On the Road
Mile 147: Winthrop, Washington
Winthrop is an old-fashioned western town, at least in architectural reproduction -- wooden walkways, plank facades, saloons, tourists and high-speed internet access. I've been here a couple of times on family cross-country drives; the clear memory of an ice cream cone as well as the car-sickness that comes with winding mountain roads in sweletering hot weather, facing backwards (parents in the front seat of Epiphany, our Ford LTD Station Wagon with the faux-wooden siding, and Jason and Kate in the middle seat, while I was in the back with the luggage -- an ideal spot for a little kid, like a couch-pillow 'fort' made of luggage, with a changing view, lots of books to read, and warm apple juice to drink. I still can't have Mott's apple juice without bringing up memories of our annual pilgrimage from Chicago to Lopez Island).
I've only done about half the miles I wanted to cover, but may end up staying the night here -- the food options look good, if over-priced, and I'm tired out: from waking up early to catch a ferry off of Lopez, and from the emotion of saying goodbye to Mom, who sent me on my way with a Celtic blessing and her own excitement about the place to which I am going.
The drive has been beautiful so far -- rainy, which is a blessing, and through the peerless Cascade mountains. Because I am not on the interstate, I have the luxury of pulling over and taking short hikes or simply breathing in the cool mountain air and the wonder of this earth.
There is the beauty of the landscape, and there is the strangeness of what we as Americans do with that beauty. There's a song that goes "The mountain was so beautiful that this guy built a mall and a Pizza Shack./ He built an ugly city because he wanted the mountain to love him back."
Not always grim and depressing, though; we are a country full of intentional and unintentional humor, as this sign outside a gas station bears witness to:
And sometimes we find perfect ways to live in harmony with the wonder of this Creation. A couple hours into my drive, I saw an Episcopal church just off of Route 20. I pulled a U-turn and went inside the unlocked church to pray. They had built an altar out of rough-hewn wood, and placed the altar in front of a great window looking out onto the woods and pastures. On the altar was an old bible, open to the Gospel of Matthew, in the chapter where Jesus sends the 12 apostles out for their first taste of ministry away from Jesus. He sends them out just to familiar communities, among fellow Jews, and tells them to bring no purse or staff or extra cloak, depending on the generosity of strangers, and bringing peace on the houses which welcomed them. It was a perfect reading for me to hear as I start this journey to Parish of the Messiah.
Winthrop is an old-fashioned western town, at least in architectural reproduction -- wooden walkways, plank facades, saloons, tourists and high-speed internet access. I've been here a couple of times on family cross-country drives; the clear memory of an ice cream cone as well as the car-sickness that comes with winding mountain roads in sweletering hot weather, facing backwards (parents in the front seat of Epiphany, our Ford LTD Station Wagon with the faux-wooden siding, and Jason and Kate in the middle seat, while I was in the back with the luggage -- an ideal spot for a little kid, like a couch-pillow 'fort' made of luggage, with a changing view, lots of books to read, and warm apple juice to drink. I still can't have Mott's apple juice without bringing up memories of our annual pilgrimage from Chicago to Lopez Island).
I've only done about half the miles I wanted to cover, but may end up staying the night here -- the food options look good, if over-priced, and I'm tired out: from waking up early to catch a ferry off of Lopez, and from the emotion of saying goodbye to Mom, who sent me on my way with a Celtic blessing and her own excitement about the place to which I am going.
The drive has been beautiful so far -- rainy, which is a blessing, and through the peerless Cascade mountains. Because I am not on the interstate, I have the luxury of pulling over and taking short hikes or simply breathing in the cool mountain air and the wonder of this earth.
There is the beauty of the landscape, and there is the strangeness of what we as Americans do with that beauty. There's a song that goes "The mountain was so beautiful that this guy built a mall and a Pizza Shack./ He built an ugly city because he wanted the mountain to love him back."
Not always grim and depressing, though; we are a country full of intentional and unintentional humor, as this sign outside a gas station bears witness to:
And sometimes we find perfect ways to live in harmony with the wonder of this Creation. A couple hours into my drive, I saw an Episcopal church just off of Route 20. I pulled a U-turn and went inside the unlocked church to pray. They had built an altar out of rough-hewn wood, and placed the altar in front of a great window looking out onto the woods and pastures. On the altar was an old bible, open to the Gospel of Matthew, in the chapter where Jesus sends the 12 apostles out for their first taste of ministry away from Jesus. He sends them out just to familiar communities, among fellow Jews, and tells them to bring no purse or staff or extra cloak, depending on the generosity of strangers, and bringing peace on the houses which welcomed them. It was a perfect reading for me to hear as I start this journey to Parish of the Messiah.
posted by tetracontadigon at 6/14/2005
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