Enchanted by Oregon
I’ve only had a fleeting taste of Bend and Portland, but it lingers on my mind, leaving me hungry for more.
I crave the grandeur of snow-capped peaks and the endless stretch of towering pines, their scent mingling with the crisp mountain air.
I long for slow meanders along lazy rivers under the soft caress of a warm wind.
I dream of evenings where the fire crackles to the haunting calls of coyotes echoing in the distance beneath a canopy of brilliant stars, and my clothes carry the heady scent of earth and smoke.
I yearn to feel the hum of the forest’s folk song in my chest—a song that belongs to mossy trunks, rushing streams, and unseen creatures.
The drive along the Columbia River is heart-achingly beautiful, marked by waterfalls and numerous pull-out vista spots. Across the water, soft grassy peaks rise gently, interrupted by jagged rock outcroppings that add a rugged contrast to the serene landscape.
We wove back and forth across train tracks, passing slow-moving boxcars and old rusty bridges. There’s a quiet comfort in seeing trains lumbering through a landscape like this. Those trains take me back to childhood movies like Tom and Huck, Stand By Me, Dennis the Menace, and The Little Rascals. It evokes a yearning for simpler times when life felt slower, the world larger, and adventure began at the edge of your front yard.
As we drove by, I gazed out the window longingly at the glittering creek. If only we had more time to truly slow travel. To stop at every whim and soak in what we want; to have no plans. But there we were, with every detail mapped out, every stop planned. And yet, I couldn’t help but wonder if we’d forgotten the point of the sabbatical.
I made a silent promise to myself: