my life and times

The Alladin Theater in Portland was a good room, but publicity hadn’t been good, the word was not out, and the audience was small. Somewhere between lunch and supper I began to feel queasy, and by shortly before show time I was shaky and nauseous. I soon realized that nothing would do but to evict the food that was feeling like a rock in my stomach, and I went down the hall to the bathroom and did so. Still shaky but feeling somewhat better, I went downstairs and we did the show with me sitting down. It went over well, and I don’t think the audience knew I was sick. I think they just thought I was old. For a while there, I did too. Then we zipped down to Salem to another Motel 6, slept soundly and headed for the northern California coast, a house in Arcada where soup, friends old and new, and a house concert awaited, at the head of the redwood highway. More memories were just around the corner.

The Triple Door in Seattle was our first real gig in a theater setting. A lovely room, warm reception by the staff and audience, and Very Good Food. We noshed our way through the sound check and delivered a solid performance, after which we were treated to a night at the University Motel Suites, where the rooms were really apartments and the fixtures were from the ’50s, right down to the pink Frigidaire. The building was once housing for workers during the Korean War (I think) and has been slowly converted into modern rooms. We got the old part, and were delighted with it. After breakfast with Steve Peters, but not with Mandy, whose number I managed to lose until way too late, we headed off for the border and the Vancouver gig at the Waldorf Hotel. Getting into Canada was not as hard as imagined, and the hotel was not as one might imagine a Waldorf facility. It had a nice performance room, however, as well as what was described with some accuracy as the world’s oldest (and possibly the only remaining) Tiki Bar. Strange, but sweet, kinda. After the gig, having priced rooms in Vancouver, we hopped back across the border and spent the night near Bellingham in the first of many Motel 6-es. Clean, spare and mostly in safe neighborhoods. Then it was off to Portland.

A long time later, or maybe just a week.

A note from the school of time and space. I know I talked early on about what this journey was going to mean to me, since I’d be traveling the roads made long ago by my parents, with me in tow. I didn’t tell all then, and I won’t now. But there are stories to tell, and I’m out here in West Tay-hass with time and miles on my hands, finally.

After Boise was a long jog across scenery that ranged from spectacular to dreadful. Then we arced across a corner of Oregon and into the Hungry Horse hills of eastern Washington. The new through highway bypassed the Columbia Gorge, so I didn’t get to see it. The Columbia crossing was as near to ordinary as could be with a river so big, as was the bypassing of the Richland-Pasco-Kennewick triangle. Hardly noticeable to the folks I’m riding with, except they were curious about the fields full of long poles strung together top to top.Hops, I said, and got a moment of curiosity in return. No one was really interested until we hit the Cascades, then grand landscapes, then rain, then snow. That was June 4.

While others were dozing I spent the day in a string of flashbacks that started in Idaho, when I went to dinner with Jo Henderson, her son and daughter-in-law, and Sarah to the Cottonwood Inn, where elk and bison were on the menu, but not in the kitchen. I settled for the halibut, but it stirred a memory of long- ago visits to Twin Falls, where we had dinner with Ted and Katy Barker and encountered elk, bison and black bear. I was disappointed that the elk was not available, but the company more than made up for it.

Then we hit the Cascade Range, and memories old and new took a back seat to the absolute splendor of the peaks shrouded in all the well-watered trappings and finery of the temperate rain forest. Up and up we went, through sunshine, fog, rain and then a soft, sugary snow that frosted the pines and spruce and sluiced off the wipers, and followed us about half way down. A glorious welcome to the western coast.

Page 8:  Idaho, Oregon, Washington

Played the Modern Hotel in Boise last night. A delightful experience from beginning to end. Sweet hospitality, great sound and a backed house. The whole thing took place in a small outdoor courtyard of the vintage Travelodge-turned-turned boutique hotel, and the audience count was well over 100. People were standing on the upstairs balcony, kids were dancing, food and wine poured forth freely and we played until the weather drove us indoors.. Then went to dinner at the Cottonwood Grill with an old friend from high school and her family and talked about little progressive Boise huddled in the middle of an extremely conservative Idaho. Heard a fairly well substantiated rumor that Idaho’s handpicked upper crust flunky governor has Alzheimer’s disease. Nobody was celebrating, to their credit, but the mood was that in terms of effectiveness, it may take people a while to notice.

Folks at the Modern warmly invited us to come back soon, and we slept well in the elegantly spare rooms. They’ll be well up in the running for best of tour.

Headed out to cross a corner of Oregon and on through Washington to the coast. So far, on the way we’d passed through more high lonesome Idaho prairie, into the lush forests, high green mountains, intermittent rain and about an hour of steep up hills and down in a snowstorm as we crossed the Blue Mountains and Mount Emily in Oregon. Much greener here, and we’ve dropped about 2,000 feet in altitude so we can all breathe better. Stopped in Pendleton at a place called “Rooster’s” for a hot lunch. Since we started at 7 and gained an hour when we passed into the Pacific time zone, we had our brunch at 10:3- a.m. local time. Great food, good service and on our way. Just crossed the Columbia River into the high desert of eastern Washington, where I haven’t been since we left in February of 1955, headed for Montana. Another high flight down memory lane for me. Dennis and Bo got some wonderful shots of a nesting Bullock’s Oriole just before we hit the snow belt, but haven’t seen any other new birds for a while. We expect things to pick up as we near the inland farming areas and then the coast.

We are about to cross the border between Utah and Idaho. We just passed the point where the two ends of the transcontinental railroad came together. It was indistinguishable from all the rest of the low sagebrush topped mountains and dry upland fields that stretched to the horizon on all sides. The bottomland fields are planting in grass or possibly just harvested wheat. others, stretching what seems too far up the hills, are disked but unplanted, or at least unsprouted. There are few house places, but frequent sheep camps. It is the earliest of springs here and the broadest of views. Some irrigation is underway and cattle graze the grassland or glean wheat from the stubble as we near the Idaho line. In the distance a trio of trucks dust a field of maybe 300 acres with lime or maybe fertilizer.The fields between the mountains are vast. It is a country spare but splendid. Again within a few hundred yards of the state line, there are changes in the terrain. More sagebrush and uncultivated fields, more juniper, more cattle.

So, how’s the tour going, Marideth?

Well, I”ll tell you. Denver was a wash. Very little publicity led to an equally sparse crowd, but those who did come had a good time. The Orlikowskis and the Burks were in attendance, all with Ozarks connections and we were very happy to see them. Despite the small attendance, the folks at the High Dive fed us well, treated us graciously and provided us with excellent sound. The Urban Lounge in Salt Lake City was all that and more, with a cozy if not ample audience and tremendous enthusiasm for the show. Translation: they came to see us and they loved us. We were especially happy to be graced with a surprise visit from Sarah’s parents, Ken and Ebie Blevins, who drove the 180 miles up from Marysville, in southern Utah, just to have supper with us and enjoy the show. Today we’re off to Boise to see old friends and play (and stay) at the Modern Hotel. Unlike yesterday’s marathon highway day, today is more of a sprint, only 5 hours or so, and we’ll have time for shopping, banking, resting and visiting. The day started off extremely well, when we unexpectedly met a couple of wandering Ozarkers from Monett, Mo., and sold two CDs in the parking lot of the motel before we had traveled 20 feet. Looks like a good day. More to come.`