WHERE I'M FROM

I did this a few years ago. Picked up the idea from a journal hosted by a guy named Russ. It's a sort of stream of consciousness excercise and I did end up where I did not expects. Some notes. The Cascades, Blues, Siskiyous and Wallowas are Oregon mountain ranges. Chokers are the cable rigs used to bring logs from where they're cut down to the landing to be loaded.The rigger ran the whole thing and it was run off a donkey engine. Wood or diesel powered. And yes, once upon a time it took several trucks to take out one log.  

Just for fun follow the link to the wringer washer. For us it involved a concrete laundry sink with a BUILT IN WASH BOARD. And you made very sure to fold the buttons to the inside. Which is why we always tried to beat Grandma to the wash when she was visiting. And she washed everything in hot water. Whether it needed it or not. Dad used to claim she could shrink a house if she put her mind to it. And like I said at the end. Russ was right. Sometimes that old stream of consciousness takes you down a road I didn't expect.

I am from Douglas fir, hemlock, spruce and cedar.

I am from the Cascades, the Blues, the Siskiyous, and the Wallowas.

 I am from clear cuts, choker cables, riggers and log trucks with one log loads.

I am from sandy beaches, basalt cliffs and mudflats.

I am from wild geese calling at sunrise, wrens in the thickets, and great blue herons on the other side of the river.

I am from the little creeks, the mighty Columbia and the Pacific breakers.

I am from tricycles, tetherballs, little sisters with skinned knees and a love for bugs.

I am from the ivy by the patio, the hydrangeas with dinner plate size clumps of blossoms and the garden in the back yard.

I am from a wringer washer, a concrete laundry sink and clothes full of the smell of sunshine.

I am from missionaries, Methodist hymnals, Quaker silence, and fairy rings.

I am from winter gales, spring showers, sunny summer days and autumn fogs and frosts.

I am from lavender, dogwood, daffodils, daylilies, ivy and blueberries.

I am from rivers with concrete barriers, hydroelectric turbines, and a creek that’s lost its namesake salmon run.

I am from Hanford Reach, the Umatilla Arms depot, and the Columbia Gorge where condors may soar again.

I am from logging towns with no mills, harbors with no fish, and farms being swallowed by urban sprawl.

I am from books, and a flute and feeling out of step on the march to wherever.

I am from feeling like I’m on the outside looking in. I am from seeing what no one else seems to see.  I am from hearing what no one else seems to hear. 

And Russ, you’re right. I think I’m gonna stop here myself.