Even that massive old volcano, Mt Hood, struggles to be seen above the trees which line all the roads of Portland.
This is lush and fecund territory. Lots of rain.
Oh yes, the pot shops keep going. They are dotted on the highway. They are not a novelty any more.
But, as the landscape opens out, more snow-capped mountains are still just a bit thrilling to behold. Classic eye candy.
Oooh, he does not like Donald Trump one bit. He has lots of gossip from around Republican circles, he says. Trump’s campaign is chaotic. He is confusing the effusive high of rally rapture with real politics.The rally crowds are rally crowds, he says. They aren’t votes. Other populist candidates had fallen for it in the past. Ross Perot, for instance. And what happened when the election came?
Limbaugh says that the Republican party is closing ranks and expecting defeat.
Wow. That was not what I expected to hear from a famously conservative commentator.
Suddenly we are in Olympia, the capital of Washington State.
Every road leads to a “Capitol” something.
We take the one to the Capitol Mall because I need a broken necklace fixed. It’s a huge and rather handsome mall inside and there are three jewellers shops - none of which can fix a broken catch in less than a week. They all send things out. The shops are just retail.
We find the quaint little food court instead. No salads? Amazing.
We have some light Asian and plod off, pausing by my cherished Chico’s store where I buy denim bermuda shorts.
We drive around Olympia. We like it. Lovely leafy shopping streets with pretty baskets of lobelia and petunias hanging from street poles. Charming. Inviting.
We check out the suburbs. They are mixed but generally with neat wooden houses and lovingly-tended gardens. Big tick to Olympia.
A nasty smell greets us as we wind down into its valley. Industrial steam from a chimney. Ah, it is timber mills. Some of this country of wood is being used.
The town itself is small and plain. But I spot a jeweller’s shop and am thrilled to have my necklace repaired - and have a bit of a local chat. The shop assistant knows the people at our day’s destination, Nathan and Emma and their Rites of Passage business which takes troubled young people on wilderness experiences. She used to look after the property to which we were heading.
Google leads us along leafy roads and past shallow waters of Puget Sound.
What a property it is.
It’s like a farm with lush green fields stretching down to a passage of water. Assorted blue wooden buildings, fences, an area of raised vegetable beds, fruit frees, a lovely barn…
We’re to stay in The Loft which is part of the accommodation complex they offer to their Rites of Passage workers and now also rent out on Airbnb.
But first, we must meet the alpacas. There is a herd of them in a large enclosure guarding a group of hens and a very large and proud rooster. The alpacas give us their faintly indignant alpaca stares.
Emma materialises from the office where interest in the Airbnb has the phone ringing off the hook.
Then there is Jericho, a very blond and earnest little boy toddler, with the strong, smiling nanny, Kitty.
I’m introduced as GrandmaSa, Emma reminding us all that she might have been raised by me as mother of her half-brothers.
I am in an instant besotted with the little ones. Aurora is soon clutching my hand and wanting me to carry her as Emma shows me around the property. Happiness.
“Do you like oysters?” asks Nate.
“Is the Pope a catholic,” I reply.
Minutes later he is wading in the Puget Sound waters at the edge of their property, picking oysters fresh from the beds.
The oysters are huge, at least years old, says Nate. They are not at all like the Pacific or rock oyster I am used to in Australia.
Their shells are crusted with barnacles.
Nate takes them to the kitchen sink and shucks them.
He gives me the first one to eat fresh and unadorned.
It is quite a meal. It is not like my accustomed oysters and yet it is certainly oyster - big, fat, delicate, intensely succulent…
Oh, my. So do I.
Even Bruce, who is not an oyster fan, finds himself downing them.
What a wonderful welcome.
Nate and Emma own a lovely tract of land - wild, dense woodland and open field. About 14 acres, I think.
There are several houses on the property which tend to be occupied by the professional ranger-counselors who work with them on Rites of Passage, taking troubled teens out into the wilderness.
We take chairs and bloody marys onto the grass outside the house and catch up, watching the children and the dog playing, eating fried oysters and also clams.
Then the bubs are popped into bed without protest and we repair to the dining room with its glorious view of the Sound to devour sauteed chicken and sumptuous white corn. Oh, American white corn! There ain’t nuttin’ like it!
We talk until we are too sleepy to go on.
Just after we repair to our cosy Loft, Nate calls us out to witness a spectacular rainbow in a wild, red sunset sky. A storm is approaching with the most dramatic beauty.
Nate has a hearty breakfast of fresh farm eggs scrambled with corn awaiting us. They have Vegemite! Good coffee. Lovely.
The kids are at day care. Nate and Emma have to work. We have to walk.
Accompanied by Spartacus, with whom we are now utterly in love, we have a good, sturdy walk up the steep forested driveway out onto the road and then down the neighbouring driveway with its dense woodlands of towering trees, ferns and wildflowers and back to the waters of the Sound.
Bremerton is a town of 39,000 people. L.Ron Hubbard was born and raised there. Bill Gates’s father grew up there. These days it brags a navy base and the ferry across Puget Sound to Seattle.
What a beautiful day. It’s cool and breezy, but sunny. Seattle is famous for rain.
The city sparkles.
Ravenous, we find a car park and go into McCoy’s Firehouse Bar and Grill and have classic diner food - a burger for the B and a Reuben for me, beside a bottomless cup of coffee.
Seattle is leafy and interesting. Bruce navigates it easily.
And we head for our hotel - miles away at Bothell.
Why Bothell?
Free parking. Good hotel with good rates. And, it turns out, it is the counterpart to Redwood Shores in SF. It is the biotech headquarters of Seattle - very salubrious indeed.
Theresa, on the desk of the Country Inn and Suites by Carlson, goes beyond the call of duty when I ask if she could possibly reassign our room. The initial room is nice, but dark and looking onto the carpark. We are here 3 days. With good-nature and professional aplomb, Theresa rings around and somehow juggles to assign us an upstairs room with a view of the swimming pool. I am in heaven - and in a heartbeat, we’re down at that lovely pool.
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