TRADITIONS AND CUSTOMS IN WASHINGTON AND OREGON

Traditions and customs reek of history and ceremony.

Just the way I like it.

The more the merrier is fitting for both.

But, like George Harrison said, “All things must pass.”

Yesterday the local chapter of a women’s group held their final meeting before dissolution.

In my wife’s kitchen.

Yes, it’s my kitchen too, and it wasn’t really the kitchen which sits at the other end of a big room opposite a fireplace.

And it’s some fireplace.

The lady who had it built said she wanted one big enough to roast a pig, like a fireplace she saw in a castle.

In between the pig roaster and the cook top,oven,microwave, toaster oven, and sink, is a table and chairs followed by couches, love seats, ottoman, tv cabinet, and rug.

So the meeting was a luncher at the table.

This is the pre-set from the night before because customs and traditions say a pre-set is essential.

And fun.

When you have people over you don’t want a sloppy table.

The ladies in attendance were the remnants of a once feisty bunch of English women who used to rally their husbands and kids for regular events.

Membership has dropped over the years; people do get older, you know.

But there was something else.

I asked about membership and got a logical answer: belonging to a national group takes a lot of administration time.

So they disbanded, but not before agreeing to regular meetings and lunches and introducing new ladies to the group. (Hey Phyllis)

 

My Plan For Traditions And Customs

I won’t lie, I probably should have stuck around for the food, but I was inspired by the ladies in other ways.

In their honor I made a pilgrimage to ancient sites in the Great Northwest.

Or, I flew the coop.

My first stop was Fort Vancouver, Washington.

 

That’s my research assistant on the job.

The place looks huge and the only way to gauge it is by taking a lap.

 

We hit all for corners.

 

This is not a public restroom, and it’s not around the tower corner either, even if there’s no one in sight.

Maybe ask yourself, ‘What would Dr. John do?

 

 

Initially, McLoughlin dissuaded retiring HBC employees from homesteading in the Willamette Valley, but by the 1830s he realized that “such a country will not remain long without settlers.”

Preferring settlers that he and HBC could influence, McLoughlin nurtured Euroamerican communities in French Prairie.

 

My historical imagination sees the ladies back at my house settling in their husbands in the 1830’s.

They would have done it and made a better life for the community.

My next stop jumped a few decades from the 1830’s to the 1850’s.

 

Bybee Howell House And Territorial Park

What do you do when you’re the only one there?

Take a walk, take a lap, look around.

 

The region’s natural and cultural history come together in one serene setting at this 120-acre park. Bring a picnic and a pair of binoculars to watch for birds that flock to the park’s wetlands. Learn about Sauvie Island and the families who shaped it, and relax in the shade of an authentically restored 1850s farmhouse.

See and do

• Watch birds in the park’s wetlands.

• Bring a picnic.

Look for local events there, or just drive out and soak it in.

The ladies at my place would have fit right in on the farm, too.

While walking the property I reflected on past events.

 

In the spirit of past Wintering In Harvest Festivals, Sauvie Island Jubilee is a fun-filled day of activities for all ages.

Come enjoy heirloom apple tasting, learn about the island’s history on a tour of the Bybee-Howell House, take your kids on a harvest scavenger hunt, or sit back with a meal and enjoy some local musicians and storytellers.

 

Throughout the 80’s I participated in events from grinding apples, to playing guitar with the back porch band, and running around with a museum crew.

One of the year’s best days was shutting the house down for the season.

It was a work party in the country.

People dressed like farmers, or maybe it was only me in my regular clothes.

One year we had a Renaissance Faire with every thing that comes with it. Like jousting.

 

 

My strongest memories are the trees.

Before I started my twenty year museum haul someone had decided to plant tiny trees in a weed pasture.

The weeds grew faster than the trees and the first time I saw them I decided to save them since no one else stepped up or showed concern.

I devised a plan, got approval, rented a truck and spent the rest of the day out here instead of the office.

I picked up a helicopter blade lawnmower from Interstate Rental and applied it to the struggling pasture.

The weeds were waist high, the trees ankle to calf, so I stomped them down, mowed in between, then got closer with surgical trim.

Over the years they came into their own, got crowded, got thinned, and now it’s a shady nook with picnic tables.

I have an affinity for the place and its customs and traditions.

With a load of memories, and my dog, I headed home for a late lunch.

 

 

And trifle.

Now you know how to turn a sad day into a happy day.

And it’s not running away.