in the old auto court was blind, but nobody seemed worried about him, even with cars coming and going day and night. We stayed there three years in a row when we drove north to Ashland in southern Oregon for the annual Shakespeare festival. Sometimes, we went with friends, other times we met them there. Eventually, one family moved to Ashland, so we stayed with them for a few years. Ashland was still a small town, then, swelling during the summer season. Gradually, the festival grew and the town grew. More restaurants opened, motels were built and bed-and-breakfasts opened, more shops with festival souvenirs opened. The blind dog and his auto court disappeared.
We were staying at the White Motel on the edge of Ashland the day President Nixon resigned.
"It's my birthday," Simone complained, "but everyone is watching television!"
We were staying at the White Motel on the edge of Ashland the day President Nixon resigned.
"It's my birthday," Simone complained, "but everyone is watching television!"
Simone & friend examining live Sand Dollars, northern Washington state Ashland was just one of the west coast destinations around which our travels began to focus. As our lives evolved, so did our travels. Looking back, it seems inevitable that, with work and school schedules, we'd stay closer to home. Our trips grew organically from our lives, giving us new kinds of memories. Friends moved to Oregon, so that became a destination. Other friends had a vacation place in northern Washington—another destination we hadn't thought of before. Others moved to southern California. Some friends enjoyed camping out, so on occasion we joined them. It was a big world, but that didn't mean that we needed to cover big distances to have memorable experiences. Shorter trips also made it possible for us occasionally to take more than one in a year. Sometimes, we traveled to visit friends, other times we traveled with friends. More and more, Simone's friends joined us on trips—or she joined them.
These short trips flicker past in memory so quickly that they tend to blur together. I'm not sure exactly when we bought Simone several outfits—including a gypsy and a unicorn—at the Shakespeare festival costume sale or when sushi I ate at a little Ashland restaurant made me sick for a whole night. I couldn't tell you when we stopped in the Danish community of Solvang on our way to Los Angeles and the cliff-top Getty Museum in Malibu or exactly when we stayed overnight in scorching Red Bluff on our way north or which summer we roughed it with friends at Berkeley's Echo Lake Camp in the Sierras or which snowy Easter we stayed at Yosemite. All I can be sure of is that we and our friends covered a lot miles up and down the west coast between San Diego and Victoria, British Columbia. We didn't know yet that car trips like these were destroying the atmosphere and therefore the planet.
"I don't mind the driving," Sherrill once told me on the way to Ashland, "but don't expect me to drink that Lithia Water." All of us were disgusted by the rotten egg smell and taste of the natural springs in Ashland's Lithia Park, but most of us tolerated it because supposedly it was good for us. Not Sherrill.
"I don't mind the driving," Sherrill once told me on the way to Ashland, "but don't expect me to drink that Lithia Water." All of us were disgusted by the rotten egg smell and taste of the natural springs in Ashland's Lithia Park, but most of us tolerated it because supposedly it was good for us. Not Sherrill.
 Sherrill & Simone & friend at Shakespeare theatre, Ashland, Oregon |  Simone at Berkeley's Echo Lake Camp in the Sierras |
However, she worried aloud that she might destroy the car on the unpaved road winding through the forest to the Hood Canal in northern Washington. No one else was around for miles and this was decades before cell phones.
"Worse than any road in Mexico," she muttered grimly. At least, we weren't attempting it in the rain, I told her, pointing out the foot-deep ruts. "Don't fret," she said. "I wouldn't."
Then the dusty gray forest opened up to a scene out of an old western movie: two little cabins of weathered wood, a rustically fenced pasture, a little unpainted barn, and blue-green water from melting snow and glaciers rushing past. There was no denying the beauty of it all. Our friends' cabins had no electricity, running water, or heat except for small wood-burning stoves, but the kids loved living like pioneers in the forest. The water was too frigid for swimming, but we never knew what animals might greet us when we went for a morning walk. A porcupine or skunk? A deer or two? Or maybe a cougar?
This didn't turn out to be exactly a restful experience—it was seldom comfortable and there were always chores to do—but it was unique for us and memorable. And we could gather fresh clams along the shore and follow trails near the cabins to pick thimble berries. The forest around us was decorated with colorful, grotesque, and sometimes beautiful mushrooms and other parasites of all sizes, none of which were edible.
"Worse than any road in Mexico," she muttered grimly. At least, we weren't attempting it in the rain, I told her, pointing out the foot-deep ruts. "Don't fret," she said. "I wouldn't."
Then the dusty gray forest opened up to a scene out of an old western movie: two little cabins of weathered wood, a rustically fenced pasture, a little unpainted barn, and blue-green water from melting snow and glaciers rushing past. There was no denying the beauty of it all. Our friends' cabins had no electricity, running water, or heat except for small wood-burning stoves, but the kids loved living like pioneers in the forest. The water was too frigid for swimming, but we never knew what animals might greet us when we went for a morning walk. A porcupine or skunk? A deer or two? Or maybe a cougar?
This didn't turn out to be exactly a restful experience—it was seldom comfortable and there were always chores to do—but it was unique for us and memorable. And we could gather fresh clams along the shore and follow trails near the cabins to pick thimble berries. The forest around us was decorated with colorful, grotesque, and sometimes beautiful mushrooms and other parasites of all sizes, none of which were edible.
 Bruce & Simone, California State Fair in Sacramento |  Simone as a Greek statue at the Getty Villa museum, Malibu |
On one trip, we took a car ferry from Washington to Victoria in British Columbia. The carriage ride around the old city and tea at the classic Empress Hotel were fun, but for Sherrill the objective was the huge Butchart Gardens just north of town.
"Look what you can do when you have space and money," I grinned.
"And people to do the work," she countered.
Our hillside garden in Berkeley kept us busy, but I had no doubt that this place would give Sherrill new ideas. More than a hundred years ago, the Butcharts' original garden was started in an abandoned quarry, then a Japanese garden was added and a rose garden and Italian garden and on and on, everything designed to lead the visitor from one beautiful experience to the next. Paths curved and meandered, disappeared and reappeared, enticed and surprised. For the next forty years, I built and rebuilt and improved garden paths—and the garden beds growing around them, of course.
The months and years ahead took us in other directions on day excursions or week-long trips, from time to time even longer: to the California State Fair in Sacramento, to Oregon's astonishing Crater Lake and with friends to quiet Crescent Lake, also in Oregon, to the famous San Diego Zoo, to Santa Cruz and its Shakespeare festival on the forested university campus, to Long Beach for Thanksgiving on the moored Queen Mary, with one of Simone's friends to Disneyland again, and even to Honolulu again for Christmas with Sherrill's mother. How lucky we were, we kept telling each other, to live surrounded by so many wonderful places.
"And how lucky you are," Sherrill pointed out, "to have a wife who's such a wonderful driver."
To be continued....
If you enjoy these posts, why not explore the rest of my website, too? Just click on the buttons at the top of the page and discover where they take you—including to several complete short stories and excerpts from my novels. You also might enjoy the new bargain-priced e-edition of my North Beach novel, The Night Action. Just click on the title link.
"Look what you can do when you have space and money," I grinned.
"And people to do the work," she countered.
Our hillside garden in Berkeley kept us busy, but I had no doubt that this place would give Sherrill new ideas. More than a hundred years ago, the Butcharts' original garden was started in an abandoned quarry, then a Japanese garden was added and a rose garden and Italian garden and on and on, everything designed to lead the visitor from one beautiful experience to the next. Paths curved and meandered, disappeared and reappeared, enticed and surprised. For the next forty years, I built and rebuilt and improved garden paths—and the garden beds growing around them, of course.
The months and years ahead took us in other directions on day excursions or week-long trips, from time to time even longer: to the California State Fair in Sacramento, to Oregon's astonishing Crater Lake and with friends to quiet Crescent Lake, also in Oregon, to the famous San Diego Zoo, to Santa Cruz and its Shakespeare festival on the forested university campus, to Long Beach for Thanksgiving on the moored Queen Mary, with one of Simone's friends to Disneyland again, and even to Honolulu again for Christmas with Sherrill's mother. How lucky we were, we kept telling each other, to live surrounded by so many wonderful places.
"And how lucky you are," Sherrill pointed out, "to have a wife who's such a wonderful driver."
To be continued....
If you enjoy these posts, why not explore the rest of my website, too? Just click on the buttons at the top of the page and discover where they take you—including to several complete short stories and excerpts from my novels. You also might enjoy the new bargain-priced e-edition of my North Beach novel, The Night Action. Just click on the title link.
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