It was in that column just a few months ago that I wrote about taking the time to learn something new or to do something all over again that you haven’t done in a while. I myself chose kiteboarding and fly fishing this summer. My fiancé and I took to kite surfing like a fish to water, and fly fishing is so perfectly the opposite in terms of the sustained rush and the adrenaline fix (though a fish on that fly will get the blood flowing) that I found myself in perfect balance this summer. I made headway with both, and I can’t wait to pick up where I left off with kiteboarding as the spring and early summer months roll back in next year. Fly fishing will continue as the fall months push through, and with both sports there are significant steps I can take to practice and perfect as much as possible before the prime season returns. Part of me can’t wait, but there’s the other part of me that embraces each season no matter the rain, snow or wind, and that part is already excited for what the fall will bring.

I’ve already waxed poetic in past columns about the stunning beauty and sheer awe that a Columbia Gorge fall can inspire in us. There will be long scenic drives through the valleys, hills, mountains and high prairie, all of which sing the season in the prettiest of notes. Oh, and there will be cider and ale, hot chocolate, apples, pears and pies. It’s a great season to be a resident of any Pacific Northwest town as produce ripens on the branches and wine grapes ready for picking. There’s so much beauty and contemplation in a typical fall day, but somehow this year I want more.

Maybe I just caught the adventurous spirit. Maybe I’m just trying to hold on to the premier outdoor season until it has all but disappeared. Either way, I’m getting back out there. As kiteboarding and fly fishing worked in perfect balance to satiate my adventurous and Zen spirit, I hope the fall season itself provides the relaxation, calm and solitude I’ve been subconsciously and quietly yearning for. And as its counter point? What balance is to be struck to this refreshing and passive season? Perhaps it’s late fall skiing, which I haven’t done since I was in grade school. Maybe until then I’ll take up mountain biking. I had a rough go when I was 13 or 14 and I never tried the trails again. It looks exhilarating, and I’m a complete nut for a sport when it means I can buy and acquire more gear.

A small voice is telling me to relax and enjoy the fall. It was a very fast and adventurous summer, and I know that painful feeling of seeing the snow fall earlier then expected—of knowing it all went by and you didn’t take enough time to savor it. I think that voice comes from the side of me that’s always trying to slow things down and to take in a moment. It’s as if, at times, I can almost stop the world with the perfectly written line or the timely photograph that just stops you in your tracks and begs the question: Why move forward from here? And then it too is gone.

The other voice, the louder one, is telling me that there’s no way to capture life. It’s a futile act that will leave even the most hardy and ambitious with feelings of bitterness and regret. But to embrace life—to capture moments with memories of great adventures, challenges bested—that leaves a lasting impact that breathes and speaks back to you far beyond its seasonal boundary. I can not capture, in words or photographs, the tingle in my stomach that I can recreate whenever I sit and think long enough about the rush of being pulled up out of the water on my first kiteboarding lesson, and it’s with that spirit and that sentiment in mind that I’ll attack this fall. I think as a child I was imbued with a sense that we aren’t here long enough to enjoy what’s out there, and that made me slow things down and savor them as much as I could. Now, I still think our seasons and years are far too fleeting, but I’m taking the opposite approach. I’m living each day fast and full, and when it’s all said and done, I’ll be filled with memories that don’t lose their spirit over time.

It almost seems too easy, but for some reason it’s felt counter intuitive at times. Fill your life with adventure, excitement and just the right amount of time to sit back and smell the fall leaves, and you’ll be rewarded with memories that fade much slower. Try to slow down too much, and you’ll find that time has passed that cannot be captured again. I know these things, and yet they are often at conflict within me. Finding that yin and yang balance within myself sounds challenging, but it’s a challenge I embrace with a smile. Bring on the fall, bring on the adventure, and when it too has passed, half of me will be fondly looking back while the other half braces for the winter of a lifetime.

541.308.0308

www.localite.com

Localite, CGN-7’s flagship program, is a television talk show hosted by TV personality Jon Compton. The 30-minute show is taped at CGN-7 Studios in The Dalles, Oregon and features guests from around the Columbia Gorge and beyond.

kramersmarket@ortelco.net

This wonderfully restored 1900’s mercantile, now a great small town grocery, is located in Dufur Oregon 15 miles south west of  The Dalles Oregon just off US 197.

541.993.2745

www.shelterwood.us

publisher@shelterwood.us

Sustainable in the USA!

Those of us who grew up under high evergreen canopies of the Pacific Northwest understand the forestry term, “Shelterwood”. It typically refers to the highest interconnecting branches of Douglas fir trees, Spruce, or Redwoods. Their branches can span millions of square miles. They are also home to hundreds of creatures; great horned owls, silver grays, flying squirels, marbled murrelet, osprey and eagles. Their pinecones drop seeds hundreds of feet below to sprout up in search of sunlight, while sending roots deep into the forest floor. The US Forest Service calls that high forest realm the “overstory”. And, it protects the smaller seedlings until they grow strong enough to replace the giants when they fall.

In a real sense, Shelterwood Publishing is like the “overstory”. If you are an artist, author, or publisher interested in new ways of sustaining your enterprise we would enjoy hearing from you.

503.688.1000

www.bremik.com

We Construct Buildings.

However, we view ourselves as a people business, committed to developing the brightest individuals in our industry. As a result, every member of our team is passionate about what they do.

Bremik Construction brings a fresh perspective to the local construction industry by leading the way with integrity, ingenuity, and dedication. Coupled with sustainable building practices, Bremik aims for professional excellence and progressive business practices.

We perform the majority of our work on a negotiated basis, leading clients and architects through the pre-construction process to ensure projects are designed to meet their needs and budgets. From the first draft to the final walk-through, our buildings are built to stand up to your expectations.

509.637.2774

www.everybodysbrewing.com

A small to medium sized brewpub, located in White Salmon, Washington. Our pub has a warm, cozy inviting feel to it. We are a family friendly environment. Our food is affordable large portions, made with the highest quality local ingredients.

We focus on session beers with all the flavor. Our location is right in the heart of the Columbia River Gorge. We feel that this is one of the most beautiful places on Earth. Our outside deck seats 50 people and has a stunning view of Mt. Hood. You gotta check it out for your self!

503.360.4707

www.gorge-ousweddings.com

Tucked away in beautiful Home Valley Washington, Wind Mountain Ranch is a private estate specializing in unforgettable weddings and special events. Built in 1948, this ranch style home sits upon 68 acres of scenic land in beautiful Home Valley Washington.

The Ranch House is a fully furnished home that offers accommodations for up to 10 people which includes three bedrooms, two full bathrooms, full kitchen with appliances, washer and dryer, air conditioning, pellet stove, and a spacious living room with a beautiful view of the surrounding area.

The property was once home to a 30 acre orchard that included dozens of apple and pear trees and strawberry fields. From 1945 to 1972 this family owned and operated farm supplied fresh fruits and vegetables to the local area. Today few trees still stand, but the beauty of the land remains untouched.

With breathtaking views of rolling hills, Wind Mountain, and the Columbia River, the ranch is the perfect setting for your Special Event. Hosting only one Celebration at a time, you are truly the center of attention, with our only goal making sure your wedding or event is everything you envisioned.

Wind Mountain Ranch is located 45 minutes East of Portland, Oregon. Come celebrate your day in complete privacy.

A few Wednesday’s ago I had a chance to enter into a world that—because of my age and my life experience—I had never entered. I volunteered with the Gorge Heroes Club in their efforts to assemble, pack and ship care packages to soldiers from the Columbia Gorge that are serving in Iraq and Afghanistan.

I read about the wars on a daily basis; I even like to think that I talk about them and think about them more than the “others” of my generation who’ve forgotten or turned away. How much of this is because of the amount of news I read for my job, and how much of it is my general curiosity about the field of battle, are two questions I don’t have the time and space to explore here, but something from that meeting has kept my mind reeling.

 In the darkened, hanger-style warehouse of the Western Antique Aerospace and Automobile Museum I was met with the faces of several soldiers’ parents, spouses and family members. Those faces evoked stress. Their way of looking at you was a bit scattered at first, as if their minds were somewhere else, and who could blame them for that. What I saw that evening as we packed boxes, signed cards and socialized was a level of commitment and dedication from the home-front that I am yet to experience in any other place as these nearly decade-long wars have raged on. I know much of this is political, and I don’t even want to near that line of discussion. What I do want to say is that the level of dedication from these volunteers was simply heartwarming. What bothered me was the thought that these very people who are so giving of their time, money and efforts are the same people who have already given themselves over to the anxiety-ridden, all-encompassing fear that comes with having a loved-one at war.

It all got me thinking back to my college days and my work studying the war literature of Tim O’Brien for my undergraduate thesis. Many may know his novel The Things They Carried, which chronicled his involvement in the Vietnam War. In it, O’Brien uses fictional characters and fabricated situations to try to convey the emotions, fear, dread, boredom, mind-games, pain and more that come with being a soldier. As I was pondering the inevitable parallels—fair or not—that have been drawn between Vietnam and Iraq or Afghanistan, an old quote I couldn’t completely recall kept playing in the back of my mind. With some luck and some thanks to my younger self, who took down page numbers and marked quotes for everything I read, I found the lines in O’Brien’s most recent novel, July, July from 2002. As I thought, the lines don’t just resonate with the echoes of the Vietnam era; they carry an even more striking tenor today. In July, July, O’Brien has created a fictional college class, the Darton Hall College class of 1969, and from it he contrasts those who fought in Vietnam with those who stayed and went to college. The story centers on the modern-day class reunion and explores the effects the war has had on the characters. In the following lines, O’Brien taps into much of what I’ve been feeling since leaving the Gorge Heroes Club packing event.

“And while people perished on the far side of the planet, other people had their teeth filled, and filed for divorce, and made love in parked cars.

            Freshmen were oriented.

            The Mets were on a roll.

            Small, simple things, yes, but in some great nationwide darkroom, the most ordinary human snapshots would be fixed in memory by the acidic wash of war—the music, the lingo, the evening news.”

We all know the legacy of the Vietnam War. We know the protests, the lack of support showed to some returning soldiers, the divisive politics. One parallel I don’t see, not at all, from this current set of wars to the one O’Brien is writing about is the backdrop. When we look back historically we see the scenes of the late 1960s set against the backdrop of the Vietnam War. We understand much of what happened in the years after the war to be a result of the war. Will we feel this way about the two wars we’re fighting now? We’re a larger country, we’re a very politically divided country and we are in a news-cycle and internet age that we haven’t harvested an understanding of yet.

I guess a lot of what stuck with me after interviewing RaeLynn Ricarte, one of the founders of the Gorge Heroes Club, and after volunteering at their event, is that much of our country today is missing the context—the backdrop—that these wars are providing us. Regardless of our opinions, politics and arguments, these wars are taking place. I’m glad I had the opportunity to be reminded, very gently, of the sacrifices and spent-lives these wars have already demanded. For the most part, we can choose how we feel about a major event like a war; we can even choose whether or not we go, or, thanks in large part to modern news coverage, we can choose whether or not we even pay attention to these wars. What we can’t choose is the fact that they’ve happened. They’re going on now, and they’ve become the backdrop to our era. Our new millennium, our new century, the last nine years and the next few years will all be set against a backdrop of war. I don’t ever want to forget that, and I’m not sure it’s healthy for any of us if we do.

541.386.2200

www.hoodriverinn.com

The Hood River Inn’s unique Columbia River shoreline location is convenient to many nearby attractions and recreational opportunities in the Columbia River Gorge and Mt. Hood area. Complete with waterfront access and a private beach, the Hood River Inn is an easy one-hour drive from Portland along scenic Interstate-84. Rich with culture, natural splendor and recreation, the area presents something for everyone. Discover what’s special about the Hood River Inn and its surroundings.

Just a week ago I had the chance to venture a little over half-way across the country to a family wedding in Southeastern Ohio. I wish I could say that the red-eye flights don’t bother me, or that I never complain about the opportunity to see my family and some old friends, but alas, it simply isn’t true—or at least not the whole truth. I was bitter. I was tired. And to make matters worse, Ohio in June is a sweltering, humid, down-right muggy environment. As my fiancé and I exited the small jet into the Port of Columbus International Airport a deep, dank stench of heavy moisture on old carpet greeted us.

            I was nearly sleepless after flying out of PDX at 11 p.m. the previous night because of connecting flights and the fact that I stand at about 6 feet 4 inches—the typical airline seat hits me right about mid-shoulder blade and my head bobs around every few seconds waking me up. My knees were sore from pressing into the seat in front of me and my eyes were bloodshot—a true red-eye. We packed lightly, so we were quickly in the rental car and on our way to the rolling green hills near Athens, Ohio.

            I’m from Ohio, though it’s been half a decade since I’ve called it home. You would think I’d be used to the humidity, the corn fields and the aggressive driving, but somehow every time I go back it all seems new and frustrating again. By 9 a.m. it was pushing 80 degrees and the moisture in the air made it seem heavy, like a warm, wet blanket. We met my mom and my aunt whose son was to be married at the reception site, because what’s better after flying overnight across the country on an hour of sleep than to help unload 20 or 30 boxes of liquor, wine, soft drinks and mixers in the early morning heat? I was all smiles and hugs on the outside and fire and ire on the inside. I’d like to think I pulled it off, but my family knows me all-too-well.

            We were half-way through the carload of boxes at the Eclipse Company Store when it happened. A father and son staying in this tiny town northeast of several other tiny towns simply reached in and started carrying the boxes up the short flight of stairs and into the venue. A few of us introduced ourselves, thinking for sure that they must be the bride’s family, and they smiled warmly and shook our hands. Grandma asked how they know the family. “Oh, we were just walking by—looked like you could use a hand,” the father said. His son was already back out the door grabbing another couple boxes. There was a moment of silence, and then we all laughed and smiled and thanked them for the help. In minutes the car was unloaded and they both vanished as quickly as they’d come.

I’m originally from the Cleveland area, and I spent several years in Chicago. When you’re in those places you don’t want people reaching into your car to grab your stuff. It’s almost never a gesture of hospitality or thoughtfulness. People simply do not say “hello” to each other; they rarely even make eye contact on purpose. Somehow what that father and son had just done for us started me on to a pattern, one that made me feel much closer to my Columbia Gorge home, where I recognized the kindness and generosity of those that were making this weekend possible. From the waitress at the restaurant who spoke with a slight southern twang and took care of us like a grandmother would, to the concierge at the inn who always asked how we were doing and remembered our faces so we never answered the same question twice, these people were genuinely warm and truly friendly.

            The wedding went off without a hitch, at least not one that we noticed. The bride was stunning and the groom was everything my cousin has always been: stoic, calm, warm and gracious. The caterers, waiters, hotel staff, bar tenders and neighbors throughout the sites we visited helped to not only make the wedding a success, but they also helped to ease the tired and travel-addled minds of my fiancé and I, as well as the other guests I’m sure.

            In just a few months these same family members will be traveling the same tiring and challenging distance to witness the wedding of my beautiful soon-to-be bride and me. We were reminded of this throughout the weekend as friends and family introduced us to other guests with, “These two are next,” followed by a congratulations and smile from a stranger. “Are you guys ready?” and “Only two more months!” were common starts to a conversation with my cousins, aunts and uncles.

I’ve been excited to marry Ann from the moment we met, but there was something that became even more apparent to me after last weekend: I’m also very excited to share my home here in the Columbia Gorge with my family and friends. I can’t wait for them to experience the outdoor lifestyle, the brown and green contrast of the Cascades in September, the mild summer nights. I can’t wait until I see the look on their faces, especially those who live in the bigger cities, when a complete stranger smiles and says “hello” when they pass on the sidewalk. I want to be there when a friendly neighborhood dog comes jogging up for a drop-in visit at their vacation rental. What will happen when lines of cars come to a halt to let them cross the street? Will they notice that we don’t honk our horns here unless it’s an emergency, or that it’s considered rude not to ask the person on the barstool next to you what his or her name is?

            I think a lot of us, even those like me that weren’t born here, start to take some of this for granted. It becomes part of our daily routine to be kind, neighborly and hospitable. I have all the confidence in the world that my family—exhausted from travel and perhaps antagonized by the thousand of miles and dollars it takes them to get here—will find themselves cooled and calmed by the personalities, kindness and hospitality of those of us who live and work here in the Columbia Gorge. In Ohio I went from angry, tired and bitter to simply grateful that I could be part of my cousin’s wedding. My heart is warmed at the thought of those I hold near and dear experiencing that same transition here.

541.490.8000

www.marknilsson.com

info@marknilsson.com

Mark Nilsson’s art studio is a solo operation that is based in beautiful Hood River, Oregon. He returned to his native state almost ten years ago and enjoys a thriving art business that includes painting murals, art shows featuring his paintings on canvas, and illustration work.

Mark’s work is very diverse and he is able to create unique artwork to satisfy a wide range of clients. His painting style can run from impressionistic, to whimsical, to the hyper realism of classic trompe l’oeil. Mark enjoys re-inventing himself and pursuing new mediums which lately include the use of wood and mixed media.

His philosophy is simple: “In our high-tech, often stressful world, I believe that original art is attractive because it is a return to when things are created by hand, is one of a kind, and thus enhances our busy lives and makes us quite simply, happy”.

Mark’s art is highly sought after for his brilliant use of color, style and subject. Being mostly self taught, Mark credits his many travels as his schooling. He continues to love travel, languages, the outdoors, and good food and wine with equally good friends.

209 3rd Street, Hood River, OR.
541.400.0008 / 877.799.5488

www.ajkittrealestate.com

ajkitt@remax.net

Situated in the beautiful Columbia River Gorge, RE/MAX River City has a singular focus: to provide exceptional service and professionalism to our clients. Whether it be the purchase or sale of your home or an investment, or assistance with a development project of any size, RE/MAX River City  is the first choice of those looking for dedicated personal service in Real Estate.

As a region well known for its fruit growing, wine making, and recreational lifestyle the Hood River area offers a diverse set of Real Estate options. From condos and townhouses to some of the finest single family properties in the Northwest; from rental homes to large commercial investments; and from land for spec home builders to large scale development tracts, the Gorge offers opportunity for everyone.

Hood River, and the Columbia River Gorge is on the cusp of a transformation into a full scale destination region and RE/MAX River City is positioned to take our clients successfully through the transition.

Direct: 541.298.7671
Cell: 503.551.4238
jeriraymond.mywindermere.com

jeri@glenntaylor.com

Direct: 541.296.2525
Cell: 541.993.0119
owensmith.mywindermere.com

owensmith@glenntaylor.com

Direct: 541.298.7670
Cell: 541.980.7192
vickellett@hotmail.com
www.windermere.com

Direct: 541.298.2325
Cell: 541.993.5029
mkwoodside@hotmail.com

Direct: 541.298.7663
Cell: 541.288.7288
www.columbiagorgerealty.com

conniethomasian@yahoo.com

Direct: 541.296.2102
Cell: 541.980.7700
bobsmith.mywindermere.com
bobsmith@gorge.net

Direct: 541.298.1970
Cell: 541.993.8849
dunning@windermere.com

morg@windermere.com

John Maher, a fine arts photographer, walks around to the side of his house at Rowena Dell, Oregon, and points to his newest artwork. There, standing among pine trees, on a bed of needles, is a ladder painted the color of a sunflower. The 18-foot fruit picker’s ladder is out of place here in the wooden glen, so just imagine what 100 of them will look like perched on the hills along Interstate 84. The “Running Ladders” project, set to debut in 2011, is Maher’s first large-scale conceptual art installation, but for thirty years he has challenged his art to question its role in society. “Art is an elevated experience, it should engage people,” Maher says. “If you can take the mundane and show it to be as special as it really is, that’s art’s job.”

Take an everyday farm tool like a ladder out of its environment—its context—and add the right colors to it and, “You create a new context for it and raise people’s awareness of that object,” says Maher. The “Running Ladders” project is a tribute to small farms and an opportunity, through art, to bring relevance to their vital role in our society. For Maher, there is nostalgia in what small farms represent, and he sees a desire for our culture to reconnect with these farms, “to get our hands in the dirt again,” as he puts it. His sentiments go back to the 1960s and the back-to-the-land movement, but Maher believes this new push for creating sustainable communities is much bigger than that. “Farming is a big part of the landscape in Oregon,” he says. “What happens to farms happens to the environment.”

The idea of placing painted ladders along the interstate actually came from another common object seen across Oregon’s landscape: fences. Inspired by the conceptual artist, Christo, who in the 1970s did a project using fabric to create miles of white fence in California, Maher’s “Running Ladders” was conceived on a typical drive home along the scenic highway from Mosier, Oregon. “I had a transformative moment and I want to communicate that to others, many others,” Maher says…

Krista Thie’s eyes light up when she talks about wild oats. Thie, an ethnobotanist who lives just outside of White Salmon, explains that if you take its seed and add a drop of water, it will open up and begin a slow and magical spiral of its own accord. Were it on a patch of dirt it would begin to work itself in, destined to find purchase in the vital earth.

It is but one of Thie’s many overwhelming botany lessons during a tour of her solar-powered home and the surrounding grounds. Every floor of the house she shares with husband, Daryl Hoyt, is filled with textbooks, notebooks, pamphlets and guides to the incredibly abundant flora of the Columbia Gorge. Soft-spoken by nature, she comes to conversation slowly, but once a topic takes root, she will discourse until spent.

Thie talks eloquently about the wonders of the area’s plant life. She explains that Skamania and Klickitat counties alone contain well over 100 kinds of rare and unique plants. This singular ground is brought to life as a result of the ancient Missoula Flood, the continuously enormous east-west flow of the Columbia River, overlapping micro-climes, varying elevations and rainfall, and good dirt…

It used to be that the only place to get a drink in the tiny town of Mosier, Oregon, was at its namesake tavern, where females were forbidden. It stood within eyeshot of the local YWCA, where the townswomen supervised wholesome activities like tap dancing and bingo as the men were free to raise hell in the bar. The Mosier Tavern burned to the ground in 1930s. According to legend, the women of Mosier started the blaze.    

The old YWCA building still stands just off exit 69 on Interstate 84. In a fitting tribute, it’s now itself a pub—the Thirsty Woman—named in honor of those fabled women. Set behind a lawn strewn with picnic tables and colorful Adirondack chairs, the 400-square-foot structure that houses the Thirsty Woman, with its weathered wood shingles and corrugated metal siding, could easily be mistaken for the storage shed it was less than two years ago.

Co-owners Debra Mazzoleni and her husband, Barry Rumsey, ran a successful restaurant in Baltimore, Maryland, before relocating to the Columbia Gorge in 2006. They came to the area seeking a place to ride their bikes and raise their two children. When the former Wildflower Café in Mosier went up for sale, they jumped at the chance to make it their own. Along with the main building, which they reopened as the Good River Restaurant, the property included the dilapidated former YWCA…

Agriculture has been a leading industry in the Columbia Gorge for generations. The weather, soil and plentiful water of the Cascade Mountains provide key ingredients for successful farming. In an area long known for growing some of the best apples, pears and cherries in the world, vineyard managers and winemakers have recently been receiving greater exposure and acclaim.

At 40 miles in length, the Columbia Gorge American Viticultural Area (CGAVA) hosts nearly 100 active vineyards and wineries. As the tastes of consumers continue to evolve, so have the methods and philosophies of the growers and producers. Forward thinking philosophies and hard science are now leading more farmers to introduce increasingly sustainable practices.

Several definitions of sustainable viticulture exist in the grape industry, but many agree that the current movement toward more sustainable practices began with sustainable agriculture, which grew out of organic farming practices and the “green” revolution, as well as the back-to-the-land movement of the 1970s…

I was raised by two loving and ever-attentive parents who knew that in order to maintain sanity and foster their relationship for decades, they’d need a date night. Friday nights were a time for them to leave the day-to-day parenting troubles for awhile and to just be together, alone, away from everything. Luckily, my grandmother lived just around the corner. She was always so excited to see us late on Friday afternoons. I remember the way she’d be waiting at the screen door as if she could intuit the exact seconds we’d arrive. My sister and I would bounce out of the car and run to her embrace.

We would each have one of two things with us, either a large Pizza Hut button decorated with a star for each book we’d read that week, or a sheet of paper cataloging our summer reading list for the Morley Library summer program. Each title and author listed was another work devoured—another seed of knowledge or insight gained.

Grandma didn’t like pizza, but she would grin from ear to ear as we piled into her Pontiac and headed off for the small, free pizza we earned each and every week through a reading program that far too few of our schoolmates took advantage of. I remember clearly, sitting in a mostly empty restaurant just off the main drag outside of downtown. We’d wait anxiously for our prize to arrive while Grandma asked us about what we’d read, what we’d learned and what we would be checking-out from the library after dinner.

When the Pizza Hut program ended, not much would change. We’d sit over a dinner of spaghetti and fresh-picked vegetables at her kitchen table and recount our reading adventures as we made our way through the library’s summer reading program. We often found ourselves well into the lead by early June. We’d count the number of green construction-paper leaves with our names on them, each one placed onto the bare brown branches that took-up what must have been 30 feet on the interior wall of the library. By the end of each summer, with the help of hundreds of Lake County kids, the summer reading tree would be bursting with life—thousands of books read.

     In my grandmother’s living room sat a brown leather chair where the three of us would squeeze-in to read away our Friday evenings. My sister and I would each take an armrest and Grandma would ease into the middle. We took turns reading aloud. I remember the way my younger sister would laugh at the jokes she didn’t get just because Grandma and I were laughing, and then we’d laugh with her, enjoying that frivolous, warm chuckle she still has to this day. It only took a few years to wear two small holes into those armrests. Grandma would tape-over them in hopes of stretching the life of the chair—maybe in some way it was a thank you for the way that chair brought the three of us together.

As we grew older there were quieter nights, but we’d still only occupy the space in and around that chair as we each dove into our young adult novels—Grandma reading the newspaper or a gardening magazine at our side. Whether we were 3-years old or well into our teens, we’d finish a stack of books that would make any parent proud and we’d head off to the library again the next week to exchange them for more knowledge, more enjoyment, more access into that world that only reading can open.

     I’ve grown-up to make a living by reading and writing. It’s a gift I silently thank Grandma for each and every day of my lucky little life. I understand the bias I have toward the written word, and given my life experience, it’s easy to see why I get so nostalgic over the loss of a building filled with books. There are a host of reasons that these libraries are closing, but none is simpler than the fact that the money isn’t there. As many of us see the signs that this recession is lessening its grip on the nation, these closings serve as a reminder that we’re far from profitable, far from wealthy. I can’t blame a hard-working family for not wanting a raise in their property taxes, but it doesn’t make it any less of a sad story.

My office here in  is just a block from the State Street branch that will soon shut its doors. Each time I walk by—every time I see someone tug at the locked front doors and look down at their watch—I’ll think of the worn spots on that old leather chair. I’ll think of the feeling of taping up another paper leaf on the library wall, and the weight of those stacks of books as we left that Hood River cavernous brick-building in Northeast Ohio. I may be far from the place I was born, but I’m home, and every time I look at the State Street Library I’ll feel a tinge of sadness at the fact that each hour that building remains closed, another child is missing out on the blessed life of the written word.

541.436.1226

www.volcanicbottleshoppe.com

beermail@volcanicbottleshoppe.com

541.296.6246

www.organic2go.net

customerservice@organic2go.net

541.980.2312

www.mtvalleylandco.com

boyd3harris@yahoo.com

It’s beginning to look a lot like summer. It didn’t happen overnight this time. The winter, though mild, had its claws in deep, and while spring is finally blooming all around the Columbia Gorge, the Cascade Mountain passes are still getting more than their fair share of snow. For a few long weeks, it seemed as though spring might not make it, and then all at once, the fruit trees bloomed just in time for the annual Blossom Festival, and the green shoots of this year’s leaves are starting to dot the branches of our deciduous neighbors. For some, it couldn’t have happened a second too soon, and for others, there’s an apprehension that comes with spring and summer in this area.

Our local business owners need that influx of spring, summer and early fall tourism more than usual this year. It’s become incredibly repetitive and redundant to say it, but there has been a world-wide economic recession, and when your local economy is so dependent on the presence of visitors from out-of-state or even other countries, it’s no wonder many Columbia Gorge small business owners are anxious and excited for the boon in business that follows the return of abundant sunshine throughout the region. From fishing guides, to winery tasting rooms, to restaurants and our local groceries, there can be no doubt of the imperative role our swelling summer population plays in the continued economic success of the communities that surround the Columbia River.

There’s already a noticeable increase in people, though at this point, many of them are residents who’ve simply come out of hibernation or returned home from warmer winter climates. As I walk the streets, it’s easy to see that there are more smiles, more waves, and with that, hopefully more optimism. They, the visitors, the tourists, the curious, and the adventure seeking, they will come. But May is that precious month that serves as a bridge between the somewhat peaceful and idyllic calm that so many residents embrace, and the adventurous, boisterous summer season that follows.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the last time I tried something new—something “touristy” or “vacationy.” I, like so many of you, live in a place that allows for an endless stream of new adventures, new sports, new restaurants and new art displays. I update the columbiagorge.com events calendar just about every day, and it’s filled with things I have either never tried or have written off as one-time experiences. What better month than May, while the streets and trails are just a bit less crowded, to venture out into the ever increasing sunshine and to explore the Columbia Gorge, my home, as if I’d never been here before.

So you’ve lived here for years, maybe even your whole life, but have you done everything you can to experience the natural playground you have in your own backyard? You’re a windsurfer, kiteboarder and maybe even a stand-up paddler, but have you sailed the river? Maybe you fish, but when was the last time you gave a fly rod a try? Or perhaps you’re a hiker, but have you ever strapped on a pair of trail running shoes with a few days’ supplies and fast-packed your way through the area’s wilderness? I’m sure many of you are nodding your heads, yes, you’ve done all of these things, but I know there’s something out there you haven’t tried, and that very something is what a vacationing guy or gal is going to come here to do. Can you really get bested—get out adventured—in your own backyard?

We’re not all athletes or adventure seekers either, I certainly know that. Maybe you’re a self-proclaimed foodie, a wine aficionado or an art connoisseur. Well, then the Columbia Gorge is your playground too. Have you tried the new varietals at Maryhill or Pheasant Valley? When was the last time you rounded up the family, or perhaps better yet, took your significant other, and headed downtown to your local First Friday Art Walk? And for you foodies, much like the adventure seekers, simply because a few months have passed, I can guarantee that new menu items are featured at a place you haven’t visited in years. I don’t know where, yet, but there’s some new renegade chef who’s taking your old favorite and spinning it in a direction you never thought it would go, and as soon as you or I can find him or her, we’ve got to try it out.

This very spirit—this kind of pioneering attitude—is a huge part of what has made the Columbia Gorge such a success and such a fresh new place, no matter how long you’ve lived or visited here. This May, as temperatures climb and spirits lift, let’s take a few days, a few weekends, and head out into the great-known, to find what we haven’t yet discovered in our neighborhood. Thankfully, we’ll soon be sharing our restaurants and trails with those who play such a huge role in the economic and social livelihood of the Columbia Gorge, but for just a few more weeks, the numbers of residents will far outnumber the visitors. For the next month, I’m going to be a visitor. I’m going to see and experience everything this playground we call the Columbia Gorge has to offer. And when someone approaches me on the street in June or July and asks where to rent the right equipment for this, or to find a guide for that, I’ll know, because I’ll have tried it first hand. Come this summer, I may give a different answer when someone asks me where there’s a good place to grab a bite, or what gallery they’ve got to see before they leave. Let’s all take a little vacation in our own backyards.

541.705.3590

www.clocktowerales.com

clocktowerales@yahoo.com

Clock Tower Ales specializes in the sale of craft beers, wine and non alcoholic craft soda. We are located in the second historic Wasco County Court House in The Dalles Oregon. With a relaxed and community focused atmosphere we provide beverages and light food to our patrons.

360.576.6311

www.structuresnw.com

patrick@structuresnw.com

Our focus is on assisting Building Professionals, and Owner-Builders in creating building envelopes that perform well above state energy code requirements.  These building envelopes easily meet the energy saving criteria for building programs like Energy Star, Earth Advantage, LEED for Homes, Passive House and Net Zero Energy Homes. We work on residential and light commercial projects throughout the Northwest.

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Specializing in Northwest cuisine with a French flair, we use local organic products whenever possible.  Try a selection from our Award winning wine list, including the finest wines from the Northwest.  Relax at our fireside bar or enjoy our fine food. Our five dining rooms, deck, and patio are perfect for private parties and functions ranging from 10 to 250 people.

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I had the pleasure—and at times the pain—of taking a trip down through California and across the desert to Scottsdale, Arizona, just a week ago. It had been a few years since my last great excursion and I was nearly giddy with anticipation of the open road. My fiancé and I packed the car in the waning evening hours as we prepared to drive through the night. We did so quietly, our minds already drifting toward that moment when the sun would come up over the southern California hills and engulf us in its spring glow. Route 5 was not the preferred choice, but we had a family wedding to attend and we couldn’t waste the hours along the coastline this time.

I truly embrace the environment that I’m blessed to live in, but there are times when the mind and the spirit need the respite that a long trip away from home can provide. Each season in the Columbia Gorge brings different pleasures, activities and opportunities; each season also brings different challenges. While this winter had not been too harsh, the weeks of seemingly endless rain in parts of February and March had long ago started me dreaming toward this trip. I romanced the desert sun, the wildflowers, the warmth. We had planned long walks and hikes through the martian landscape of central Arizona with the late March heat ebbing down on us. We were incredibly excited to see family and friends we’d too long last hugged. We were ready to push through the familiar Oregon landscape and to bust into the ever changing and adventurous California terrain.

There’s a refreshing feeling to breaking free of that southern Oregon border in the dark of night. We had no immediate timeline, no predetermined stop. It was us, the Cascades, the road, the darkness. Mount Shasta seemed asleep as we rounded her curves. Sacramento was a quiet, dark mystery at nearly 4 a.m., and just as we began to pine for that sun we’d been so long dreaming of, it crested over the rolling bluffs north of Bakersfield.

I struggled to sleep, anxious for both time spent with family and the next unvisited environment. Sometime around 9 a.m. we headed into Los Angeles. Neither of us had ever been, though we felt we knew the city well thanks to the television shows and movies that call this enormous urban jungle home. I think that’s about where it started, this feeling that though we wanted to break free for a few days, we were incredibly lucky to call the Columbia Gorge—a National Scenic Area—home. The San Gabriel and San Bernardino Mountain Ranges are not nearly as lucky as the Cascades. While they provide a stunning backdrop to the nation’s second largest city, they’re almost lost in the hustle and bustle, the smog, the blinding sunshine. The Angeles National Forest backs right up onto this city known much more for its Hollywood district, restaurants, crime and crazies, than the natural beauty surrounding it. The environment—when I could forget about the city we were now speeding to get through—was absolutely stunning, but it was a total afterthought. Take your focus off of the surrounding terrain for a second, and you were simply in the middle of a crowded city rush hour. The mountains, the gorgeous blooming flowers and the snow-capped, towering peeks all but disappeared just moments after entering the city of angels.

As we pushed across the treeless landscape well east of the city and on into Arizona, I began to think about the fact that we’d have to come back home. I wasn’t tired of the sun yet, not by any stretch of the imagination, but I already missed the white puffy clouds gliding across the blue skies of Southern Washington and Northern Oregon, and I longed for the shadows of the towering Douglas Firs. As the temperature continued to climb near Palm Springs, my mind drifted to those pleasant afternoons in the moderate high deserts just east of the Cascades.

Though just the day before I couldn’t wait to take in the desert heat and the blooming flora, I now found myself reflecting on how lucky I am. A few miles into Arizona a large billboard advertised fresh produce and we both chuckled at the notion of farming this dry, brown, barren land. I opened the cooler in the back seat and we ate our sandwiches and drank the cool water we’d put in our three, half-gallon Nalgenes back home. There was something so fresh and invigorating about eating our Washington and Oregon grown and raised meats and vegetables while washing it down with crisp, clean Northwest water. I couldn’t help but think that all those people in the cities off the freeway, or in their cars speeding by on their way to work or the golf course, would be so much happier if they could enjoy this simple pleasure.

We arrived around four in the afternoon amid the early beginnings of a Phoenix rush hour. For as far as the eye could see there were roads, malls, houses and businesses. The entire landscape was spotted with the browns and tans of the local buildings. The sun shone brightly and warm, and although we were approaching a full 24 hours in the car, our spirits were high with a sense of accomplishment, escape and freedom. As family gathered in the kitchen to greet us, we both poured a tall glass of water from the spout on the front of the refrigerator. I watched as my fiancé took a few sips of the musty soft water and then discreetly poured it down the sink.

We did exactly as we had intended to. We hiked and ran in the McDowell range and basked in the uninterrupted rays. We hugged each and every family member and shared stories of the past year. After a beautiful wedding we stood with a cocktail and watched the orange and red layers of sunshine disappear over the jagged desert peaks to the north. And when Sunday came around we were deeply saddened to be leaving our family and friends, but all the while we were burning inside for the comforts of home.

It was a silent car ride for much of western Arizona and southern California. Somewhere between Quartzite, Arizona, and Palm Springs, California, I broke the silence. “I can’t wait to see a tree, any tree at all.”

“No kidding, right? It’s pretty here, but—”

“Yeah, I’m ready for home.”

As we breached the border of Oregon—almost 20 hours into our drive—with heavy eyelids and a touch of crankiness, we both breathed a deep sigh of relief. It was raining almost the entire way through the state. I cracked the window and stuck my arm out into the drizzling rain, feeling its cool pitter patter on my exposed and slightly burnt skin. A chill quickly filled the car. What 20 hours ago was an 85 degree push across the desert was now a 50 degree drive through the mountains, valleys and plains of western Oregon, with thoughts of home filling our addled minds. “If this is what it takes for the farms and the orchards and the water we get to drink, I’ll take it,” I said quietly, staring straight ahead at the road.

“I know. It was nice to get away, but we’ve got it pretty good.”

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www.fashionationevent.com

Presented by Salon Visio for the benefit of The Next Door, Inc., Fashionation features the talents of our local community, showcasing clothing designers, hair stylists, make-up artists and clothing boutiques for an evening of entertainment, fashion, and fundraising.

The Next Door, Inc. is dedicated to helping children, families, and communities thrive in the Columbia Gorge.

541.387.3996

www.gorgedog.com

For longer than 18 years, Collyn Roberts dreamt of owning a pub and grill. Hounded by time and the inability to fulfill her dreams, Roberts—with a stroke of fortune and a matured vision—was finally able to realize her dream and make it a reality in June 2009. And so the proprietress—her dreams subtly gaining and adding richness like a fine wine—was able to create a pub and grill recognized by the residents of Goldendale, Washington, as a second home. The Barred Rock, the now named dream of Roberts, has yet to see a slow day since its opening.

Roberts’ background in the food industry came from her renowned sticky chicken, which she used to sell in a cart at local weekend farmers’ markets. “I knew it was time for me to open my own place when I looked up from my chicken cart and saw 50 people in line,” Roberts explained. Four years later, the sticky chicken recipe is another frequently sought after item on the menu.

The dinner menu also provides each patron with several difficult decisions. Steak, seafood and scrumptious dinner sides, such as Aunt Ann’s baked beans, round out the evening menu. Local resident Mike Goodson remarked that the pub and grill keeps drawing people back because it’s full of “good food, good people and a great atmosphere.”…

The highway itself functions as an allegory for the disparate faces of California; along its winding path you’ll find all the rugged, wild coastland available to soothe your indomitable free spirit, after which you’ll journey into the belly of one of the west coast’s fiercest symbols of extravagance and big business, Hearst Castle. Either way you like it, the Highway 1 road trip has something for every type of personality. We can all channel our inner-celebrity along one of America’s greatest extended drives.

If the idea of any road trip fantasy is farcical overstatement, then you’ll want to follow my chosen path and rent “America’s chosen car,” a Ford Mustang convertible. You can throw out that nagging feeling of frugality and just listen to the V6 engine drink up fuel like an August-dried lawn drinks up water. My particular road trip fantasy also involves another American cliché, the blond-haired, blue-eyed girl (my wife). However, this drive is immensely enjoyable whether you’re travelling with a partner, a pet or by yourself.

The highway stretches from the borders of Mexico to Canada while weaving in and out of beachfronts. One of the most remarkable stretches of road lays between Monterey and San Simeon in California. These two areas sandwich a precipitous wonderland known as Big Sur. The name that has stuck with this coastal area originated when mission residents of Carmel, California referred reverentially to the area as “El pais grande del sur,” or the “big country of the south.”  Although this natural splendor has not been designated as a national park, it certainly has inspired generations of poets to expound upon it…

Paul Lestock, who is leading what is surely the most warm and cozy stringed instrument class cum jam session, is about nothing if not groove. Five players are circled around him, amid wine barrels and the rough-hewn interior of Springhouse Cellar Winery, as he leads them through the simple yet elegant changes of Django Reinhardt’s “Djangology,” at a painfully slow speed.

He teaches music like he builds his handcrafted Arrow guitars—patiently, honestly, clearly, with a profound if not overt sense of greater good. He is teaching his motley charges how to be ensemble players. They learn when to play and when not to play, where and how the melody fits against harmony and most importantly, how to find that pesky groove.

The groove is the thing. He strums fat chords on his round-hole Arrow acoustic, a guitar he handcrafted in his Rowena Dell shop from fine woods and a deep sense of what a guitar should not only sound like, but what a guitar should be. He instructs the string bassist on how to set the beat with simple notes. A young boy who plays an Arrow tenor guitar (four strings tuned in fifths, instead of the usual six strings tuned in fourths) cops a simple but effective melody. The bespectacled mandolinist struggling through the chord changes suddenly gets it and bites off a tasty melodic solo…

As you walk into Salon Visio in Hood River the urban groove hits you first. Sleek modern lines, high ceilings, lots of light, a wall of cascading water and ambient dance music set the tone that owner Jim Entwisle envisioned when he opened the hair salon four years ago. “I wanted to create a social place—a place for building relationships with our customers and giving them the best services possible,” he said. Specializing in cuts and coloring, Salon Visio was selected by Salon Today as one of the top 200 hair boutiques in the nation for 2010, and it was the only one selected in Oregon. “We are so excited for this national recognition,” Entwisle said. “It shows that you don’t have to give up any services here in the Gorge.”

The range of products they carry by Aveda, Bumble and Bumble, and Oribe adds to that distinction. Aveda’s air, hair and skin care products, which use only botanically based oils and plant essences, fit well with many lifestyles here in the Columbia Gorge. While Aveda’s products enhance natural beauty, Bumble and Bumble likes to kick it up a notch with merchandise that matches their cutting techniques—using lots of texture and layering to get a rougher, edgier look.

“Bumble and Bumble is definitely more animated,” Entwisle said. “It’s for people who know exactly what kind of effect they want to achieve with their hair.” From natural to funky to pure glam, Visio’s newest line, named after and developed by the famous fashion runway stylist Oribe (pronounced or-bay), is a highly concentrated product that does not contain parabens, a cancer causing agent, and it is sulfite-free…

  The weather report the night before was bleak to say the least. Clouds rolling in overnight and a morning filled with rain. We didn’t care. It was the last weekend in February and neither of us had been on a decent hike since Mount Hood had torn me up in late July. The winter had taken its toll on both of us, though neither one of us knew the extent until we were halfway along the trail the next day.

We woke early and packed quietly while the coffee brewed in the corner of the kitchen. Rain jackets, extra liner layers to keep the moisture off our skin, hats and back-up hats, sunglasses (we were still hopeful), gloves, two granola bars and three liters of water. I made eggs and potatoes—a breakfast fit for a hike—while Ann packed odds and ends into her bag. The camera, a pocket tool and a small roll of Tums were coming with us.

“Have you looked outside yet?” I asked, breaking the silence.

“I’m afraid to.” She took two steps backwards without looking and pulled the blinds from the sliding glass doors on the back of our place. A triangle of sun spread across the carpet, and I had to shade my eyes. Neither of us spoke, we just smiled.

A breakfast and two rushed cups of coffee later we had the day-use fee tag on our dash and the car doors were being locked. My legs felt spry and fresh. I’d been running for a few months, both to get in shape and to chase away the winter doldrums, and I was pretty sure this was the start of a great hiking season. Dog Mountain Trailhead seemed the perfect spot to test the legs, the lungs, the back.

Across the Columbia, the Oregon side of the river was fogged in wispy, smoke-like clouds. Just about 200 feet above us hung the same formation, but the sun was beginning to burn through the morning cover just as we stepped onto the trail.

We knew we were a few weeks early for the spring wildflower bloom that calls hundreds of Northwesterners to Dog Mountain. This left the trail nearly empty. Our breaths were still visible as they pushed into the air. It only took a few moments—maybe two switchbacks—before we fell into the rhythm of the hike as if we’d never left it. I could hear the steady bounce of Ann’s compass/whistle. Our steps nearly disappeared, becoming instead the beat by which we paced ourselves. The forest was a mix of ethereal rays of sun pushing through the last plumes of morning clouds and the calming effect of damp ground and damp trees on a silent trail.

Just as quickly as the rhythm and mindset of the hike returned, it left. Not more than a mile into the trail—which climbs a few thousand feet in just over three miles—the wintery, lazy days of the past few months manifested themselves in the weight of our packs and the burning in our quads. We stopped for water and to catch a quick glimpse back at the Columbia Gorge. Not much was visible through the tops of the pines we now stood above, but the sun had burned away the fog and the clouds, and everything seemed to shimmer in the morning light.

“It’s beautiful,” Ann said. She reached for the camera only to switch to the phone after finding the batteries dead.

“It is. And I’m out of shape,” I answered. She laughed. Her breath pushed small clouds into the air.

“I know it. I thought we’d been working out.”

“Eh, we’ll be alright.

A few more switchbacks and I was beginning to doubt my own words. I’d shed the jacket and zipped-off the pant legs. My hat was stored in my pack and I could feel a small blister forming on my right heel. The sun was doing its work and I wanted to curse out the weatherman, or worse, but I didn’t have the breath to do it anyway. That’s when the thought occurred to me that we’d also be hiking back down. Down the steep, wet, and now warm, trail. What a start to what was to be a great eight or nine months of hiking—I was burning out at just under two miles.

I put my head down and tuned out everything but the sounds my heart and my breath were making in my head. I watched nothing but the trail in front of me. This feeling I knew well, this is shortly before the end, before my mind says “Why bother, this isn’t so fun?” and my body is only seconds behind with the same notion. But then it happens, we round a small crest heading west on a steep part of the winding trail and the sky opens up above us. The trees give way to a grassy slope that was hiding a sixty-degree spring day from us.

“What time is it? Let’s stop here for a second and eat,” I said quietly, my breath still rushed.

“No idea. Sounds good. Wow.”

“Yeah. Wow.” To the west the bend in the river is barely hidden by the last of the clouds. To the east the sun is pushing through the surface of the water and lending a near-tropical tint to the Columbia. The minty, teal, green jumps out at the eyes evermore with the dark forested mountains framing it on all sides. We eat a granola bar in silence. Ann snaps a few pictures on the phone, and I do the same a moment later. Things have slowed again. My mind and my body are closer to the same beat, though my legs know what they’ve endured. We sling our packs back onto our shoulders. As we turn to catch the trail a few feet away, I look back over my right shoulder to take in the site one last time. I see Ann doing the same. A chill runs down my spine, and we turn to climb back into the forest and onward toward the top.

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I awake some mornings thinking spring has already come. It’s the nature of the magazine business that keeps me constantly looking forward, and I have to remind myself to live in the moment. I often erase or delete the dates I just wrote when I realize I’m living a month or two ahead of myself. Here we are in February and we’re getting ready to print the Spring Issue. All the while I’m lining up the stories and photographs for the Summer Issue. From where I sit in the office, Mount Adams remains enveloped in winter clouds, the river is as still as can be and temps haven’t topped 50 in a few days, but my mind is on wildflowers, spring showers and the quickly building buzz of many residents returning home from their winter escapes while visitors show up for their summer adventures. While the sound of studded tires on cold, bare pavement still echoes around me, my thoughts already have me heading up Dog Mountain to take in this year’s new blanket of wild, colorful flora.

I look forward to a time that may never come, when my mind and my body are experiencing the same things. As soon as spring hits, I’ll be on to summer or fall, and before I know it, the eastern winds will be bringing freezing temps back to our communities. I can almost hear the motherly advice to “live for today,” as my mind pushes forward to days and months not yet unveiled.

This time of year a forward way of thinking doesn’t seem to hurt. It acts as a coping mechanism that pushes those wintery chills and cloudier skies away from my consciousness. It leaves me asking myself, “Why live in this moment when the next holds so much promise?” February is a month for love and a month to remember the contributions, struggles and successes of America’s black community. Somehow it’s also an in between month—a time when the snow and the dropping mercury of December and January begin to take on their role as memories rather than realities; while March, not yet here, starts to show signs of the relief and rebirth it holds within its lengthening days.

I tend to be struck each month by how quickly the last has passed. It seems that just hours ago I was writing of the ambition and hope 2010 will bring. I’m certain that by the time February 28^th roles around, I’ll be taken aback by the sudden birth of spring. So there it is, plain and simple, the ongoing battle of embracing today while still preparing for tomorrow. There is virtue to both, but the endurance necessary for winter makes it hard not to appreciate the arrival of spring. There’s a balance to the changing of seasons that I’ve come to appreciate greatly over the years, yet since I look ahead so often, there’s also an anticlimactic feeling once the new season is finally born. I remind myself time and time again that best way for me to live is to find the enjoyment and beauty of each season because they are, after all, inevitable.

I won’t look past this February. It will hold the first and only Valentine’s Day that I’ll spend with my fiancé. Before the next one, we will be husband and wife. It also marks a time for me to celebrate one of my favorite subjects, the literary and historic contributions of black Americans. I think this time around I’ll re-read Ellison’s Invisible Man in honor of the posthumous publication of its sequel. Still, through these magic moments, the pulsing will continue in the back of my mind, “it’s almost here, it’s almost spring, you’ve almost made it.”

In the coming weeks, the trails on which I hike or run will begin to fill with the rhythmic thumping of hundreds more feet. I’ll wave and smile, and I’ll be excited to see more traffic sharing in the adventure. But it’s only a matter of time before I long for a quieter path. In late February I’ll make a trip out to Dog Mountain or over to the Rowena Crest to get a glimpse of the early arriving wildflowers. But by the time everything is in full-bloom there will be others to compete with as we snap pictures and spread out picnic lunches. Perhaps that’s where the beauty of late winter and early spring—the beauty of February—really sits. It’s the solitude that’s so hard to find in spring, combined with the beauty that winter often clouds over. It may not seem like it now, but I keep telling myself that by the time March is here I’ll miss the quiet contemplation that winter allows. So maybe February isn’t so much of an in between month, but rather a month to prepare and a month to reflect. It’s a time when living in the now means taking a few moments each day to look back and a few to glance forward, because before long, tomorrow will be here and we’ll all be missing yesterday.

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Amid the snow and ice and endlessly threatening conditions of this late December, a new year rolled in. I love the idea of a new start or a fresh beginning as much as most, maybe even more than most. I find comfort and hope in the deeper meaning of New Year’s Day. There is a reason this holiday exists, and I believe it penetrates much further into the human spirit than we realize.

As a kid, I remember thinking about how cool it would be to stop time, or to go back and fix the mistakes of days past. As an adult I find that notion more suitable for prime-time television shows and dreaming children, but I do find the idea of a fresh start at the turn of a new year invigorating. It’s the adult version of that dream I’m sure so many kids have had and still have.

We know we can’t go back. We’re all too smart—and perhaps a bit too jaded—because of our experiences. But every year one of the grandest celebrations is New Year’s Eve—our chance to look forward, our chance to change.

We’re all bonded by a common community, but our lives and our experiences, especially from one year to the next, vary drastically. Some people will find themselves more excited to say goodbye to the last year than to embrace the coming one. When I’m at a New Year’s Eve party I find myself taken in by all the smiles and excitement. I hear people pass their resolutions around, inviting whatever criticism might come their way. I hear people exclaim their joy for the end of the year past. I personally find more optimism than negativity in the moment. My spirit is lifted by the idea that millions of people are looking forward to the New Year. No matter what hardship they may have faced they find themselves counting down with elation for the next opportunity. It’s this feeling, and being a part of moments like these, that helps me to find a deeper meaning for New Year’s Day. It’s not just a party the night before; it’s not just football and food all day. It’s a festival of new chance, or of sheer gratitude for the passing of the last year. It’s a celebration of true human optimism in the face of a life that is too often endured rather then embraced.

I’m not one for resolutions, and I won’t make one now. They just don’t work for me, but I’ve seen them do great things in people’s lives. There is something magic about the way someone who has struggled with an issue for years can gain the motivation and courage to overcome that challenge by looking to the New Year. I wonder what our community resolution would be for 2010? What would the Columbia Gorge accomplish or fix if the whole community were to make one large resolution. It’s a kind community, but I’m sure we could always be kinder. We live, work or play in one of the most beautiful places on earth, but isn’t there something more—maybe several things—we could do to make the area even more incredible?

This year, instead of a resolution, I think I’ll ask what I can do to resolve some of the things in my own community that could be better or need to be fixed. Almost anyone could gain from a tighter connection to their surrounding community and environment.

I can do things that would better just myself. I have 20 pounds to lose. I have several opportunities or goals that remain unattended to, but I don’t think that does enough on its own—not this year. This could be the year we all look back on decades from now and think, “We actually did that. We somehow accomplished what seemed to be impossible.” Find your challenge. Help your friends and family find theirs too. Have a memorable and ambitious 2010.

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The Hood River Valley is a patchwork of orchards, vineyards, farms and centuries-old agricultural lands. It stands to reason, that when there is such an abundance of fertile landscape, there will be farming, and where there are farmers, there is community.

Old-timers in the upper valley of Hood River County will tell you that community was the backbone of existence during the turn to the 20^th century. There was hunger and bitter cold winter in the midrange elevations of the looming volcanic Mount Hood. There were children to protect, feed, clothe and educate. There was illness, despair, tragedy and sorrow. There was hope, joy and a common bond amongst the families that made up the small community of Mount Hood.

Educating the children was always a priority. In 1884, a one-room log schoolhouse was built along the east fork of the Hood River. The school rested on a hillside above the river and was a popular site for young boys to cut trails and pretend to be pioneers. In the early 1900s, one of the boys slipped and fell, rolling down the bank and landing just inches from the swift cold waters of the river. Aside from losing his front teeth and getting pretty badly scratched up, he was fine. But it had been a very close call. So close that the town fathers decided the school would have to be moved to a safer place.

The site of the new school was a wooded knoll at the base of Bald Butte, known for its use as a campground by Native Americans as they traveled through the area. A young local builder, Louis Cole Baldwin, was hired to design and construct the new Mount Hood School. Completed in December 1914 and occupied in January 1915, the building would also serve as civil defense headquarters during WWII and on demand as a Red Cross emergency shelter.

The first promise every bride and groom should make to one another—after saying “yes” to the engagement—is to not go broke for the sake of a wedding. “Debt is no way to start a marriage. Do not have a wedding that you cannot afford—period,” Leith Gaines, owner of I Do Events in Hood River, counsels. “This is a celebration of love and it can come in any form that works for the bride and groom or families involved.”

There are scores of simple, tasteful and perfectly acceptable ways to create a beautiful wedding that the couple and their guests will remember forever.

Budgeting

Talk candidly about the other “m” word: money. Open the bank accounts, and have transparent conversations with parents and other sources of financial support. It’s important that you have a final number on paper—and a firm promise not to break it—before the planning starts.

Your budget needs to cover all costs associated with your wedding, so produce a thorough checklist that allows you to assign dollar amounts to each item.

Shaving Costs

Immediate savings come from shortening the guest list, which cuts stationery, catering, rental, favors, flowers and other significant expenses. Also consider a limited bridal party. Have just a maid of honor and a best man if that makes the numbers work.

Contemplate an off-season event. High season in the Columbia Gorge is July through September. Shoulder months are May and November. December through April deliver the most bang for your buck, especially for venue rentals and catering.

Delegate events and details to others or delete them altogether. Could friends organize the bachelor or bachelorette parties? Is there a professional photographer in your circle who would do the job for cost?

“The tiny details will eat up your budget,” Lucy Gorman, owner of Lucy’s Informal Flowers, warns. She is also a partner in Mari Bliss and Gorge Events, all in Hood River. “Think big picture and choose your key pieces. If it is the music, put more money there. If it’s flowers, the cake, the location, allocate funds there. Establish how much you are willing to pay for that most important piece and go from there.”

Rather than moving to warmer climes or becoming reclusive during the winter season, many Columbia Gorge residents simply hang up one set of gear and take down another. Skiing or snowboarding are as popular an activity as cycling and sailing. When the calendar pages are turned from the fruit bearing months, snow sport enthusiasts wax up the bases, bundle up the core and head to the big hill looming to the south.

The topography of the Columbia Gorge environment is diverse, and the terrain of each of the local winter resorts reflects that. Of all the peaks that make up the Cascade mountains, Mount Hood is one of the few with resort development. Mount Adams, although geographically closer to the Columbia Gorge, is primarily a wilderness area, with no mechanical developments.

Long awaited accolades, like Skiing Magazine naming Hood River a “Top 5 American Ski Town,” are changing the collective opinions about local resorts. No longer a 2^nd tier choice for snow-riders, the increasingly popular resorts on Mount Hood are in a progressive state of development. They offer the amenities one would expect from elite winter resorts elsewhere, like ski patrol, rentals, learning centers, day care, eateries and retail shops.

MT. HOOD MEADOWS

11 lifts (five high speed), six freestyle parks, 2,150 acres, 2,777 vertical feet

85 named runs : 15% Easiest, 50% Intermediate, 20% Advanced, 15% Expert

Often referred too as Oregon’s premiere winter resort, Mt. Hood Meadows (MHM) offers up an assortment of terrain, including wide open rolling groomed runs, steep alpine bowls and tree skiing. Sprinkled about the more than 2,000 acres are six freestyle terrain parks of varying difficulties. The lodge services at the resort compliment the diversity of the terrain and include a daycare, a top tier ski school, rentals, retail shops, several eateries and an on-mountain medical clinic staffed by Providence Medical professionals. The overall experience at Mt. Hood Meadows is polished, professional and progressive.

Every Thursday morning in a large hall at the Oregon Veterans’ Home in The Dalles there is a gathering of former World War II bomber pilots, decorated Korean War flight heroes and other distinguished resident veterans—as well as a few area supporters who come just to hear their stories.

Ranging in age from recently retired to quite elderly, these men—and a woman or two—call themselves “The High Flier’s Club.” The informal group comes together to allow American veterans to reminisce about their military service, share common experiences and enjoy the camaraderie of others who have a ready understanding of what they’ve gone through as pilots in military combat and in service for the country.

In doing so, a sense of heroic duty of days long past is kept alive, and their experiences are not forgotten. The gathering seems to help foster a sense of acceptance of life-risking experiences shared by these select members of society who have protected the country with keen eyes, nerves of steel and brave hearts.

These veteran pilots speak lightly of their intense experiences during active military combat, such as serving as a prisoner of war for several years, shooting down a dozen enemy planes on different continents during U.S. military engagements, or surviving a hasty jump from a burning plane. Their stories are vivid, colorful, frightening and true.

“Each pilot who has come to join our table has given us a synopsis of his or her military service,” John Sullivan said. He is a 91-year-old resident of the Oregon Veterans’ Home. “Then each time we would go around the table and each person would tell the newcomer of his or her own experience.

“As the years have gone on, we’ve noticed that some of the stories have become a little more colorful than when first told,” he joked. “But truly, the people at this table are real American heroes.”

        As I drove through Troutdale, the fog sat low over the highway obscuring all but the half-mile or so in front of me. It looked like snow for a moment—a sort of grainy, light snow just floating over the area. When I approached the bottom of the exit ramp on my way to the gas station a man carrying a sign came into view. He wore a stocking cap of black or navy-blue pulled down so that it almost covered his eyes. Underneath his hooded sweatshirt—he wore no coat—he had a zip-up collar that he’d pulled over most of his jaw. Around the bottom of the cardboard sign his hands barely poked out of the sleeves of his sweatshirt. He wore no gloves. His jeans were tattered, and just looking at him as he shivered in the 40-degree morning brought a chill to my body. I am not the hyper-sensitive type. I do what I can to help those that haven’t had the good fortune I have, but it’s not easy for anybody right now.

It’s a sight you see at exit ramps and street corners in larger towns from Boston to Portland: need. In the Columbia Gorge it sometimes escapes us as we go about our daily routine because so many of the people who need help have blended in. They aren’t necessarily homeless, and our street corners rarely host enough traffic for them to get the assistance they require. While I sat at that red light in Troutdale, I was reminded of the fact that thousands of children, adults and seniors—some out in plain view and some toiling away in silence—desperately need help to get through the winter. As I drove through the intersection I took a second to read his sign. I expected a biblical verse or creative plea. It was simple. It read: “I will do anything for work. I need food.”

This winter is supposed to be a drier and less-harsh one than last year’s, but it certainly hasn’t started that way. November brought an early ski season to the resorts and record-setting winds at the coast. Rain shrouded much of Oregon and Washington toward the end of the month. This December—no matter how mild the predictions—will bring more than cooler temperatures and cloudier days. It will usher in a season of need for many residents of the Columbia Gorge.

Fortunately, the season when many feel the most charitable coincides with the season in which people need the most help. Almost everyone is feeling the effects of a tight economy, and helping out the less fortunate is not an option when you can’t sufficiently support yourself or your family. It can be hard to remember that no matter how bad you have it, someone probably has it worse. But there’s always something that can be done. When there isn’t any money I can usually find an old coat or a sweater to pass-on. When there aren’t any extra goods, there is always time. Donating just an hour of a Saturday afternoon to serving food at a kitchen or collecting spare change for a good cause can bring days of comfort to those who share your community but not your good fortune.

The Columbia Gorge is blessed not just with breath-taking scenery, but also with the warmth and kindness of good people willing to do great things for their community. Many charitable organizations and non-profits have already begun their holiday drives, and many more will soon join in the giving. There’s an odd thing that happens in the winter: in a time when the weather turns our thoughts inward, we begin to look beyond ourselves. In the season in which we bundle-up, stow-away and close ourselves off to the elements, we also open our hearts and reach out a helping hand. A rising tide lifts all boats, and here in the communities that make up the Columbia Gorge we truly embrace that mantra.

At columbiagorge.com we have recently added a “donations” tab, which leads you to a long—but by no means complete—list of charitable companies and organizations striving to make this community the best it can be. There are hundreds of ways to share your time, money or ideas. In return, you’ll receive the gift of knowing that you made someone’s winter a little warmer—someone’s night a little brighter. This December will surely bring challenges to those in need, but there is no enemy that cannot be bested by the efforts of this community. The less fortunate do not always carry signs that clearly proclaim their needs, and it often seems that there isn’t much more we can give of ourselves in a time when so many are pushing their budgets to new limits, but we are a community far stronger than most. We can make things better. We are the Columbia Gorge.

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